To err is human ‘songstresses’.
She's a contralto,
With high sustaining, notes
Her voice is a salvo,
O’ the rapture, she emotes
Calling-on spicy, Bacchus...
In “lightness' or 'heaviness'.
She specializes in control.
Like a skylark, circling at
Dawn’s heartstring, cajole!
Her lips; heady, Muscat
Sing, their ritual, madness.
On this poor sap; Dionysus…
He fought with giant, titans
The dramatic is the deepest.
Florid passages filled heaven,
His tears wept there; shrillest.
She was like a priestess
Or better still a princess.
O’ she’s even sings alto,
Holding a spike of grain
O’ she’s the onset of Virgo’
And, his heart has been slain.
In “lightness' or 'heaviness'
To err is human; ‘songstresses’.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Related quotes
A Sense Of Peace
How clear is the air found at a mountain's top,
And breathing this freshness, clarifies all things,
At such high altitude, oxygen can drop,
Then movement slow's, but thoughts fly swift on wings,
Letting the new adventurer explore,
A world that opens wide its magic doors.
Land of peak and valley, sea and shore.
Viewing all this, one's heart pulsates and soars,
Then a sense of peace, envelops the inner soul,
And lightness pervades, where heaviness has been,
Lifting the senses, raising them as a whole,
Introducing pure quietness, making one's life serene.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Birds In The Air
DID they not tell you
about their lightness?
oh, must you forget
that their beaks and feathers
are designed
for wordless existence?
i may figure it out
on their songs
their freedom
Did you not read
that the sing because they have their own songs?
It must follow that they have to fly
because they have their wings
otherwise
what is lightness for
what use are feathers
their beaks and claws
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Little Voice
A little voice sings
To the smiles in the room
While admiring eyes look on
Each with a particular pride
To have seen this voice grow
Is a memory to share, cherish
Little voice sing on
Grow, blossom and flower
Fill the air with your song
The deft notes play to the ear
And the heart is dancing
Little voice sing on
The room will fill with smiles
While all eyes look on
At the one they have come to know
The one who has grown and flowered
The little voice who sings
Little voice sing on
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Cebu City, Sto Rosario Church
i know it is her, and she will not believe me.
i know that shape. Bent. I know that hair. Scattered.
yes blonde. and curly. her fingers are stroking each lock
at the middle of this mass.
she is listening carefully to the priest
making the sermon.
she is busy reciting the prayers
through her rosary beads.
she is fat and looking misshapen by the weight
of her sorrows.
we know what is inside her. we say we pity her.
now is her time to escape again.but soon she will be back
and she can't take what she sees.
some xanor tablets, from her psychiatrist.
she will swallow some more emptiness.
she will take in more heaviness of her own lightness.
will she recover? we look at her, we are never wrong.
and then we pray.
there are humps of flesh on her shoulders.
steroids. and side effects.
we take the communion.
she kneels down.
we had that one before. now she will take some more.
fair enough.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bacchus
Who was Bacchus
and why
was he
the most
celebrated of the gods?
Bacchus is the Greek name
of the Roman god Dionysus
the god of the vine
the god of inspiration
bestower of ecstasy
and ecstatic liberation.
What was sacred
to Bacchus?
The grape, ivy and rose
were sacred to Bacchus.
Why was Bacchus so popular?
Bacchus
the god of wine
was worshiped
with orgiastic
ecstatic rites.
Yes people still love
a party excessive
indulgence in
activity emotion
the pleasure palace
of delight still entices
as Bob Dylan said
'everybody must get stoned'
reality escape ever popular
"sacred drugs of society
changing with cultures
throughout cultures
throughout history"
What became of Bacchus
in the later Hellenistic era?
As Dionysus he was
the most loved of the gods
the greatest deity
of the later Hellenistic world.
Why?
Because
he supposedly
taught men
to escape
the confines
of their personalities
in an age before
Sigmund Freud.
How?
By yielding
to the ecstasy
of natural forces
which permitted
people to know
the deepest mysteries
of their gods.
Ha. Sounds like
another hallucinogenic
drug trip
orgy free sex festival
like remembered
1960s hippy stereotypes.
I shall harken back
through more ancient
pages of memorial time
to Genesis
book of Prophet Moses
as revealed by
the One True God
Creator of Heaven and Earth
who wrote the fabric of design
through DNA laws of physics
upon this his immense
awesome universe
everything is his creation.
See also the poems ‘Latest Drugs On The Street' and ‘Dregs Have Flown'.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Proud man can't sing well
proud man can't sing well
his heart is too high
his voice is in his throat
his throat will be choked in high pitch
makes him can not breathe well
and his body trembled in lower ground
his voice is not clear and honest
he sings because he is proud
bot because he likes the song or likes to sing
he sings not for everybody
he sings for his pride
his heart is in his throat
and his voice will choke his throat
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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I'm Searching My Heart......
