A Ring Of Bright Words Dancing
and that day
eighty words woke up, listened to each other,
smiled, joined hands,
danced in a ring
and as they danced around and round
the space inside the circle
became magic
the earth flowed
into a brightness in the air
which in its space
became sound
the words dancing
left a ring in the grass
in the sound of a poem
then returned home
to where words rest
in stillness and in silence
until called upon
to waken fresh
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
0189 A Maybe Tribute To E E Cummings
it was the sound of
the daffodils
growing
that woke
the ear of their ear
on the sun’s birthday
and the lilacs of the scent
said it’s time to wake up
so we can dream
and the amazing
of the roses
woke the eye of their eye
and the words tumbled out of bed
and took an April shower
and dressed by the wrong which was right
shook out the box
of breakfast food called freedom
and rush-houred street-wise see them
words came tumbling
dogs they grinned with mastered feelings
cats were caught off-guard washed
to recover their dignity pretty girls felt prettier
as the words sang
no-ones became someones
anyones became everyones
nothing was as it was
because was wasn’t
and isness filled the air
the words danced in the squares
and smiles peopled
the words laughed through the graveyards
dancing on dead minds
laughed through the brothels
making tired whores to smile and
schoolmasters ate their words
in the eyes of their pupils
and the words shouted through the letterboxes
of critics called nameless shameless blameless
come out and play tomorrow with your
yesterday
words played leapfrog round the toadstools
with each’s other
hand in hand with strangers
laughing till they cried
crying till they laughed
all day it was all day
and therefulness and thenfulness
until the words had scattered
hello among humanunkind
and forming perfectly irregular lines
danced a song and sang a dance
at sunfall dayset nightrise
all happy tired like children
into a farm
called joy
poem by Michael Shepherd
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i teach my child by G. Abad
I.
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
They are hardest to learn.
Words like home,
Or friend, or to forgive.
These words are relations.
They are difficult to bear;
Their fruits are unseen.
Or words that promise
Or dream.
Words like honor, or certainty,
Or cheer.
Rarest of sound,
Their roots run deep;
These are words that aspire,
They cast no shade.
These are not words
To speak.
These are the words
Of which we consist,
Indefinite,
Without other ground.
II.
My child
Is without syllables
To utter him,
Captive yet to his origin
In silence.
By every word
To rule his space,
He is released;
He is shaped by his speech.
Every act, too,
Is first without words.
There's no rehearsal
To adjust your deed
From direction of its words.
The words are given,
But there's no script.
Their play is hidden,
We are their stage.
These are the words
That offer to our care
Both sky and earth,
These same words
That may elude our acts.
If we speak them
But cannot meet their sound,
They strand us still
In our void,
Blank like the child
With the uphill silence
Of his words' climb.
And so,
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ring
Lead vocal: eric stewart
Round your finger
Token of the love we give one another
Music of the future that well discover
Promises to keep more than any other
Symbolising all that we share
The ring is magic
The ring is power
Like a candle in the dark for everyone to see
The ring is madness
The ring is fire
And it burns with all the brightness of the sun
In a circle
Living in a world of perpetual motion
Turning with the tide of a restless ocean
Spinning on the wheel of your own emotion
Ridin on a wild carrousel
Youll be turning round and round
Round and round we go
Promises, promises, promises, promises
Round your finger
After all the years weve been together
Walking in the sun and stormy weather
Sharing in a moment to last forever
Memories and dreams without end
The ring is magic
The ring is power
And it finds you in the darkness of the night
The ring is madness
The ring is fire
And it guides you when youre blinded by the light
The ring is magic
The ring is power
Like a candle in the dark for all to see
The ring is madness
The ring is fire
And it burns with all the brightness of the sun
The ring is magic, magic, fire, fire
The ring is mine
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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238
i teach my child by G. Abad
I.
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
They are hardest to learn.
Words like home,
Or friend, or to forgive.
These words are relations.
They are difficult to bear;
Their fruits are unseen.
Or words that promise
Or dream.
Words like honor, or certainty,
Or cheer.
Rarest of sound,
Their roots run deep;
These are words that aspire,
They cast no shade.
These are not words
To speak.
These are the words
Of which we consist,
Indefinite,
Without other ground.
II.
My child
Is without syllables
To utter him,
Captive yet to his origin
In silence.
By every word
To rule his space,
He is released;
He is shaped by his speech.
Every act, too,
Is first without words.
There's no rehearsal
To adjust your deed
From direction of its words.
The words are given,
But there's no script.
Their play is hidden,
We are their stage.
These are the words
That offer to our care
Both sky and earth,
These same words
That may elude our acts.
If we speak them
But cannot meet their sound,
They strand us still
In our void,
Blank like the child
With the uphill silence
Of his words' climb.
