Coleridge on poets
'A great Poet must have
... the ear of a wild Arab
listening in the silent Desert;
the eye of a North American Indian
tracing the footsteps of an Enemy
upon the leaves that strew the forest;
the Touch of a Blind Man
feeling the face
of a darling Child. '
(set out as verse from Coleridge's prose)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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American Child
I was ten, I was thin,
I was playing first base
With a secondhand glove
And dirt on my face
In nowhere, Virginia
Who'd ever figure that kid in the yard
Would go very far
It was 419 Lakewood ,
had no silverspoons
Just an old beat up upright
that played out of tune
Now I'm singin' and living the life that I love
And when I count my blessings
I thank God I was an American child
An American child
'Cause dreams can grow wild
Born inside an American child
Seven pounds, three ounces,
She's got my nose
And she's into my heart as deep as it goes
With a promise that's more
Than just someone's last name
Anyone's equal, in late August came
An American child
An American child
'Cause dreams can grow wild
Born inside an American child
My grandfather would have been eighty today
But in '45 he fell down beside
An American child
An American child
Oh, an American child
'Cause dreams can grow wild born inside
An American child
song performed by by Phil Vassar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A great actor is independent of the poet, because the supreme essence of feeling does not reside in prose or in verse, but in the accent with which it is delivered.
quote by Lee Strasberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lake Poets
You have heard of William Wordsworth he was bard of Cockermouth
And he truly was a great poet if that ever was in doubt
And with Southey and With Coleridge they became known as the lake poets
And they made the Lake District famous and some famous poems they wrote.
Robert Southey was a fine poet he was slave to poetry
And he was for awhile Poet Laureate proves the great poet he must be
And though he is not well known as Coleridge and Wordsworth's is a greater name
He tends to be under rated and deserve a better fame.
And as for Samuel Taylor Coleridge a name verse critics celebrate
His works were born of genius a poetic all time great
The Rhyme Of The Ancient Mariner his masterpiece and some say
Is even greater than the famous elegy of Gray
And as for himself Will Wordsworth his fame seem to grow and grow
He has fifty times as many readers nowadays as he had one hundred years ago
When one talks of poets and poetry Wordsworth's name can't be left out
A testimony to the greatness of the Bard of Cockermouth.
Coleridge, Southey and Wordsworth geniuses all three
Their names inscribed in glory and poetic history
They lived in the Lake District that beautiful English country side
And due to the fame of these men the Lake District is known World wide.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Twin
the vastness of love
can be a desert
or a wild forest
in the desert the winds
of emptiness blows
all day
in the wild forest the
heavy rains pour
all year round
in said places
time like sand spills
people imagine all the
ghosts of pains
and so i wonder
what love really is
in the vast forest
a bee complains that it is homeless
a butterfly cries on broken wings
in the desert the skull of a horse
is watched by still
hungry vultures
after all
what happened
so, is pain actually love's
twin sister?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Eighteenth-Nineteenth Century Verse
France is the country of poems and prose
the lovely French language tells us so.
Romantic love in classical verse
dates back to Voltaire from days long ago.
The 18th century brought poets from Paris
writing about France and the Seine,
and so many other Parisian wonders
that lie in that fertile plain.
Yes France was a country of talent
In England, Wordsworth stole the scene
whilst Coleridge, another fine English poet
wrote lyrical verse about Pastures Green.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Wild Forest Flower
Rough around the edges but a tender center
This is my wild forest flower
Short and slender with long flowing blonde hair
This is my wild forest flower
A loving heart that goes beyond what I can see
This is my wild forest flower
I want to hold my flower in my hands
Wondering why she holds back and refuses to stand
I water it every now and then to watch it grow
But it takes too long because it’s a little slow
So I wait patiently for the flower to begin to rise
Even though I can still hear the weeping willows cries
Firm and hard headed but with a loving touch
This is my wild forest flower
Always hiding and always scared like a little child
This is my wild forest flower
The only one im willing to be with anymore
This is my wild forest flower
A darkened hush rises in the sky above my flower
The roots slowly exposing themselves out of fear
A forest fire begins in the distance soon to consume it
The fire rages ready to consume the small thing in power
This little bitty flower that I love and hold so dear
but I laugh because I know how this fire got lit
poem by Branden Aeling
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Oh Fairest of the Rural Maids
Oh fairest of the rural maids!
Thy birth was in the forest shades;
Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky,
Were all that met thy infant eye.
Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child,
Were ever in the sylvan wild;
And all the beauty of the place
Is in thy heart and on thy face.
The twilight of the trees and rocks
Is in the light shade of thy locks;
Thy step is as the wind, that weaves
Its playful way among the leaves.
Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene
And silent waters heaven is seen;
Their lashes are the herbs that look
On their young figures in the brook.
The forest depths, by foot unpressed,
Are not more sinless than thy breast;
The holy peace, that fills the air
Of those calm solitudes, is there.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Poet And Woman
Woman, you are incomplete without poet,
Poet, you are also imperfect without woman.
