Accord
Accord
Step splintered walk through the sun
Who drew those feet like two lonely leaves
That never heard for each other
By a rootless tree
Who blew the wind
Into the sight of those
Black ashen eyes spreading over
The water that rests in a Sunday morn
Who tied that hair
And with which hands
Which fingers dragged
The ties into naught.
Accord
Like an accord of the distant music
Spreading horizons into merging hues
Splitting earth sky border
Who forgot
This thin line thinning even more
Up to the point of not ever being recognized
But still somehow breaking the heart
Once in accord
Reconciled?
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Related quotes
All are hypocrites
We mould our words in accord
With the readers in mind.
We mould our deeds in accord
With the respondents.
We write songs in accord
With the audience.
Who aren’t hypocrites
In their words and deeds?
09.12.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Ego boundary overstepped bright
it is the space between
a silence and a sound
that makes the most beautiful
accord in the world
the power point of creation
the counterpoint of singing
a turning point of a life
never to die out
it's a transcedence light
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Perfections Highway
Do you feel the tapping of your feet.
Do you sense a quickening of the beat.
Rhythm in colour, rhythm in design,
Rhythm in your ear, rhythm in mine.
Hear the music liven up your soul.
Hear the notes as vibrating sounds control.
Let the pulsation give a serene touch,
Let the tempo mean to you, so much.
Sweet melody, weaving pleasant dreams.
Sweet melody, is always what it seems.
In accord, let intricate songs entwine,
In accord, they mingle, all so fine.
Come now, let the volume swell and strain.
Come now, let it be your best loved refrain.
For you, great symphonies will start to play.
For you, cloud nine’s perfections highway.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Music Flows Through Me
Music flows through me
its in my blood
it courses through my veins
all the way to my toes
they tap the beat
the music makes its way to my fingers
they itch to play my music
they move on their own accord
and suddenly from my cello
springs the music that is my life source
poem by Lilinoe Hall
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Nature's Hymn to the Deity
All nature owns with one accord
The great and universal Lord:
The sun proclaims him through the day,
The moon when daylight drops away,
The very darkness smiles to wear
The stars that show us God is there,
On moonlight seas soft gleams the sky
And 'God is with us' waves reply.
Winds breathe from God's abode 'we come,'
Storms louder own God is their home,
And thunder yet with louder call,
Sounds 'God is mightiest over all';
Till earth right loath the proof to miss
Echoes triumphantly 'He is,'
And air and ocean makes reply,
God reigns on earth, in air and sky.
All nature owns with one accord
The great and universal Lord:
Insect and bird and tree and flower--
The witnesses of every hour--
Are pregnant with his prophesy
And 'God is with us' all reply.
The first link in the mighty plan
Is still--and all upbraideth man.
poem by John Clare
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A formally recognized equality does, however, accord the smaller nations a position which they should be able to use increasingly in the interest of humanity as a whole and in the service of the ideal.
quote by Hjalmar Branting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wonder
Conducted by a cool gentle breeze,
like silent bells, the flower heads swing.
So many giving out songs unsung.
Oh, how their voices need to ring.
Hues in accord are all around us,
each one harmonizing with ease.
I wonder what music we would hear,
if colours met on piano keys.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The beginning of mountains
this is how silences wedded me
in the drums aflame I was beating
deaf for the voice which
coming from the wind
leafs out the ends of autumns
pulls the strings of the sky
where it is enough to live
on an accord of a lonely breath
in the corner of the words squatted
a voice was praying
a leaf cut off from the autumn gown
sewed the edges of all the seasons
hit the universe forehead
against the cold soil of waiting
its echo my bridegroom
hand in hand we winged are
a painfully delivered beginning of mountains
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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One month, two months, I am ready to accept any accord on this point that has the approval of the inspectors.
quote by Jacques Chirac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Picaro Heart Beat Hard
beat accord the tune to the music
beat pulse the pulse sounds to the rhythm
skate on an ice age knives cutting through
the frozen winters snowpledge
die hard your dice
through them over the hurdles of the sky
'the homeland is a drunken street'
it always has been you know
too well
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Lying at the root of the social agreements of 1980 are the courage, sense of responsibility, and the solidarity of the working people. Both sides have then recognized that an accord must be reached if bloodshed is to be prevented.
quote by Lech Walesa
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Christmas Auld Lang Syne
When mistletoe and tinsel glow
Paint a yuletide valentine
Back home I go to those I know
For a christmas auld lang syne
And as we gather round the tree
Our voices all combine
In sweet accord to thank our lord
For a christmas auld lang syne
When sleigh bells ring and choirs sing
And the childrens faces shine
With each new toy we share their joy
With a christmas auld lang syne
We sing his praise this day of days
And pray next year this time
Well all be near to share the cheer
Of a christmas auld lang syne
In sweet accord to thank our lord
For a christmas auld lang syne
song performed by by Gloria Estefan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry Music
I think I know what you mean.