And so,
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Listened to the Silence
I listened to the silence
and wondered why 'twas there?
I listened some more and hoped
that words would fill the air.
For words left unspoken
left me in despair.
To me the silence was deafening.
It seemed beyond repair.
I waited, but still no sound
and finally I spoke.
'Speak out, speak out and talk to me
and then the silence broke.
'What is it that you wish to hear?
What is it I should say? '
Silence was better than these words
for they'll never go away.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Black Cat Crossed My Path
A black cat crossed my path
On a night of a full moon
He was carrying a pack on his back
And dancing around like a loon.
I thought it was a funny sight
I couldn’t believe my eyes
Then I saw a ghostly cat
In a transparent disguise.
His eyes glowed like fire
In the darkened night
My hands grew cold
I was filled with fright.
Just then the ghostly cat
Found the black cat by a tree
They both did a jig
And started singing merrily.
I was no longer scared
As they danced ‘round and ‘round
It was an unusual scene
And an unusual sound.
They sang Halloween songs
About pumpkins and goblins and bats
And as they sang
Along came about fifty other cats.
They all joined in
The sound grew so loud
But it was a happy sound
From a jolly crowd.
All of the cats were dancing
And having a good time
Then the ghostly cat invited me
To have a bite of a lime.
I told him it would be sour
He said “Well, come dance instead”
So I joined the singing cats
And danced with a cat named Fred.
He moved around quite fast
Hopping left and right
We both danced and danced
Deep into the night.
At last I had enough
I couldn’t dance anymore
So I said good-bye to all the cats
And Fred walked me to my door.
He asked if he could come in
I said “my two cats would probably mind”
So he said “I’ll see you around”
I said “I had a nice time.”
One year went by
Halloween was here again
A black cat crossed my path
I knew the party was about to begin.
Happy Halloween.
poem by Connie Webb
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Do Not Post Your Poem Here
Do not post your poem here
Unless you've something worth a say!
You must not waste a space like this,
For space can waste away!
Do not post your poem here
With words which make no sense!
Be careful when you post it here
That you use the proper tense!
Do not post your poem here
Just to fill a space with words!
A poem should be well thought out,
Was it meant to be absurd?
Do not post your poem here
If in cliches you would write.
A poem should be fresh, yes sharp -
You'll know when it's just right!
Do not post your poem here
Just to see yourself in print.
You're wasting others time you know
With such, self centred stints!
I wil not post my poem here,
This one does not exist,
But did I tell you at the start
That I'm a nihilist?
poem by Joe Hughes
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Benediction
Read this poem only aloud
read it as slowly and with such solemn dignity
as if it were the whole great human race
declaring itself to be truly great
read it as if it were
as indeed it is
not words but a great sounding bell
and you are that great bell
so large a bell so low its boom
that it is more vibration than a sound
struck in a temple courtyard
by a robed monk so full of love
that he merges into love itself
every time he sounds the bell
and as its sound now travels up
into the clear mountain air
the goatherds and the goats hear in its sound
the meaning of their life
and in the fields the workers raise themselves
and know what blessing is
and in the valley the silence after each stroke
becomes more real
as the echo fades
and the air knows itself
this poem is the sound of the human heart
listening to itself beyond all words
hearing praise and gratitude and love
knowing themselves in stillness for what they are
this poem is what is beyond all words
smiling sorrowing as it seeks for words
as it vibrates out into the silence
the wonder of the unspoken
the magic of all that’s yet unmanifest
the thoughts yet to be thought
hear in this bell the sound that tells to all
that there is enough love
in one single human heart
to nourish the whole world
hear this bell sounding aloud
sound out eternal in your soul
* * *
[work in progress]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Listening Trade Martin Singing “For Your Love”
The melody danced the velvet words,
But the passionate wind
Embraced them all
For keeping them vivid
And making them
More beautiful than ever.
Those special words,
Never trading his feelings,
Made me to understand that
Trade had never traded
Any love.
His melody danced his feelings
On notes
And the light pushed them all
Into the sacred place
Of creation.
It was like an expansion of space
Or like
A new dimension.
The sound drops
Encountered their eternity.
Suddenly, I realized that
I needed to understand
Him,
I realized
That Trade Martin was really there,
Singing for us
And living
In his incommensurable dimension.
The sounds were passing through the rightness
Of his soul,
Embracing his poetical words,
Wholly expressing his thinking.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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The Doorbell
I'm thinkin' about my doorbell
When ya gonna ring it, when ya gonna ring it
Yeah, I'm thinkin' about my doorbell
When ya gonna ring it, when ya gonna ring it
Yeah, I'm thinkin' about my doorbell
When ya gonna ring it, when ya gonna ring it
yeah, I been thinkin' about my doorbell
Oh, well
Well with me and chipin' me and kisses?
