Ode on a Wedgwood Urn
It’s a gentle green in colour,
sits on the shelf, still, contained,
containing, and content;
around it, another world
is playing out its immortal role,
in constant movement which
somehow conveys to us, stillness,
peace; there’s order in that world;
and yes, John, you could well call it,
unravish’d quietness: (you said, once,
in your romantic way, that
you were certain of nothing
but the holiness of the heart's affections,
and the truth of imagination;
here's the urn to prove it..)
erect yet relaxed in pose,
hair in a chignon, one hand
touching her neck, the other
holding a rolled scroll, resting
on what could be a reading desk;
she’s elegant, attentive, sensing, observant,
yet full of sweetest silent thought;
she’s said to be Euterpe,
goddess of lyric poetry;
I should respect her, even beg.
Another graceful figure, also
lightly draped, so that her body
is an open yet modest secret,
plays the lyre to some timeless tune of truth;
another leans upon a rough stone column,
absorbed in what another with up-pointing hand
is telling of what reigns above;
beautiful truth; truthful beauty..
a second lyre rests, unattended yet significant,
upon the ground; as if music’s secret musing
remains always there, even when unplayed;
sweeter when heard to be unheard..
three dance together; their lightness,
grace, and ease are simultaneously
celebration and surrender; their breeze-played draperies
tell us how ethereal our holy bodies are,
caught in the breeze of time;
there’s more to them than meets the eye;
but that’s what eyes are for,
they say to us: to see, to know, they’re there..
trees throw out leaves, as if
they hear the music, dance the dance,
know that upwards is what they grow towards..
there’s an elegant brazier burning there; the scene
is evidently not complete without
the significance of the sacrificial fire;
gentle green upon the shelf,
contained, containing, and content,
it plays out its destiny of gods and goddesses,
muses, graces; unconcerned
whether I should wish to look at it,
admire it, perhaps ask questions of it;
even, live a little of its life…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Related quotes
Dance, Dance
Dance, Dance
To the music
Dance, Dance
To the beat
Dance, Dance
To the rhythm
Stomp your feet
Dance, Dance
Even though
Your tune they don't hear
Dance, Dance
For yourself
Have no fear
Dance, Dance
If you're alive
You're doing well
Dance, Dance
And grin
So the world can tell
You know you've got
A life to live
You're looking at the joy
This world can give
And you're dancing and laughing,
Won't be dragged down
You'd rather keep moving
Than stay with a frown
Dance, Dance
'Til it's played to the end
Dance, Dance
With a smile
My truly brave friend
poem by Atara Gedalowitz
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Reaching for the dictionary
That efficient movement of the arm –
let it be without impatience,
watched, aware, even graceful –
does not feature in a ballet,
or a film; although it could;
unlikely to be described in a novel;
and as for poetry… no poem yet,
no ode yet owed, to that word-hoard
with which, indirectly, poets live and breathe
and share their being…
but when the moment comes, is seen to come –
how beautiful that movement, full
of assurance, of anticipation
of what this may yield…
for lovely though the world
of that poetic imprecision
which teases the reading, writing mind,
plays with the emotions,
releases the imagination like a glorious balloon…
it’s now the moment to look down
from the basket of the balloon
soaring so gently over green fields and earth,
and look for landmarks for a clear descent..
sometimes, it’s those geeky, Greeky words
like metempsychosis or synecdoche,
ontological, epistemological…
sometimes, those simple words
like soul, or self…
the pages thumbed over – the choice of paper,
so thin, so strong, just right, itself
brings an intelligent respect –
aah, that’s what it really means…
a moment of treasured satisfaction;
the mind a little clearer now;
the heart perhaps, may know its warmth
in later, wiser ways; actions, too,
may (if we ever notice) be subtly altered,
as the flutter of the butterfly’s frail, strong wings
in some Amazonian rain-forest,
is sometimes said to be felt
throughout the world…
universal mind may breathe a gentle sigh;
language itself, allow a passing smile;
there’s order in the world; harmony
is heard in music beyond words;
the arm and hand, now so graceful,
reassured; the beauty of the mind
so quickly registered that it may
escape; a gratitude perhaps
as quick as eye-blink, and as unobserved -
the arm and hand replace
the dictionary there upon the shelf.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Euterpe
Euterpe thy name is gladness
thou art one of the nine muses
daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne
beautiful goddesses it is thee
who govern the various arts
that stir ornament human life
quicken perceptions
deepen understanding
in quest mind mankind
goddesses associated
with god Apollo
music and healing
Euterpe thou speaks
to poets in lyric poetry
juggling flute music
are your favoured passions
goddess employed spinning
lines poetic in mine spun mind
rejoicing well of delight
in music giver of delight
river dance of sparkling light
See also the poem ‘Midnight Call’.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Dance, Dance Everywhere!