Like focused emotion
expressed through a particular rhythm,
temporal art just like poetry,
every word carries the world
just like every accord carries one.
Nice thoughts, I hope I got them right.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Stimulate the heart to love, and all other virtues will rise of their own accord.
quote by W.T. Ussery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The star Bethlehem born
The stardust spreading the beautiful night
The star Bethlehem being most sublime
Is being shot again and again
Broken hearted crosses we cross
Broken hearted crosses we count
Like beads of starry nights
Asleep unawake still crossing
The rivers of the first step stone
You think you could have died of shame
(The last line inspired by Franz Kafka 'Process')
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Dolce Far Niente, A Sequel
remember our fog walk
of a winter morning...?
our hands closely clasped
spreading warmth into each other
we took each step together
into a zero visibility ahead
whenever a sudden wind
blew on our winter-bitten cheeks
didn't the clasp tighten?
how our fingers released
stars shining brighter
than those up above!
we took each step
with those stars guiding us...
* for karin anderson...thnq so much for suggesting a sequel. i lived each word that went into this...
10nov2009
12.24hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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All you have to do is know where you're going. The answers will come to you of their own accord.
quote by Earl Nightingale
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Ill Wind
An ill wind brings no fortune
when it blows your way
and if you see it coming
close up your shudders and boards
and hope it will pass by
leaving you to your own accord.
Be always ever vigilant
for an ill wind
that might just pass your way.
It leaves only misfortunes and misery
we can all do without today.
If you see one on the horizon,
shelter until it has gone away.
As an ill wind brings no fortune
whenever it blows your way.
poem by David Harris
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Our Hell
It started with pebbles at the window,
when no one was in sight.
For about a week this went on,
at 8pm precise every night.
Then came the opening and closing doors,
by some unseen hand any hour of the day.
Furniture moved around on it their accord,
then the voices came,
arguing from somewhere.
Continual searches of each room,
but nothing was found there.
Suddenly it stopped, and harmony reined.
There was a rest bite for what was yet to come.
Several weeks passed peace and quiet remained.
Then as suddenly as it had stopped, it started up again.
Lights switched themselves on and off,
object flew across the room of their own accord,
small and large.
Pictures flew off the wall
and smashed to the floor.
Then came the knocks on the door,
with no one ever there.
The television gained a mind of its own,
switch on and off and changing channels at will.
Then things began to disappear,
we look for them still,
it was beginning to drive us crazy,
finally, we were at our wits end,
and priest we called in,
but whatever drove him away,
he never came back for a prayer to say.
We seemed to be stranded in this house,
that once we called our home,
and that has now become our hell.
poem by David Harris
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At sunset
To-night the west o'er-brims with warmest dyes;
Its chalice overflows
With pools of purple colouring the skies,
Aflood with gold and rose;
And some hot soul seems throbbing close to mine,
As sinks the sun within that world of wine.
I seem to hear a bar of music float
And swoon into the west;
My ear can scarcely catch the whispered note,
But something in my breast
Blends with that strain, till both accord in one,
As cloud and colour blend at set of sun.
And twilight comes with grey and restful eyes,
As ashes follow flame.
But O! I heard a voice from those rich skies
Call tenderly my name;
It was as if some priestly fingers stole
In benedictions o'er my lonely soul.
I know not why, but all my being longed
And leapt at that sweet call;
My heart outreached its arms, all passion thronged
And beat against Fate's wall,
Crying in utter homesickness to be
Near to a heart that loves and leans to me.
AT SUNSET
To-night the west o'er-brims with warmest dyes;
Its chalice overflows
With pools of purple colouring the skies,
Aflood with gold and rose;
And some hot soul seems throbbing close to mine,
As sinks the sun within that world of wine.
I seem to hear a bar of music float
And swoon into the west;
My ear can scarcely catch the whispered note,
But something in my breast
Blends with that strain, till both accord in one,
As cloud and colour blend at set of sun.
And twilight comes with grey and restful eyes,
As ashes follow flame.
But O! I heard a voice from those rich skies
Call tenderly my name;
It was as if some priestly fingers stole
In benedictions o'er my lonely soul.
I know not why, but all my being longed
And leapt at that sweet call;
My heart outreached its arms, all passion thronged
And beat against Fate's wall,
Crying in utter homesickness to be
Near to a heart that loves and leans to me.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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