Medieval English Cathedral
Once I had this fanciful idea of recording
the silence in each great cathedral
and marketing these...
As you pull open the worn and squeaky door
there's a strange moment of apprehension as if
you're not sure what will greet you - a fullness
or an emptiness; a football-stadium roar
or a silence; an earfull of praise or
a mindfull of questions...
but the first step inside, and a silent gasp -
it's bigger inside than outside...
and the sound of your steps soars to the high
indescribably glorious roof like a
small bird looking for an escape.
so that you'd like to sing a note or two
to hear them repeated by those
invisible angels of the echo, waiting poised
in the stoniness of the walls and roof
like the mountain cliffs and valleys
from whence the stone was dragged
by devotion.
and you feel an intruder into the space of history
waiting for you to find your place.
How wonderful if at this moment, history unreeled;
played itself backwards; and as the years rolled back,
the cathedral nave would fill with the quietly respectful
devout. Then back again, and the voices would be more raw,
rich with the earth they'd just been tending.
Would the praise, to our ears, sound more heartfelt?
we'll never know.
Reel back again to that almost
unimaginable scene - the walls rising, still part built;
the clambering masons, chisels singing on the stone,
lifted only a little lower than the angels
on wooden planks on slender wooden scaffold,
the squeal of pulleys, the sudden silence of tools
and the call for the master mason;
and up there where the roof is still blue-grey sky,
the occasional bird from an optimistic nest
built the year before in the part-built spire, fluttering,
searching for a crumb or two from
the mason's heady meal
as birds may wheel again over half-there walls
when please God no the roof falls in and
respectful visitors walk down the tidy gravelled path
where once the aisle was walked, bowed head and singing,
but now so neatly grassed where pews and praise once stood,
remarking out aloud or in their heart
how the silence is, still, living, there.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Related quotes
0009 Medieval English Cathedral
Once I had this fanciful idea of recording
the silence in each great cathedral
and marketing these...
As you pull open the worn and squeaky door
there's a strange moment of apprehension as if
you're not sure what will greet you - a fullness
or an emptiness; a football-stadium roar
or a silence; an earfull of praise or
a mindfull of questions...
but the first step inside, and a silent gasp -
it's bigger inside than outside...
and the sound of your steps soars to the high
indescribably glorious roof like a
small bird looking for an escape.
so that you'd like to sing a note or two
to hear them repeated by those
invisible angels of the echo, waiting poised
in the stoniness of the walls and roof
like the mountain cliffs and valleys
from whence the stone was dragged
by devotion.
and you feel an intruder into the space of history
waiting for you to find your place.
How wonderful if at this moment, history unreeled;
played itself backwards; and as the years rolled back,
the cathedral nave would fill with the quietly respectful
devout. Then back again, and the voices would be more raw,
rich with the earth they'd just been tending.
Would the praise, to our ears, sound more heartfelt?
we'll never know.
Reel back again to that almost
unimaginable scene - the walls rising, still part built;
the clambering masons, chisels singing on the stone,
lifted only a little lower than the angels
on wooden planks on slender wooden scaffold,
the squeal of pulleys, the sudden silence of tools
and the call for the master mason;
and up there where the roof is still blue-grey sky,
the occasional bird from an optimistic nest
built the year before in the part-built spire, fluttering,
searching for a crumb or two from
the mason's heady meal
as birds may wheel again over half-there walls
when please God no the roof falls in and
respectful visitors walk down the tidy gravelled path
where once the aisle was walked, bowed head and singing,
but now so neatly grassed where pews and praise once stood,
remarking out aloud or in their heart
how the silence is, still, living, there.
(revisited)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Walls
Walls of stone and walls of brick,
Some walls thin and some walls thick,
Walls so high and walls so low,
Walls to hide and walls to show.
Walls quite short and walls quite tall,
Some walls, last well, some walls fall,
Walls for comfort, walls of hate,
Walls for security, walls ornate.
Some as a barricade, some to support,
Walls of wood and walls of iron wrought,
Walls as a barrier, walls to enclose,
Some are to sit on, some to lean and doze.
Walls we build ourselves, these aren't good,
Walls for privacy, walls that have stood,
So many years through weather foul or fine,
Walls, that are yours, walls that are mine.
Brick by brick they are built to last,
Whether built now or in the past,
They shelter us from so many things,
And shield us from whatever this life brings.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Ministriles de marsias: stral fungente d amore
Ten angels praising
Ten angels singing
Alleluia alleluia alleluia
Praise be God
Praise be God
Of the MOST HIGH
Angelic voices
Pure pure pure
I am listening
My neck is growing
Giraffe like
My thorax is
Inflamed
The sound of heaven
Is to me, unbearable
Praise be God
Praise be God
I am listening and my ears are growing
Elephant like
I am flapping my spirit
The sound of heaven
Is to me, uncertain
Praise be God
Praise be God
The Most High
I marvel at the sound of ten angels singing
I marvel at the sound of the angels praising
My heart is growing
My body is shrinking
My brain is shrinking
Look! Look!
