The Colossi of the Plain
Ancient of Days! Before the Trojan Wars
You towered as now in your colossal prime,
Watching the rosy footed morning climb
O'er far Arabia's flushing mountain bars.
Despite your weird disfigurement and scars
You dwarf all other monuments. Sublime
Survivors of old Thebes! you baffle Time,
And sit in silent conclave with the Stars.
Ah, once below you through the glittering plain
Stretched avenues of Sphinxes to the Nile;
And, flanked with towers, each consecrated fane
Enshrined its god. The broken gods lie prone
In roofless halls, their hallowed terrors gone,
Helpless beneath Heaven's penetrating smile.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Prospects
We have set out from here for the sublime
Pastures of summer shade and mountain stream;
I have no doubt we shall arrive on time.
Is all the green of that enameled prime
A snapshot recollection or a dream?
We have set out from here for the sublime
Without provisions, without one thin dime,
And yet, for all our clumsiness, I deem
It certain that we shall arrive on time.
No guidebook tells you if you'll have to climb
Or swim. However foolish we may seem,
We have set out from here for the sublime
And must get past the scene of an old crime
Before we falter and run out of steam,
Riddled by doubt that we'll arrive on time.
Yet even in winter a pale paradigm
Of birdsong utters its obsessive theme.
We have set out from here for the sublime;
I have no doubt we shall arrive on time.
poem by Anthony Evan Hecht
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A Dead March
PLAY me a march, low-ton’d and slow—a march for a silent tread,
Fit for the wandering feet of one who dreams of the silent dead,
Lonely, between the bones below and the souls that are overhead.
Here for a while they smil’d and sang, alive in the interspace,
Here with the grass beneath the foot, and the stars above the face,
Now are their feet beneath the grass, and whither has flown their grace?
Who shall assure us whence they come, or tell us the way they go?
Verily, life with them was joy, and, now they have left us, woe,
Once they were not, and now they are not, and this is the sum we know.
Orderly range the seasons due, and orderly roll the stars.
How shall we deem the soldier brave who frets of his wounds and scars?
Are we as senseless brutes that we should dash at the well-seen bars?
No, we are here, with feet unfix’d, but ever as if with lead
Drawn from the orbs which shine above to the orb on which we tread,
Down to the dust from which we came and with which we shall mingle dead.
No, we are here to wait, and work, and strain our banish’d eyes,
Weary and sick of soil and toil, and hungry and fain for skies
Far from the reach of wingless men, and not to be scal’d with cries.
No, we are here to bend our necks to the yoke of tyrant Time,
Welcoming all the gifts he gives us—glories of youth and prime,
Patiently watching them all depart as our heads grow white as rime.
Why do we mourn the days that go—for the same sun shines each day,
Ever a spring her primrose hath, and ever a May her may;
Sweet as the rose that died last year is the rose that is born to-day.
Do we not too return, we men, as ever the round earth whirls?
Never a head is dimm’d with gray but another is sunn’d with curls;
She was a girl and he was a boy, but yet there are boys and girls.
Ah, but alas for the smile of smiles that never but one face wore;
Ah, for the voice that has flown away like a bird to an unseen shore;
Ah, for the face—the flower of flowers—that blossoms on earth no more.
poem by William Cosmo Monkhouse
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The Land Of The Dawning
Darkrose her shore in seas of amethyst
By tropic breezes kissed,
A summer land in watery wastes forlorn,
Her ranges floating in the snow-white mist
And gold of early morn.
The tides of Empire ebbed and flowed afar;
The thrones of nations in the dust were hurled,
Silent she slept beneath the morning star,
A virgin world.
Love, Birth, and Death, the stress of Age and Race,
Changed not her maiden face—
Unstocked her pastures and untilled her soil—
She who for labour builds a throne apace
Saw not her people toil;
Down the low valleys, up the stormy steeps,
Careless they roamed at will: the land was free
From desert stark to where the mangrove sleeps
Upon the sea.
There dropped no anchor at her river bars
Beneath the quiet stars;
No wandering sail her silent waters swept;
By waste and scrub, o’er plain and rocky scars
No alien footstep crept;
In feathery billows of her grassy seas
Some lonely mountain stretched its capes of blue;
Only the heavens above her and the breeze
Her secrets knew.