Not the man in my life I know
And I been going to mystery misses
I respect the art of the show
Take back whan you said little girl
And while you're at it take yourself back too
Woman whatcha gonna do now, whatcha gonna do about it
I'm thinkin' about my doorbell
When ya gonna ring it, when ya gonna ring it
Yeah, I'm thinkin' about my doorbell
When ya gonna ring it, when ya gonna ring it oh
I'm thinkin' about my doorbell
When ya gonna ring it, when ya gonna ring it
Yeah, I been thinkin' about my doorbell
Oh, yeah
You don't seem to come around
Point your finger and make a sound
You don't seem to come around
Not since I said you knocked it down?
Oh, well
Make a sound and I'll make you feel right
Right at home, yeah
Yeah, right at home, yeah
Nobody got ......?
But how come it's so easy to you
You know it's like me at times I can be careless
But your words seem so obtuse
But then again I know you feel guilty
And you tell me you want me again
But I don't need any of your pity
I got plenty of my own friends
They're all above me
And I've been thinkin' about my doorbell
When they gonna ring it, when they gonna ring it
Yeah, I've been thinkin' about the doorbell
When they gonna ring it, when they gonna ring it oh
I've been thinkin' about the doorbell
When they gonna ring it, when they gonna ring it
Yeah, I been thinkin' about the doorbell
song performed by by White Stripes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Monastery
Up the long flight of stairs
every tread echoes from stone walls
as if to comment on how stillness
tells of sound its silent origin.
In the quiet library, the central table
bears a careful written message:
‘Silence is spoken here’..
and that’s truer than
at first it seems to read;
round the walls, shelves of books
as silent as the monks
standing upright in their stalls
witness words that seek to share;
yet ultimately, wave fare well, turn back;
speak of silence sought and silence found;
yet cannot speak of silence;
in the name of silence, take a book,
well-worn, from off the shelf;
meet it in the silence of the room,
read a few words, and lay it down;
glance at the other readers round the room;
fall still.
Here, silence speaks of stillness;
stillness joys in silence.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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No Words
Out in the night
It could be fun
It could be fun
It could be fun
No words to explain
No words in my mouth
No words in my mind
But the gesture said it all
And the words refined it all
I saw how you looked at me
I saw how you danced with her
I saw how you looked at me
I saw how you danced with her
I saw it before
I saw it before
Right now, I guess you move
I saw it before
I saw it before that time
But the gesture said it all
And the words refined it all
I saw how you looked at me
I saw how you danced with her
I saw how you looked at me
I saw how you danced with her
I saw it before
I saw it before
Right now, I guess you move
I saw it before
song performed by by Xymox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sound Of Silence....
it speaks no words,
yet they fall on the soul..
quietly falls on the heart so heavy,
pain wrapped, the words of silence....
filth and grime,
pure and honest,
the words do a medley of sorts,
ever felt the sound of silence..
the world pulls down,
the dust seems sticking,
tears entrapped in the soul,
commotion in the worldly shows.
what's life? regret, remorse..
the dull light always burning,
resonating from inside,
try listening, the sound of silence...
the voice screams,
it brings the truth,
momentarily, the pain halts,
with the tasting of the salt.
ironical the world is,
contradiction filled...
sounds stupid, but true,
the sound of silence...
befriend silence,
redemption u find...
the lost answers,
u will find.
sound, so enthralling,
sound, so enigmatic..
yet so healing, , ,
the sound of silence..