Praise be God
Praise be God
The Most High
I am a huge heart
Jumping with joy
Filled with holy air
Like a rubber ball bouncing to the sky!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Silver Bird
This morning as I walked, I gazed out across my land
Lying there all still lying there upon the sand
A big silver bird had planted itself into the ground
And being the kind of person who isnt very easily alarmed
Decided to take a walk to see just what I could find
Walked around the walls, tapping to find me a door
Looking for a windows to see if I could find out more
Big silver bird let me inside your plane
Want to fly so high fly me high, away
All of a sudden the door slid back and someone was there
A strange kind of being spoke to me in my tongue
Step inside, well take you away in our plane
Well fly you so high, youll never have the chance to complain
To leave this earth, never even (? ? ? ) ...
Stepping inside I fixed myself into a seat
Holding on, lord, I heard them engines start to beat
Big silver bird let me inside your plane
Want to fly so high, fly me high away
(instrumental part)
song performed by by Ufo
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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Shatterproof
I see those newly weds
Their eyes wide and believing
They bill and coo at the mention of chez nous
Appearances can be deceiving
Its just a door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
A door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
We papered over all the cracks
And painted a cats lick and a promise
The landlord was a man of few words
And most of them were ominous
Its just a door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
A door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
It was nothing really to write home about
Then one day it all appears too much
Here comes my little hammer and its shatterproof touch
He said, be practical,
These are most unreasonable demands.
Forget about the broken spectacles
And the damage to your hand.
Its just a door and a window
Four walls and a roof
And the doctors say Im almost shatterproof
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silence Is...
Silence is an absence
Silence is profound
Silence is a conversation
Being had without sound
Silence is an expression
One that cannot be heard
Silence cannot be spoken
Although it is a word
Silence is a presence
Of great nothingness
Silence can be something
And yet cease to exist
Silence can fill a room
And have no mass at all
Silence cannot be dropped, yet it can fall
Silence is a mystery
That will forever go unsolved
Silence is how every sound can swiftly be dissolved
Silence is the sound of rest
The only sound that can sound best
While other sounds can cause great pain
Silence is not the sound to blame
For Silence is what silence is
Something that is nothing
Nothing that exists
poem by Kyle.J Carruthers
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A Moment Of Silence
Bow your head and listen
its a lesson to learn
yet it your not getting
but you raise your hand to ask a question
but no one can answer
so you bow your head in silence
they all begin to laugh
not with you but at you
you sit alone because theres nothing you can do
you ask for peace
to be left alone
but tears fall when your on your own
burning memories
and riping pasts
hoping for moments that will last
so listen now and listen good
because my ears are open
atleast someones should
poor it all out to me open your heart
all of it builds up inside
so its tearing you a part
can we have a moment of silence
for the times you tried but in the end failed
a moment of silence for when the truths revailed
and someone actually wants to listen
a moment of silence for concentration
hear your heart beat
so when you look up you'd be standing by me
Can we have a moment of silence?
poem by Yahdaj Roseney
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When The Stone Begins To Turn
I come here for dr. king
Who gave the people a precious thing
He found a light in the darkest hour
And the strength for speaking truth to power
And in the years since they shot him down
You see changes that once were a dream
Begin to come around
When the walls have begun to crumble
When the laws have begun to burn
When the winds is singing freedom
When the stone begins to turn
And I come here to praise mandela
And to send this message to his jailer
Your walls may hold the man inside
But theyll never ever hold back the tide
cause in the years youve shut him away
A generation has grown where he stood
Theyre gonna see the day
When the walls have begun to crumble
When the laws have begun to burn
When the wind is singing freedom
When the stone begins to turn
We come here to sing for freedom
And to send our voices to the ones who need them
Freedom for south africa
And justice for nelson mandela
cause in the years theyve shut him away
A generation has grown where he stood
Were gonna see the day
When the walls have begun to crumble
When the laws have begun to burn
When the wind is singing freedom
When the stone begins to turn
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tis Breath, Then.... (Part Two)
tis breath, then...