The soil is incomple without the root of trees,
The sky is incomple without the clouds,
stars or the shining Moon,
The river is dead without the dancing of waves,
And, the poet's heart is a desert without a woman's love.
The forest is incomplete without the wild animals,
The sun is lost in darkness without its light,
The trees are but a row of emptiness-
without the chirping of the birds,
And, a woman is but half without a poet's imagination.
poem by Nazmul Haque
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Footsteps
Footsteps in the dark
Only love will break your heart
Footsteps, footsteps
Whenever trouble comes around
Or lonely nights lead underground
And far in the dark
Abandoned cars suddenly start up
An anxious sound
As long as I hear your footsteps
In the dark thats all I need
Footsteps in the dark
Only love will break your heart
Footsteps, footsteps
When loneliness induces fear
Like waves against a
Ramshackle pier
When thunder and rain
Scar the windowpane once again
I want you near
As long as I hear your footsteps
In the dark thats all I need
Im longing to see you
I want you, I need you
Like a child who feels afraid
Of the dark at night
Hoping to hear a gentle touch
Turning on a welcome light
As long as I hear your footsteps
In the dark thats all I need
As long as I hear your footsteps
In the dark thats all I need
Footsteps in the dark
Only love will break your heart
Footsteps, footsteps
Footsteps in the dark
Only love will break your heart
Footsteps, footsteps
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scars
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Ive stood upon my mountaintop
And shouted at the sky
Walked above the pavement
With my sense amplified
--- I get this feeling
All my nerves are naked wires
Tender to the touch
Sometimes super-sensitive
But who can care too much?
--- I get this feeling
Scars of pleasure
Scars of pain
Atmospheric changes
Make them sensitive again
Each emotional injury
Leaves behind its mark
Sometimes they come tumbling out
Like shadows in the dark
--- I get this feeling
When I think about all I have seen
And all Ill never see
When I think about the people
Who have opened up to me
--- I get this feeling
Snow falls deep around my house
And holds the winter light
Ive heard the lions hunting
In the serengeti night
--- I get this feeling
Forests turned to factories
And river, sea, and sky
Hungry child in the desert
And the flies that cloud her eyes
--- I get this feeling
Pleasure leaves a fingerprint
As surely as mortal pain
In memories they resonate
And echo back again
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Indian Summer
A concept eternal breathes,
Rustling the leaves of the wild forest night,
Indian summer is calling,
The men of midnight shadows await their time to fall.
poem by David Lacey
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Morning Musings A La Prayer To The Wind And The River
there is pain on my right side
there is something living in there and growing
it is silent
and decent and reserved
it is blind and like all blind creatures
its sense of touch has been well defined
it is touching me
and listening
i am ignoring it
it can take me soon to places that i know
exist and can ostracize me from
friends
it can silence me too
like a raging river that finds its
place of peace
some brown leaves float there
on undisturbed waters
i can hear only the soft wings of butterflies
fluttering
somehow there is pain that sometimes i cannot ignore
but i have accepted them
as my new friends
it will stay with me and then will take me
and i will be gone
but i have always been a brave man
and i am not
at all
complaining
after all, i own nothing and will take nothing
it is it that owns me and so it is it that will take me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Listening Week
This is the listening week of the year
Listening-in.
A-cock and alert is the national ear
Listening-in.
All over the land in the country towns,
From the back of the Leeuwin to Darling Downs,
Layers of 'quids' or the odd half-crowns,
They are listening-in.
On the far-flung farms they are round each set,
Listening-in.
The work and the worry they all forget,
Listening-in.
Wherever an aerial soars in space
To the Cup, or the Oaks or the Steeplechase,
To the roar of the ring and the lure of the race
They are listening-in.
In the far outback there are sun-tanned men,
Listening-in.
Where the woolshed stands by the drafting pen
Listening-in.
Old Dad's come in from the Ninety Mile;
He scored on the Cup and he wears a smile,
And he 'reckons this game is well worth while'
So he's listening in.
To the edge of the desert the sound-waves go;
And, listening-in,
Ned of the Overland, Saltbush Joe
Listening-in
Recall the giants of years long past,
And the loneliness of these spaces vast;
But they reckon that life's worth living at last
With this listening-in.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Mystic Child
It was only the time of the newly born dead
With wispy cobwebs in your head
The polar moon looked out instead
Goin wild
Liquor shifting through the brain
The manic depressive goes insane
Goin wild
Goin wild
Desperate anger hits the streets
By the foul smelling river by the meat market
Goin wild
Mystic child
Goin wild
Mystic child
In the winter with frozen toes
Looking out the big windows
To fly
Goin wild
Situation x out of control
My eyes half opened like a mole
Who smiles
Goin wild
Who smiles
Goin wild
In the mystic morning where the river meets
The hurdy-gurdy of the hip-hop beat
5 a.m. the viscous street
Oh, wild
Goin wild
Out the window like a flash
Fallin through a rooftop crash
Blind
Goin wild
Sick and misty like a pup by the curb
Hes throwin up
Wild
Like a child
Goin wild
Like a child
If he cant have all that relates
To testify that he is great
Hell cut someone with a broken plate
Stand upon the subway grate
And smile
Goin wild
Goin wild
With a smile
Holy morning
Sun is up and someone
Here has lost his cups
The dawn is tattered all cut up
Goin wild
Like a mystic child
Like a mystic child
Sunday morning looking down from the rooftop
Goin wild with a smile
Mystic child
Top of the world hes got it made
Rings are gold, braids are jade
Jumped to the street, hes got it made
Goodbye, child
Goodbye, child
Mystic child
Goin wild
Like a mystic child
Goodbye
Goodbye
Goin wild, ah
Goin wild
Like a mystic child
Holy morning
Sun is up and someone
Going wild
Like a mystic, like a mystic, like a mystic -
- child
Goin-goin, goin-goin wild
Like a mystic child
Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh
Oh-oh-oh, oh
Jumped to the street
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Eight Times the Shakespearean Sonnet Number
So sacred is my motherland India;
So sacred is my state called Tamilnad;
So sacred are its rivers, Himalaya;
An Indian citizen born, I’m so glad!