Dance, Dance Dance
everywhere,
When I look at the sky,
I see the clouds dance
Into steps of winds
My heart dance when I watch clouds dance!
How it can make me dance?
Without any tune or beats,
Its own beats me my heart dance.
Some strange tune it sings in silence and dance!
When I see at shore of ocean waves that dance,
Some birds in sky fly and dance,
On the waves boats that to the tune of waves, dance,
My mind sing lyricless
music to which it dance!
When I walk along the beach,
The headless crown of palm trees with wide open hands dance,
Watching them dance trees start their dance!
When I on countryside, green paddy fields dance,
Looking at them, the bird on the branch dance!
When walk along, trees with fruits dance,
And to its own rustling music, leaves dance!
When I walk in the park,
Plants with flowers dance!
Looking at the graceful dance flowerless dance,
When I move on street, hope and hap dance,
Seeing at them even hopeless an hapless to dance!
Smile on faces with hope dance,
Wrinkles on the forehead of hapless dance!
When I look at people in them mind dance,
In some happiness dance,
In some sorrowfulness dance,
Some I found with desperation dance
In some their laziness dance,
In some saintliness dance,
Most of the time wickedness dance,
And in some other dreams that dance!
Success that dance with some,
Distress that in unsuccessful dance,
In some hearts mercy that dance
Together with love and kindness dance!
Some where cookedness dance,
And some where innocence dance,
In every nation either hunger dance,
Or in people's mind anger that dance,
Either corruption in corrupt mind dance,
Or those systems on the heart of people dance!
Dance, dance, dance everywhere,
It is time for my soulful dance,
If you see somewhere some other type of dance
Just sing it dance
and let no other see the pain in your heart dance
Hide it with that unfailable lips on which smile may dance
Dance, Dance, dance,
Tune your steps with eternal dance!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Come Dance With Me
Come! Take my hand… and dance with me…..
On terra firma, on a solar breeze brought here by a celestial wind….
In the gentle breeze blowing off the sea-, and the mountains in the eve….
Come dance with me in the Allegro, the Barock and Minuet….
….on intergalactic music eons old, arriving only now, in our quantum space
….on sounds of ancient water streams and waterfalls echoing continuously
….on sounds of oceans and it’s surf of this planet that’s been reverberating for ever
….as if part of our destiny we only now-, somehow mysteriously as if by magic
….we sense, feel and hear it, synchronous with this between us
……this music of terra firma, the cosmos and galaxies,
…and the mystique of eons pasts’ voices of lovers’ gentle whispers floating out there
T’is always been there to enchant travelers and those meandering recklessly
And people like us fools! Adventurous in Love…. And loving
Come! Take my hand…. And dance with me
…and to dance for ever more and always
Please, will you take my hand, my Love…..
Well dance in the shadow of the Namib dunes….
Well dance in the shadow of a huge rock in Orions’ belt….
Well dance in the misty wisps of water under Mount Auxes fall in the gorge below
Come! Let us dance… dance with me ……naked in mind and body
poem by Johan Fourie
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The Card-Dealer
Could you not drink her gaze like wine?
Yet though its splendour swoon
Into the silence languidly
As a tune into a tune,
Those eyes unravel the coiled night
And know the stars at noon.
The gold that's heaped beside her hand,
In truth rich prize it were;
And rich the dreams that wreathe her brows
With magic stillness there;
And he were rich who should unwind
That woven golden hair.
Around her, where she sits, the dance
Now breathes its eager heat;
And not more lightly or more true
Fall there the dancers' feet
Than fall her cards on the bright board
As 'twere a heart that beat.
Her fingers let them softly through,
Smooth polished silent things;
And each one as it falls reflects
In swift light-shadowings,
Blood-red and purple, green and blue,
The great eyes of her rings.
Whom plays she with? With thee, who lov'st
Those gems upon her hand;
With me, who search her secret brows;
With all men, bless'd or bann'd.
We play together, she and we,
Within a vain strange land:
A land without any order,—
Day even as night, (one saith,)—
Where who lieth down ariseth not
Nor the sleeper awakeneth;
A land of darkness as darkness itself
And of the shadow of death.
What be her cards, you ask? Even these:—
The heart, that doth but crave
More, having fed; the diamond,
Skilled to make base seem brave;
The club, for smiting in the dark;
The spade, to dig a grave.
And do you ask what game she plays?
With me 'tis lost or won;
With thee it is playing still; with him
It is not well begun;
But 'tis a game she plays with all
Beneath the sway o' the sun.