Where the wild grass grew rank on slopes forlorn
Rise fields of yellow corn,
And purple lucerne-bloom makes sweet the air;
The sullen mountain, lost in mists of morn,
Its golden heart lays bare.
Spoils of her pastures crowd full many a mart;
Her glittering treasure calls to many a land;
She has no secrets for the daring heart
And strong brown hand.
The smoke and thunder of her cities rise
To the same careless skies;
Her arteries thread the same wide sunlit leas,
Her fleets stretch forth their wings of enterprise
O’er the same summer seas.
She to the Nations cries: “No Past, no Fame,
No Memories quicken round my flag unfurled;
The mightier, therefore, shall I carve my name
Upon the World.”
poem by George Essex Evans
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The Moon of Ramadân
The sunset melts upon the Nile,
The stony desert glows,
Beneath heaven's universal smile,
One burning damask rose;
And like a Peri's pearly boat,
No longer than a span,
Look, faint on fiery sky afloat,
The Moon of Ramadân.
Our boat drifts idly with the Stream,
Our boatmen ship the oar;
Vistas of endless temples gleam
On either topaz shore;
And swimming over groves of Palm,
A crescent weak and wan,
There steals into the perfect calm
The Moon of Ramadân.
All nature seems to bask in peace
And hush her lowest sigh;
Above the river's golden fleece
The happy Halcyons fly.
And lost in some old lotos dream,
The pensive Pelican
Sees mirrored in the mazy stream
The Moon of Ramadân.
Black outlined on the golden air
A turbaned Silhouette,
The Mueddin invites to prayer
From many a Minaret.
Our dusky boatmen hear the call,
And prostrate, man on man,
They bow, adoring, one and all,
The Moon of Ramadân.
Where Luxor's rose-flushed columns shine
Above the river's brim,
The priests with incense once, and wine,
Made sacrifice to Him,
The highest god of Thebes, and head
Of all the heavenly clan;
But now the Moslem hails instead
The Moon of Ramadân.
The gods have come, the gods have gone,
Yet wedded to their walls,
Winged with the serpent of the Sun
In mute processionals,
They stride from door to massy door,
Bound nations in their van,
Though Amon's Sun has waned before
The Moon of Ramadân.
Yea, even proud Egypt's proudest king,
Who chastised rebel lands,
And brought his gods for offering
Mountains of severed hands;
Who singly, like a god of War,
Smote hosts that swerved and ran,
Lies low 'neath Allah's scimetar--
The Moon of Ramadân.
And Isis, Queen, whose sacred disk's
Horned splendour crowned her brow,
While fires of flashing Obelisks
Flamed in the Afterglow;
And white-robed priests who served her shrine
Have turned Mahommedan,
And worship Him who wears for sign
The Moon of Ramadân.
The rosy lotos, flower and leaf,
Which wreathed each sacred lake,
With Nature's loveliest bas-relief,
Has followed in their wake;
Yea, with the last true Pharaoh's death,
The lotos leaves, grown wan,
Have changed to lily white beneath
The Moon of Ramadân.
The gods may come, the gods may go,
And royal realms change hands;
But the most ancient Nile will flow,
And flood the desert sands;
And nightly will he glass the stars'
Unearthly caravan,
Nor care if it be Rome's red Mars
Or Moon of Ramadân.
The sunset fades upon the Nile;
The desert's stony gloom,
Receding blankly mile on mile,
Grows silent as a tomb.