I’m proud to be my mother’s eighth male child;
I’m proud to be a man believing God;
I’m proud to be a Nature’s lover wild;
I’m proud to be an Indian Poet mod.
Thanks to my schooling, good education then;
Thanks to my good up-bringing by parents;
Thanks to my God for my talents and ken;
Thanks to my earthly-life and common sense.
Let me perform something that’s truly great!
’Tis God Almighty who can change one’s fate!
8-8-2001
Dedicated to all my NRI brethren world-o'er!
Be proud of your origin always!
Be patriotic!
poem by John Celes
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Song (Untitled #7)
Thou to me art such a spring
As the Arab seeks at eve,
Thirsty from the shining sands;
There to bathe his face and hands,
While the sun is taking leave,
And dewy sleep is a delicious thing.
Thou to me art such a dream
As he dreams upon the grass,
While the bubbling coolness near
Makes sweet music in his ear;
And the stars that slowly pass
In solitary grandeur o'er him gleam.
Thou to me art such a dawn
As the dawn whose ruddy kiss
Wakes him to his darling steed;
And again the desert speed,
And again the desert bliss,
Lightens thro' his veins, and he is gone!
poem by George Meredith
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Poet's Thirst
Why do I thirst to pen a verse?
Would prose not do as well?
The rhyme is music to my ears
and the lyrical swell
can never be found in prose
and so I say to those.
'Write your story in novel form
or fictionalize your book.
I will pen my verse instead
and capture you with my hook.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Tracing
Do you ever get the feeling
that were starting in the middle
or do u ever have the sense
that we are lying just a little
I mean come on
its not like we have known ourselves that long
and I cant say I really blame you
for being bored with the beginning
always staring at the score
to figure out whose barely winning
but dont you know
that there is a reason strong moves slow
and I'm ok.. if you're ok.. with wasting time
but when you trace
you always see the bottom line
we are tracing... I hope you know... we are tracing
and if you want to know the moment
I knew that I was still alone
I found I never learned your number
I only stored it in my phone
You think by now
I'd know the shape of calling home..
And I'm ok.. if you're ok.. with wasting time
and when you trace
you always see the bottom line..
we are tracing.. I hope you know.. We are tracing
were both alone..
we are tracing
Did you ever get the feeling
that we started in the middle
or do u ever have the sense
that we are lying just a little
I mean come on
its not like we knew ourselves that long
song performed by by John Mayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Christmas Means To Me
Verse 1)
Oh yeah...
Candles burnin' low,
Lot's of mistle toe.
Lot'sof snow and ice,
Eveywhere we go.
Choirs singin' carols,
Right outside my door.
(Chorus)
All these things and more
(All these things and more)
That's what Chrstmas means to me my love
(That's what Christmas means to me my love)
Oh yeah,
Hy hy yeah eah eah
(Verse 2)
And ya know what I mean
I see your smilin' face
Like I never seen before
Even though I love ya madly
It seems I love you more
And little cards you give me
Will touch my heart for sure
(Chorus)
All these things and more, darling
(All these things and more)
Whoah!
That's what Chrstmas means to me my love
(That's what Christmas means to me my love)
(Verse 3)
Oh yeah ha ha!
I feel like runnin' wild
As eaches and a little child
Greet you neath the mistle toe
Kiss you once and then some more
And wish you a Merry Christmas baby
(Wish you a Merry Christmas baby)
And such happiness in the comin' year
Oh baby
Let's deck the halls with holly
Sing sweet silent night
Fill a sheet with angel hair
And pretty, pretty lights
Go to seep and wake up
Just before daylight
(Chorus)
All these things and more, baby
(All these things and more)
Whoah!
That's what Chrismas means to me my love
(That's what Christmas means to me my love)
Oh baby baby!
Yeah!
Candles burnin' low
Lots and lots of snow
Alright!
Christmas bells are ringin'
Christmas choirs singin'
Whoo!
Christmas mistletoe
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Before a Poetry Reading
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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