Thou seest the card that falls,—she knows
The card that followeth:
Her game in thy tongue is called Life,
As ebbs thy daily breath:
When she shall speak, thou'lt learn her tongue
And know she calls it Death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Gazelle
Among Solomon's first love commands in the book of his Song of Songs,
He adjures the young maidens by the gazelle, and how charm makes them strong.
For the gazelle is a gorgeous creature with beauty and unequalled grace.
She moves with elan and fleetness of foot, darting here and there leaving no trace.
Her sensuous body, caressed by the gentle breeze, trots about almost unseen,
Making the wildflower to blush and the envious grasses to turn a vivid green.
Eyes sparkling, she darts lightly about the meadow with all of her senses alert.
Seeming to be rolling and gliding, she can disappear and reappear in a spurt.
In the beauty of the length of savannah, she has no noticeable match.
Prancing from one thicket to the next, she stays too smart to catch.
Knowing well her environs, she blends with the hues of the scene.
By dieting lightly and steadily moving, she keeps her figure lovely and lean.
The photogenic bounty of every cameraman's trained eye,
Her graceful hurdles and jumps can literally touch the sky.
The beauty of her eyes are a legend, their sharpness is a must.
Such a marvel of lightness and grace, there are few that she can trust.
Throughout two of the largest continents, she has reigned as a goddess;
Yet being a figure of poise and glamor, she remains demure and modest.
poem by Albert Price
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Confession of a Lonely Romantic
I am a romantic
I believe in the full colour of love
That beauty can transcend any world
To a place far better than here
That which is able to heal so many sorrows
To cast light in the darkest day
I believe in the hearts affections
That underlying truth, a realisation
I admire the beauty that is unseen
The warmth of another words
The gentle nature of their actions
A look in the eye or a smile
Ply the stings of romance
There is a song heard deep within
And that song is beautiful
I see the beauty of the innocent moments
Those shared with a love
I see them in a dream, a hope
I await to feel such thought from another
The light and colour of love
I am a lonely romantic
I believe in love
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Lè Waltz.
Music plays, i take your hand.
I have waited so long to have this dance.
Chopin, Mozart, Bach would understand,
the beauty of a note from a single strand.
Your hair dances gaily, beautiful as every star.
No one can forget our movement, our dance.
Tap, tap, tip, tap, your feet my cinderella.
La, la, la di da-the epilogue to my memior.
poem by Peya Jakob
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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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She as life itself
She passes through life
with grace and ease and lightness
like a fine bright silken sari
caught by the gentle breeze
on an early sunny morning
and life itself seems content in that,
and smiles on her
and we who see her, feel ourselves
graceful, easy, light of heart,
love her for it,
and loving her,
love ourselves.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Last Song Of The Night
As we dance slowly
Heads held on shoulders
It’s the last song of the night
Holding your hand in mine
Fingers gripping each other
As tightly as we can pull together
The smell of your hair intoxicates
Our eyes close as we smile
The romance caught in a moment
Empties the room completely
To our hearts it now plays
Slowly we dance as one
Waiting for the music to fade
The last lyric to be sung
There we are all alone
Dancing to the last song
poem by Matthew Holloway
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I Want To Dance
I Want to Dance
I want to dance, but the music has stopped playing
My heart can�t stop, in mind my body keeps swaying
Sometimes a waltz, dancing till things are passed
My dance is my life, sometimes moving to fast
Must keep dancing, don�t let things catch up
Must keep it all in, mustn�t let all erupt?
The music is louder, don�t want to think anymore
With the dance so fast, I can still soar
Can�t let depression slip in, coming so close
Still at times sad, even with dance it still grows
Keep the music playing, go away sad thoughts
I am a survivor, of the battles I�ve fought
Now my battle has become, one with myself
So keep dancing in life, got to get off my shelf
The battles won, the music has started
Let the melody begin, as the sadness departs!
poem by Donna Nimmo
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Juke Box Music
Theres a lady plays her favrite records
On the jukebox evry day.
All day long she plays the same old songs,
And she believes the things that they say.
Other ladies like to prance around
And flirt and dance the whole night through,
But she just sits and listens to here juke box records,
cause thats all that she wants to do.
She sings along with all the saddest songs,
And she believes the stories are real.
She lets the music dictate the way that she feels.
Its only juke box music,
Only juke box music.
Its only music,
Only juke box music,
Only juke box music.
Seems to me shes in a fantasy.
Shes livin in a world of her own.
And we all agree that shes a mystery,
Because shed rather be all alone.
Evry guy will do his best to try
To put that music out of her head.