I sing a song in tears,
And the song to reach hers,
And get back my heart.
I'm searching my heart
That I lost when I was with her:
She came unto me;
Still I remember her steps.
I sing a song in tears,
And the song to reach hers,
And get back my heart.
She sat beside me;
Still I feel her presence,
She spoke with me;
Still I remember her words.
I sing a song in tears,
And the song to reach hers,
And get back my heart.
She wept for me;
Still I don't know why,
She lulled me to sleep,
Still I am in her lullaby.
I sing a song in tears,
And the song to reach hers,
And get back my heart.
I hear the notes of songsters,
And the babble of streams;
But not the pulse of my heart,
I weep unto the clouds,
I cry unto the zephyr;
But they all left me at sea.
I swim into the sea fast
Hoping to find my heart.
I sing a song in tears,
And the song to reach hers,
And get back my heart.
poem by MBJ Pancras
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When A Mounting Skylark Sings
When a mounting skylark sings
In the sunlit summer morn,
I know that heaven is up on high,
And on earth are fields of corn.
But when a nightingale sings
In the moonlit summer even,
I know not if earth is merely earth,
Only that heaven is heaven.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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A Mirage
Were I thy bride,
Then the whole world beside
Were not too wide
To hold my wealth of love -
Were I thy bride!
Upon thy breast
My loving head would rest,
As on her nest
The tender turtle-dove -
Were I thy bride!
This heart of mine
Would be one heart with thine,
And in that shrine
Our happiness would dwell -
Were I thy bride!
And all day long
Our lives should be a song:
No grief, no wrong
Should make my heart rebel -
Were I thy bride!
The silvery flute,
The melancholy lute,
Were night-owl's hoot
To my low-whispered coo -
Were I thy bride!
The skylark's trill
Were but discordance shrill
To the soft thrill
Of wooing as I'd woo -
Were I thy bride!
The rose's sigh
Were as a carrion's cry
To lullaby
Such as I'd sing to thee -
Were I thy bride!
A feather's press
Were leaden heaviness
To my caress.
But then, unhappily,
I'm not thy bride!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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I Hear
(diana ross/stan scates)
What is this i hear
Falling softly in my ears
Quietly telling me to wipe away my tears
Yesterdays are gone
And love has cleared the way
No matter who you are
You can touch the stars
Life's interactions can make you smile
Just listen to the voice in your heart
The voice is near you, it's never too far
The voice is with you, where ever you are
It's closer than close, calling to your heart
I hear the voice of love
I hear the voice of love
The voice will never leave you
It lives deep down inside
It's calling you, asking you
To open up your heart
All things are achievable
Nothing is impossible
You can reach your highest high
You can make it if you try
Life's interactions can make you smile
Just listen to the voice in your heart
The voice is near you, it's never too far
The voice is with you, where ever you are
It's closer than close, calling to your heart
I hear the voice of love
I hear the voice of love
Follow where it leads you in the dark
The voice will guide your heart
The voice is always near
I hear the voice, i found the voice
From the mountains to the sea
The voice of love is calling me
Where ever you are, the voice is near you
It's never too far, the voice is with you
I hear the voice of love
I hear the voice of love
I hear the voice of love
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half-open Door
let me try to see
a door half-open
let me not be
half the man
let there be
light though dim
let me be the shadow
to come in
let me not find
you asleep
with some
living tears
let me kiss your lips
i can't let you die in peace
let me touch your lightness
let me be this caress
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Who can weigh love?
Light. Lightness. Light-heartedness.
Who can measure their measureless weight?
On the kitchen scales, we balance
weight against weight; but how different
the substances - on the one scale,
iron weights with their iron discipline
maintain like monks and nuns their constancy;
on the other scale, perhaps fine flour,
poured as bakers recommend, from a height
to catch the air between the grains; a foretaste
of that greater levity that yeast will bring;
Lorenzo de’ Medici, praising publicly his tutor,
Marsilio Ficino, said of him, that one thing in him which he loved
was that in his speech, gravity was mixed with levity,
and levity, with gravity;
what then, of our substance? In the lightness
of our being, then how bright the light! And in
the dark and heavy days, what lightness of the light may lurk
in melancholia – a yeast of wisdom yet to act?
And then – there’s love…its golden weightiness
so full of light; and hammered out and spread,
the brighter then…oh, who can measure out
the lightness, brightness, of our joy? What golden scales
of justice, mercy, grace,
may weigh the shining of a shining face?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Too Much Poetry
so much light
so much of this feeling light
bouying lightness of being
flying lightness on dancing steps
on the clouds on this night near the stars
so much poetry to write
and read and spread
too much feeling and life
pulsating to my veins
this love
this poetry tonight
even without the wine
even without the full moon
like what Li Po tells me
this world on this glaring monitor
alone with my fingers and thoughts
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Angel Of My Heart
Your pretty chocolate brown eyes,
twinkle like the stars in the sky,
a smile growing on your face,
I take your hand and we embrace,
I flick back your jet-black hair,
as your lips tantalise and dare.