poem by Nupur Singhal
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The Sea Of Words
he could have gone to the sea
and start collecting the shells again
bring each to his ear
to remember
he is stuck in this sea of words
picking some syllables
to hear a not so distinct sound and
to hear a song
from his youth
he arranges the words again
like some old furniture
in the home
in the sea of words
he splashes
drinks the salt of this earth
and begins
to drown himself
sooner shall he breathe again
and swallow
the whole of the sea
and the continents
of this world
as one of the atoms in this
vast expanse
of nothing but space
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lip Service
Words inspire and words destroy
Words conspire and words annoy
Words spread freedom and words detain
Words believe them in sound refrain
Words of passion in words misleading
Words without action are words without meaning
poem by P.R. Prosper
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Dance Then to Everything
Music is everywhere
music is in sound and
music is in silence
Therefore I dance
to silence I dance
to tears I dance
to laughter I dance
to groans and moans
I dance to Rachmaninoff
and Bach, to Beethoven
and Dylan, to Carole King
and Marvin Gay and to everything
composed, harmonious and played
Dance then to birdsong and waterfall,
to the spring scented forest and garden,
to snow and the rain, to river and ocean,
with desert or mountain, I dance
For the dancing mind can dance
forward or backward in time and space also,
indeed to outer and inner dimensions uncommonly known
I dance with my eyes,
I dance with one hand,
I dance clapping,
I dance with one foot
or one shoulder, my hair
dances with wind
I dance to poetry while hearing it,
I dance to poetry while reading it
aloud to the tree for whom I wrote it
As I dance around the lovely thing
with my hand or arm encircling
As Rumi danced his grief
and finally his joy around
the cool, smooth, sacred stone
until he warmed it with longing~
As Rumi danced around the pillar of loss
when his beloved teacher and friend
called Shams, The Sun, had died—
He danced to call back the Light
from the belly of darkness
that had swallowed the sky,
as now the Sufi dance after him
For Dance is the Song of the Body,
and Songs are the Dance of the Voice~
as both Move, Utter, Outer the Soul
I dance to the gospels
I dance to the psalms
I dance to a friend
I dance mostly and always
to God
Don’t let the limitations
of your body deter you,
dance with your mind,
dance with your soul
Feel free to join me
across great distances
of space and time
and dance on your own
Dance all by yourself
so no one will know
but you and the Beloved,
in whatever form you
experience the Beloved,
and let the Beloved
dance with You
This poem is in the book The Frequencies of Sound
by Alla Renée Bozarth, copyright 2011. All rights reserved.
poem by Alla Renee Bozarth
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Fading ink
Fading ink
~
the words which flowed
from pen to page
in a steady stream
have trickled silently
into a vacant space
silent prose sits impatiently
awaiting the spark
to ignite inspiration
to fire up the pen
and resume its flow
of words from pen to paper
but a nothingness holds
space for rent across the page
a canvas of thought
where words once ran
the old ink fades
in the light of a new day
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Something In The Air
Your coat and hat are gone
Ive really cant look at your little empty shelf
A ragged teddy bear
It feels like we never had a chance
Dont look me in the eye
We lay in each others arms
But the room is just an empty space
I guess weve lived it out
Something in the air
We smiled to fast then cant think of a thing to say
Lived with the best times
Left with the worst
Ive danced with you too long
Nothing left to save
Lets take what we can
I know you hold your head up high
Weve raced for the last time
A place of no return
And theres is something in the air
Something in my eye
Ive dance with you too long (yeah)
Something in the air
Something in my eye
Abracadoo, I loose you
We cant avoid the clash
The big mistake
Now were gonna pay and pay
The sentence of our lives
Cant believe Im asking you to go
We used what we could
To get the things we want
But we lost each other on the way
I guess you know I never wanted anyone more than you
Lived all our best times
Left with the worst
Ive danced with you to long
Say what you will
Theres something in the air
Raced for the last time
Well I know youll hold your head up high
But its nothing we have to say
Theres nothing in our eyes
But theres something in the air
Something in my eye
Ive danced with you too long
Theres something I have to say
Theres something in the air
Something in my eye
Do do do do
Do do do do
Ive danced with you too long
Do do do do
Do do do do
Danced with you too long
Do do
Danced with you too long
Something in the air
Something in the air
Do do do do
Do do do do
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some Silence, Some Words
Today somewhere a mirror broke
And a music of end splashed in the pages of time,
Someone lost his meanings in the broken mirror..
And an unending silence flowed
Many things happen silently, , ,
How the silent weeping of the lost meaning wander in the depth of the night, , ,
I unveil the sea of darkness...i find only silence
And the music of the end keeps on splashing around
Life is all about some silence and some words…
Far away a poet was looking for words, .
And a poem was seeking for its understanding, ,
for the heart where words dwell with meanings, ,
As long as they both were away everything was all right...
And when they met, , ,
the poet lamented on the end of words of the poem, , ,
and the poem on the unending silence of the poet, , , , ,
poems are not about understanding....
poet is not about words, , , ,
Life can be so surreal
When he first clapped eyes on her
you could have heard the clapping
in the next ballroom.
Then his eyes danced.
They disengaged themselves gracefully
as from a group of friends,
cut and coiled their stalks
as if some umbilical cord,
and danced.
They danced at eye-height, which seemed
appropriate, considering;
you'd have thought they'd danced together
all their lives, they danced so well together.
They danced the quickstep first, then
the foxtrot; then a sparkling jive. At
the end, they bowed to her, respectfully,
yet in a way as if they knew the score,
had an eye or two to the future.
Then, quite simply, they returned,
picked up where they had left off.
No hint of what had gone on, except perhaps
a whiter shade of white around their irises,
and still clearly lit up from their first fill of her;
for she was, we all agreed, an eyeful.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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