(and still spirits dormant in the night,
leaf, stone, branch, river...
forgotten ants, snails, and crickets,
spiders with infinite webs.
the wolf's howl in waiting,
the owl perfectly still.
worms working silence,
the wings of small birds...
waiting, waiting, waiting...)
tis breath, then...
carrying the plague of war,
deep into the ignorance.
walls built of fear,
and the hunger that devours.
draining color, caged, and panting...
breath crying out for breath,
sorrow unto sorrow...
but tis breath, then...
that forming tongues of soul and spirit,
that falling like passion scented rain,
binds darkness unto darkness,
holding sound in echo's palm.
that rises to the fall,
and falls to the rising.
swallows distance with intimate longing...
calling forth stars and moonlight!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Place Of My Dreams
Nobody ever walked this path before
-before trees grew here nearly touching the sky,
I am alone safely inside a world of my own-
A world where only deer roam and birds fly about-
Cardinals, robins and sometimes
I believed I saw angels-
Angels singing in harmony with bird songs-
The wind would rustle the leaves upon the trees and
In the early summertime, cicadas would sing incessantly-
Incessantly and melodiously-
Only one day I heard a different sound-
The sounds of footsteps and children screaming,
Following closely behind me-
I would hide behind a tall oak tree and I would almost weep as
My solitude has been interrupted and
I am no longer safe as my private world had been invaded-
Nobody ever walked this path before until this day and
My dream has been transformed to a nightmare-
I am not safe in a world destroyed by the presence of strangers-
Cardinals, robins and cicadas are my friends and
Other people are my enemies whom I do not trust-
Following in my footsteps and trying to make eye contact,
To read the verses of the songs my mind composes?
I know I have seen angels and heard them singing, and
Birds chanting along with the gentle winds
Rustling the leaves upon the trees-
But now other people have discovered the path,
upon which I have walked alone,
And my secure space has become a public tenement-
I once believed nobody ever walked this path before,
This path to which I could escape reality and lose myself inside
The magnificent world of my delusions-now they have come to take me away and
To lock me inside this prison which I cannot escape?
I cannot hear the angels singing here and birds are seemingly far away-
Here I have lost myself inside my own world,
one so different and so frightening?
There are people here, so close to me, yet I feel so alone-
Although alone in a dangerous way- I am singing my own song,
Hoping that the angels can hear me and one day I shall be back in unison with nature,
Far away from intruders and singing in harmony with nightingales –
And once again, alone safely,
as I shall have abandoned the nightmare of reality,
Touching the sky in my dreams, dancing with angels as I listen to the cicadas chanting
Happily as they are lost inside the world of their fantasies, just as I wish to be…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Dark
What will I do with a fountain
of time
my silence
is a well without a dropp of water
I can weep in the dark
weep and its silence will hear me
but it will close its eyes
it will not speak
the evening will tread on
quietly an old man
it will walk on without looking back
without seeing where its shadow
sleeps
and I can say wait where
are you going
and I can think of all the places I can think of
I can think of walls walls walls
of walls behind which anything lurks
I can lock myself
in a closet full of clothes not my size
fill my pockets with dust
or take off my clothes and imagine
my skin is ice
and I will be standing here
where I am standing stepping on moments
that sharpen into hours like thorns
into my feet
the wound in my heart is deep
the pain does not answer to any name
where is the door
the window the door
*reprinted from a friend
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On The Roof Again (Callout Hook 1)
In the throws of young love Leroy
Didn't think to think and in the blink of an eye
Tied the knot not knowing how to not know
He was the prodigal son this girl had brought him home
He moved out of his step dad's apartment
He moved in with this cute Guatemalan
Things were copasetic 'til she caught him
Things were cool and collected 'til she found him erected with another
Shit went bad he's on the roof again
She flipped, he flipped the bird
And then he went to the roof where his threats ring loud and clear
Gonna jump gonna jump gonna die this year
Got screwed by the horse that he rode in on
Riding high on his whims had only gotten him down
He moved back to his step dad's apartment
Where he put himself back together 'til
She came back he's on the roof again
She flipped, he flipped the bird
And then he went to the roof where his threats ring loud and clear
Gonna jump gonna jump gonna die this year
Your heinous highness broke her hymen hey man try to quit your crying
I know she broke your heart but try to come try to come down
Shit went bad he's on the roof again
She flipped, he flipped the bird
And then he went to the roof where his threats ring loud and clear
Gonna jump gonna jump gonna die this year
song performed by by Eve 6
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A True Companion!
we collide,
rogue stars travelling darkness,
upper lip and bottom lip,
the knife and the flesh.
searching, forever searching,
for the sound inside raindrops,
and the way stone tastes,
where no one has walked.
fire and log, or log and fire,
we care not...
drinking the paint off the walls,
releasing storm, scattering dust.
sound and echo, or echo and sound...
we lay naked on the steps,
of journey and fire!
if just for a moment,
lived before, perhaps again...
we find a true companion
who asks nothing more than time!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Leaning On The Wall
you see me leaning
on the wall
you think that i am
about to faint
and you signal
if you can help
but i am quick
with my hand
waiving
no i am alright
i am feeling the wall
i am listening
to its ears
there is this
hardness on walls
that i like to know
there is this
silence of the walls
that i like to hear
from its very ears
you think i am
weak and sick
you think i am
the one that
darwin says
may be
exterminated
come to think of it
these walls
are the walls
built by my father
and his father's father
they feel my body
and they say
i am doing well
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sermon of the Birds
I was clearing thirty or forty acres once
Out in the western range near Nightcap Mountain.