All weary wanderers, man and beast,
Hie, fasting, to the Khan,
While shines above their nightly feast
The Moon of Ramadân.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Fighting For Night
Sitting and watching the sun rise
knowing time is near
time to laugh
time to smile
time to cheer
Sitting and watching the sun rise
Lyeing and watching the sun sway
over the puffy white clouds
over the bright blue sky
over a home town
Lyeing watching the sun sway
Standing and watching the sun fall
down to the ground
down to the greenest of grass
down to meet your tears
Standing and watching the sun fall
Leaning and watching the moon climb
up past the stars
up past the sun's lost glem
up to where it shins too full
Leaning and watching the moon climb
Swaying
not watching
not breathing
not hearing
not frowning
Swaying
Laughing from below
watching your body away
watching the rope in the moon light
watching gathering people
watching them cut you down
Laughing from below
Sitting and watching the sun rise
Lyeing and watching the sun sway
Standing and watching the sun fall
Leaning and watching the moon climb
Swaying
Laughing from below
Laughing
from
below
poem by Kathlyn Grace
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As It Is In Heaven
Lyrics: traditional
Music: michael w. smith
Our father, which art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Our father, which art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come
Thy will be done
On earth as it is in heaven
Our father, which art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Hallowed be thy name
Our father, which art in heaven
Our father
Hallowed be thy name
Hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come
Thy will be done
On earth as it is in heaven
Give us this day
Our daily bread
And forgive us our debts
As we forgive our debtors
Our father, which art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Our father, which art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
And lead us not into temptation
But deliver us, deliver us from evil
For thine is the kingdom, and all the power
And the glory
Forever amen
Our father, which art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come
Thy will be done
On earth as it is in heaven
song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Fool
Says Anderson, Theosophist:
'Among the many that exist
In modern halls,
Some lived in ancient Egypt's clime
And in their childhood saw the prime
Of Karnak's walls.'
Ah, Anderson, if that is true
'T is my conviction, sir, that you
Are one of those
That once resided by the Nile,
Peer to the sacred Crocodile,
Heir to his woes.
My judgment is, the holy Cat
Mews through your larynx (and your hat)
These many years.
Through you the godlike Onion brings
Its melancholy sense of things,
And moves to tears.
In you the Bull divine again
Bellows and paws the dusty plain,
To nature true.
I challenge not his ancient hate
But, lowering my knurly pate,
Lock horns with you.
And though Reincarnation prove
A creed too stubborn to remove,
And all your school
Of Theosophs I cannot scare
All the more earnestly I swear
That you're a fool.
You'll say that this is mere abuse
Without, in fraying you, a use.
That's plain to see
With only half an eye. Come, now,
Be fair, be fair,-consider how
It eases _me_!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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To See, Again, the Stars
The cold was penetrating
within their shattered room.
Grandmother was bedridden
She could not be moved.
Her sixteen year old Grandson
Brought food that he had scrounged
For nine days they were trapped there,
buried beneath the mound.
All around the cries grew weaker,
Fainter, fainter then died down….
For nine days they were buried
In the wreckage of their home.
They were the sole survivors
Enduring there alone.
His father never gave up hope
That they would be found alive.
Their rescue made news worldwide
It was tears of joy he cried.
They emerged into the twilight
Of a sunset, bloody red.
Two saved, out of ten thousand,
Spared, to see the Stars Again.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Ball's Bluff: A Reverie
One noonday, at my window in the town,
I saw a sight - saddest that eyes can see -
Young soldiers marching lustily
Unto the wars,
With fifes, and flags in mottoed pageantry;
While all the porches, walks, and doors
Were rich with ladies cheering royally.
They moved like Juny morning on the wave,
Their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime
(It was the breezy summer time),
Life throbbed so strong,
How should they dream that Death in rosy clime
Would come to thin their shining throng?
Youth feels immortal, like the gods sublime.
Weeks passed; and at my window, leaving bed,
By nights I mused, of easeful sleep bereft,
On those brave boys (Ah War! thy theft);
Some marching feet
Found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft;
Wakeful I mused, while in the street
Far footfalls died away till none were left.
poem by Herman Melville
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Birds Never Sang Or Flew
The dawn awoke one morning
to start a day brand new
but there was something wrong
outside no birds sang or flew.
The skies that normally teamed with life
on the day before
now fell silent empty and abandoned
by all that flew there.
While in a great city
twin towers crumpled into dust,
its plumes of agony stretched
high up in the air for the world to see
that a new demon with a cancerous soul
was about to scourge the earth
to corrupt others to follow him
into the damnation of hell.
Was this the Armageddon that was prophesied,
in which the world as we know it died?
As the tentacles of this demon,
who dressed as a man
stretched around the world
penetrating every land.
Hence, the battle of good against evil began
in the day of infamy known simply as 9/11.