The angel of my heart is what you must be,
for heaven is where I am and you’ve come for me.
Held in my arms on a frosty hill,
close together to cull the winter chill,
so the warmth of our hearts,
melts away the snowy sparks,
like a single ray of sunshine,
had been cast here all the time.
The angel of my heart is what I can see,
for heaven is where I am and you’ve set me free.
Your voice touches my ears,
and sings away all my tears,
like a light soothing caress,
that emphasises your loveliness,
and gives me a sweet sensation,
of deepest and dearest devotion.
poem by Dale Mullock
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Dawn Of A New Day
The thoughts from yesterday - forgotten
I like the way this new skin feels
Bring me splinters of tomorrow
Collect the parts where I win
Against the grain, against the odds
I'll rise and I won't trip again
The dawn of a new day never looked
As good as this
Concrete breath and dust filled tears
A one-way ride to inner peace
I never thought, I'd join the others
Those who use the dice to solve
Against the grain, against the odds
I'll rise and I won't trip again (x2)
The dawn of a new day never looked
As good as this
Against the grain, against the odds
I'll rise and I won't trip again
Against the grain, against the odds
Against the grain, against the odds(x2)
I'll rise and I won't trip again
Against the grain, against the odds(x3)
song performed by by In Flames
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song In The Wind
There's a wind in the air
Filled with song
A gentle voice
Low and long -
It sings life
And it sings time
It blows so easily through
Hearts and minds -
It's the word of wisdom
And the entirety of the ages
Embracing all being
From the audacious to the sages -
It sings out
Lifelong
Continuously calling
In a soulful song -
It's always there for everyone
Blowing free
Even unto our very last day
As it carries us, one by one, into eternity -
It is the Song in the wind
The Voice of the soul
It's the living sound
Every heart mysteriously, somehow does hear and know -
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Home...
Heaven?
Paradise?
Rapture or
Cloud nine?
Where is the key
to enter your Bliss?
So high on your heavenly horse.
So proud under your rose-studded straw hat,
can't see disheveled man on his dead cement
horse, independently hardened by empathy- the
anesthesia for poverty;
begging for a dollar piece of bread to eat,
not an outhouse or bathhouse to shit, piss, and bathe-
still nose high as the clouds in the sky;
can't smell nor tell what's smelling to high heavens, cause
head held as high as the hundred dollar
stiletto holding you high and its blade piercing the lowly hearts
Cheeks and lips blood red, sculptured
eyebrows and polka dot finger nails. Yet, you
carry you bags filled with empathy to your church- home.
At home in your brownstone, paradise
as tall as the high ceilings, with
faux pride coming in second.
A home-made key for each the
best fit ones misplaced
and your misled
Many without homes
and
priced out of heaven
by
all Saints.
Paradise is just a dream.
Rapture a state of being.
Cloud nine an idiomatic expression.
The down-to-earth one
exchanges one thought
for another.
Yet remains in the seat
in his own humble home!
(August 6,2011)
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Ah, Just Tip Of An Iceberg!
Behind a smile lurk many tears.
The frivolous exterior is only a defence
To safeguard one's self...
Each tear gets shed
With a unique sound of silence...
If one tries to share,
There seems to be nothing...
The heaviness of the heart,
The unshed tears alone
Know of the burden...
A constricted feeling around
My heart arrests my breath...
Ah, the curse and burden of
Being born a girl!
Should I regale in my womanhood?
Should I never wish to be born again as one?
Can a woebegone life bring happiness to earth?
How many more years
To go on with pretensions...
The island-cries cannot reach the mainland...
They recede with the backwaters and evaporate...
And what remains is a fistful of salt!
Ah, Poetry!
Only tip of an iceberg.
The alphabet can't measure
The fullness of human experience.
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Stigmata
My Lord Jesus, the human God I can touch,
poor shepherd who looked after us.
You were crucified by our human brotherhood.
Your innocent blood stain
do the puritans can wash
and clean their hands ever?
You climbed the mountain Golgotha
with the heavy cross,
if I were there my Lord
definitely I could have given my shoulder.
I am carrying my cross since childhood
and I realized the heaviness.
I meet sometimes Judas with his thick curved mustache
but still I am anxiously searching my dear Lord in this carnage.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Holding on to anger, resentment and hurt only gives you tense muscles, a headache and a sore jaw from clenching your teeth. Forgiveness gives you back the laughter and the lightness in your life.
quote by Joan Lunden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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