And as I was working, I heard a gathering of the crows
Singing out in a jungle gully. Their clamorous cries
Drawed the attention of all the other birds.
Jackass and butcher-bird, soldier-bird, sparrow-bird,
Scrub-robin, magpie, and the black and white cockatoo,
They all flew down to the crows in the jungle-gully.
And I followed after their clamour, and in the midst
Of all the splendid excitement of the birds
I heard one feller was singing above them all.
It was the lyre-bird, the mimic of all the scrub,
And they held this beautiful sermon or half an hour.
The birds would stop and listen a while but still
That beautiful voice, the lyre-bird, would keep on singing
And draw then and join them all to a chorus again.
And as I stood there and listened, the Scriptures was
Hitting me all the time. The sermon seemed
Like the prophecy when Christ shall come and summon
The birds, the valleys, the hills, the mountains and the ocean
To sing in praise of the grace and the reckoning day,
And the beauty of earth in the splendour that He crated.
And I went back and told my people of what I had seen,
And the sermon of praise I heard in the mountain range.
poem by Roland Robinson
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In Silence
In silence, you can hear
the scratching of a pen across paper.
In silence, you can hear
the rhythmic sound
of your heart beating
telling you you are alive.
In silence, you can hear
the screech of a demon call.
In silence, you can hear
the murmur of a baby
just moments before
they begin to awake.
In silence, you can hear
your memories calling.
In silence, you are transported
back in your life
into days long gone by
under sun-drenched skies.
In silence, you can hear
your voice of loneliness.
In silence, you are there
within the confines
of your inner self
and forever alone in silence.
11 May 2012
poem by David Harris
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First Of All, Santa...The Roof Is Pitched
Dear Santa...
It is easier for me to accept I have been scammed,
Most of my life.
Than to continue playing the same mental games,
That you ride in a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer.
And that you land on my roof...
To then fit your enormous girth through a chimney.
First of all, Santa...
The roof is pitched.
And I doubt if you and your flying reindeer,
Could balance on it.
And the closest thing we have to a chimney,
Is a hole in the roof...
The landlord has been promising to fix,
Since my folks tried to pass off a stuffed chicken...
As a turkey for Thanksgiving a month ago.
However...
IF you are real and you find this note,
I am taping outside my window...
Leave me everything you think I deserve.
AND 'if' you do get this note without me hearing you,
I will believe everything about you I have ever heard.
You see,
My bedroom window is on the third floor.
And every night before I go to bed,
I would have a long talk with the angels there.
And I've been waiting to hear something from them,
To say negative about you.
But all they do is smile and walk through my walls at night.
And...
I bet you do the same thing!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Silence Echos
Silence
makes my heart break
Silence
Love, does not make
Silence
Was it all just a terrible mistake?
Silence
Was love just a game, just fake?
Silence
Leaves me heartbroken
Silence
Kills he feeling behind words unspoken
Silence
has is a shield you hide behind
Silence
Guards what's on your mind
Silence
Chills your heart's sound
Silence
Love cannot silently be found
Silence
has turned your dreams blind
Silence
is darkness in which you cannot find
Silence
Crushes the hopeful feelings that were kind
Silence
Of emptiness it did remind
Silence
Silence took all I sought to find
Silence
Silence was hurtful and unkind
Silence
Will kill love before it ripens on the vine
Love will go silently
But it's lonely hurt will echo for all time
poem by James T. Adair
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Silence Is
Silence is sitting back in the recliner after a day
at work when the radio was too loud.
Silence is hearing the birds singing after hearing
neighbors bickering.
Silence is listening to beloved hymns after hearing
yourself complaining about things that cannot be changed.
Silence is reading the words of Rumi after reading news of
rape, murder and molestation.
When one is silent about another's wrongdoings, silence is
the sound of the devil shouting. So speak up, and he will
not be heard!
When one is silent in prayer and rest, silence is the sound
of God talking. So speak up, so He may be heard!
Yes, when God talks to you, let Him talk through you!
Be silent no longer!
poem by Greg Oosterhouse
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