Forget all the songs,
And just dance to the music instead.
Its only juke box music,
Only juke box music.
Its only music,
Only juke box music,
Only juke box music.
Its all because of that music
That were slowly driftin apart.
But its only there to dance to,
So you shouldnt take it to heart.
Music, only juke box music.
Only music, only juke box music.
(repeat)
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For Shrill The Piper Plays His Tune
When thoughts are idle wanderings
Words tumbled round and round
When feelings they turn inwardly
Still I hear the piper's sound.
When happiness is broken
And the Kings and Queens are gone
The piper's tune keeps playing
And I hear his victory song.
For even when awoken
From the sleepiness of time
There's a distant music playing
Heard clear within my mind
For shrill the piper plays his tune
That beckons every day
And when his tune is full played out
He carries us away.
No-one has seen this piper man
And no-one has seen him play
But we all can hear his mournfulness
And fear for what he'll say
No folds of fathered cornfields
And no breaking of the bread
The piper's tune keeps playing
With his words as yet unsaid.
For shrill the piper plays his tune
That beckons every day
And when his tune is full played out
He carries us away.
We can all hear if we but try
The piper's song so sweet
The musings and meanderings
Of souls lost whole complete
No piper plays before we're born
Before we touch the earth
The piper's tunes they all begin
From the moment of our birth.
For shrill the piper plays his tune
Like happiness disease'd
And all the notes that he plays out
Are our moments ill at ease.
Not one of us pays him to play
Nor gives him any score
For every note that he blows out
Is fully paid before
We entertain our wanderings
And confusion in the mind
For the piper's very soul turns out
To be both yours and mine.
For shrill the piper plays his tune
That beckons every day
And when his tune is full played out
He carries us away.
poem by David Keig
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Street Dancer
I ask a street dancer-Why do you dance?
This street is my grand stage,
The passers-by are my precious audience,
Little rupees they gave me are least important,
I dance to the tune of drums and flute,
As my feet dance to the music, bangles ringing,
My body floats with my spirit,
At the very peak of ecstasy,
the noise of the street is silent to me,
and I feel the madonna in me.
When I dance, the pain of this world disappears,
sadness is a far distance,
I see beauty and colours surrounding me,
I hear music in my heart,
Filling it with love and satisfaction.
When night comes to visit,
and the dance come to a close,
I rest my tired body-
And dream, a beautiful dancer dancing to a prince.
poem by Spiritual Seeker
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Transmission
Radio, live transmission.
Radio, live transmission.
Listen to the silence, let it ring on.
Eyes, dark grey lenses frightened of the sun.
We would have a fine time living in the night,
Left to blind destruction,
Waiting for our sight.
And we would go on as though nothing was wrong.
And hide from these days we remained all alone.
Staying in the same place, just staying out the time.
Touching from a distance,
Further all the time.
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.
Well I could call out when the going gets tough.
The things that we've learnt are no longer enough.
of the show
And we could dance.
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.
Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Dance For Relief!
Dancing is an art that makes one forget all worries;
Dancing to a tune relieves one a while from tensions;
Dancing according to music makes one really free!
Dancing and singing make one enjoy pleasure fine.
Dancing, singing and playing music makes one divine!
Shaking of body, hands and legs beautifully is dance;
Sake dance, break dance, clap dance are all real fun!
Dancing makes one healthy and beautiful life long!
Dancing is a balancing art as the Stars do in the Universe!
Dancing for balance is beauty that attracts all to dance
And make the company joyous to forget time and worries.
So, man visualized God as Divine Lord of Dance to dance!
Dancing, singing and playing music is a wonderful art
Poetry has prompted man to visualize and realize in life!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Postmodern picture
Heart, gold, stone,
dance salome,
dance,
decapitate my head, just dance,
with youre divine hips
make me smile,
i can't translate my vision of the world,
youre green eyes,
the clearest pearls of a murderer,
bring me closer to my death,
dance,
dance,
dance and be damn
by all gods,
just dance and
make my world
the best world ever
poem by Robert Ravenšćak
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Who Art Thou?
Who art thou playing the eternal lyre,
Harmonize the discordant world;
Extinguish the burning fire?
Who art thou play the eternal lyre?
You create on one hand,
Destruct on the other!
Who art thou singing the song of Eternity,
Thou turn tempest into music,
And flow peace in the heart of Humanity?
Who art thou flash through
The thundercloud, and shower through rain,
Wipe out our mental pain,
Just to put us in belief,
That thou art here?
Who art thou play the eternal lyre?
(There are some eternal questions- who has kept this world in unity? Is He God? Does He expose Him through the objects of nature?)
poem by Nilakshi Das
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