In the days that followed as no planes flew,
no birds sang or took to the skies
as if in a mark of respect from them to
for those who had fallen
in this demons evil plan.
13 October 2009
Author’s note:
Following the horror of 9/11 when all the planes around the world were grounded a strange phenomena occurred. For all the time the planes were grounded the world seemed absent of birds. My late brother brought it to my attention and when I looked, he was right. I did not see or hear a bird until the planes few again.
poem by David Harris
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Only Angel
A mans supposed to be a mountain
With the rivers runnin to the sea
But ever since I lost my baby
Im not sure thats how its supposed to be
No need to try and hide this empty feelin
Its hard to smile when Im so sad
Gods got so many angels up in heaven
Whyd he take the only angel
The only angel Ive ever had
I ever had
Now I know you dont hear me darlin
Still I want to take this time to say
How much I truly loved you
And how sorry I am, sorry I am you went away
No need to try and hide it
Yeah Im broken hearted and sad
cause gods got so many angels up in heaven
Whyd he take the only angel
The only angel Ive ever had
I ever had
I just cant hide this empty feelin
When everybody knows that Im sad
Gods got so many angels up in heaven
Whyd he take the only angel
The only angel Ive ever had
I ever had
(he took the only angel) I ever had
(the only angel) Ive ever had
(he took the only angel) I ever had
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: A Poet’s Time
Unearthly hours of early morning time!
Hallowed be Thee for thy serenity;
Thou mak’th an artist toil by habit prime;
And show’th the road to Eternity.
What calmness stays around him at that time!
The time he plays his ‘Lute of Poesy’;
And noiseless earth goads him to make sublime,
His Life no more appears very stressy.
Albeit the noise of night’s tiny creatures,
The major world’s people appear to sleep;
Poets get solitude and right features
To think inspired, ink thoughts from the deep!
Glory to Thee, unearthly hours always!
Thou art the best for creators all days.
poem by John Celes
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Helpless
There is a town in north ontario
Dream comfort memory despair
And in my mind I still need a place to hide
All my changes were there
Blue blue windows behind the stars
Yellow moon on the rise
Big birds flying across the skies
Casting shadows in our eyes
Leave us helpless helpless helpless helpless
Helpless helpless they leave me now
Helpless helpless helpless
Blue blue windows behind the stars
Yellow moon on the rise
They leave us
Helpless helpless helpless helpless
Helpless helpless they leave me now
Helpless helpless helpless
Helpless helpless helpless helpless
Helpless helpless they leave me now
(neil young)
Copyright warner/chappell
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Raise Thy Voice
shall we dance once more in these hallowed halls of memories
Take back the childhood once lost to us
Reverse a thousand decisions till there is but indecision
Shall we dance slowly this time in the ring of fire careful not to get burnt
Shall we sing once love filled songs with the poison of hate thick in our
hearts
Shall we fall in love once again knowing what we know now
Should our nights blend with our days leaving us in a wild haze
Should we walk under half laden moons or hold each other till first mornings light
Shall we cherish the time we have or despise the time we're apart
Shall we stake our claim on a tree in the woods
Declare our love in the pouring rain
Kiss under the full moons light
Shall we dance once more in these hallowed halls of memories
Shatter the panes of oppression that bounds our speech our expressions
Shall we dance shall we dance shall we dance to the rhythmless sounds of silence
Shall we open thy mouths to let harmonies blend till the end
Raise thy voice and shatter the silence
Of a generation that was to prone to violence
Grew up to quick yes indeed
Raise thy voice raise it now
poem by Patrick Maness
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Days Are Numbers
Chris rainbow - lead vocals
The traveller is always leaving town
He never has the time to turn around
And if the road hes taken isnt leading anywhere
He seems to be completely unaware
The traveller is always leaving home
The only kind of life hes ever known
When every moment seems to be
A race against the time
Theres always one more mountain left to climb
Days are numbers
Watch the stars
We can only see so far
Someday, youll know where you are
Remember
Days are numbers
Count the stars
We can only go so far
One day, youll know where you are
The traveller awaits the morning tide
He doesnt know whats on the other side
But something deep inside of him
Keeps telling him to go
He hasnt found a reason to say no
The traveller is only passing through
He cannot understand your point of view
Abandoning reality, unsure of what hell find
The traveller in me is close behind
Days are numbers
Watch the stars
We can only see so far
Someday, youll know where you are
Remember
Days are numbers
Count the stars
We can only go so far
One day, youll know where you are
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cadmus and Harmonia
Far, far from here,
The Adriatic breaks in a warm bay
Among the green Illyrian hills; and there
The sunshine in the happy glens is fair,
And by the sea, and in the brakes.
The grass is cool, the sea-side air
Buoyant and fresh, the mountain flowers
More virginal and sweet than ours.
And there, they say, two bright and aged snakes,
Who once were Cadmus and Harmonia,
Bask in the glens or on the warm sea-shore,
In breathless quiet, after all their ills;
Nor do they see their country, nor the place
Where the Sphinx lived among the frowning hills,
Nor the unhappy palace of their race,
Nor Thebes, nor the Ismenus, any more.
There those two live, far in the Illyrian brakes!
They had stay'd long enough to see,
In Thebes, the billow of calamity
Over their own dear children roll'd,
Curse upon curse, pang upon pang,
For years, they sitting helpless in their home,
A grey old man and woman; yet of old
The Gods had to their marriage come,
And at the banquet all the Muses sang.
Therefore they did not end their days
In sight of blood, but were rapt, far away,
To where the west-wind plays,
And murmurs of the Adriatic come
To those untrodden mountain-lawns; and there
Placed safely in changed forms, the pair
Wholly forgot their first sad life, and home,
And all that Theban woe, and stray
For ever through the glens, placid and dumb.
poem by Matthew Arnold
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In the valley
Tear to tear, breaking
heavy steps. A mountain
I must climb and deliver
every hunt- to the sweetest
waterfall. All burns, all scars-
must remain where they began.
Every flower has its nectar, this
seed to be born, is a symbol of
rejoice. In a garden where all
was burnt; in need of pouring love.
And of many little stars to move
with this bruised heart. In the
Valley of secret mourns, where
mountains hear the cry, and the
mist darkens the route. This
mountain I must climb it will
always take the steps through
the glorious hand of God
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Feels Like Heaven
All through my wandering years
I always said I was biding my time
But alone in the dark Id face my fears
That no other heart would come to mine
At first when you found me
It took me a while til I realized
Why I felt weak when you were around me
Why I couldnt speak when I looked in your eyes
All this time Ive been searching
Until you, I was lost in my dreams
And I never knew that love could feel like heaven
Watching over me
Oh wherever you go
Invisible hands reach over the miles
For every wish you make to the stars
Theres one silent kiss I send to the sky
All this time Ive been searching
Until you I was lost in my dreams
And I never knew that love could feel like heaven
Watching over me
Everything has changed
Since you came my way
cause you put the color
In a world of grey
And you make the love
That carries me away
All this time Ive been searching
Until you I was lost in my dreams
And I never knew that love could feel like heaven
Watching over me
Feels like heaven
Watching over me
song performed by by Peter Cetera
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Time's dominion
Mountain,
silent warrior,
bearing time’s scars
in its noble crags.
Ocean,
mountain’s mirror,
refusing time’s ravage,
without form and void.
Mountain,
decayed, honest,
embracing time
with dignity.
Ocean,
time’s subconscious,
internalising
polluted memories.
Tide,
ocean’s heartbeat
on the shoreline,
outside of time.
Mountain,
living.
Ocean,
dying.
Its soul unfurling
to time’s dominion.
Bamborough Castle
Ye holy Towers that shade the wave-worn steep,
Long may ye rear your aged brows sublime,
Though, hurrying silent by, relentless Time
Assail you, and the winds of winter sweep
Round your dark battlements; for far from halls
Of Pride, here Charity hath fixed her seat,
Oft listening, tearful, when the tempests beat
With hollow bodings round your ancient walls;
And Pity, at the dark and stormy hour
Of midnight, when the moon is hid on high,
Keeps her lone watch upon the topmost tower,
And turns her ear to each expiring cry;
Blessed if her aid some fainting wretch may save,
And snatch him cold and speechless from the wave.
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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