The First Day Of Your New Life (from Mount Sinai)
Along the path
Red currants of light
The sun through a veil
Sky so clear
Cloud like a hip
In your paper robe
A cup of gold
Near your left wrist
Wavy locks of hair
Smile on her flowery face
Every dawn
A sacred mirror of my life
(Music by Motohiko Hirami)
(Translation by Ólöf Pétursdóttir)
poem by Nicolas Grenier
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The Voice In Your Hand
The voice in your hand
Under the sky my eyelids float
Come closer in my palms
Myrtle from Eden
Above the line of innocence
A holy cloud walks away
On the knees of Goddess
Voice as language is a saint
(with a music of Motohiko Hirami)
poem by Nicolas Grenier
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A Ballad Of Refreshment
The lady stood at the station bar,
(Three currants in a bun)
And oh she was proud, as ladies are.
(And the bun was baked a week ago.)
For a weekly wage she was standing there,
(Three currants in a bun)
With a prominent bust and light gold hair.
(And the bun was baked a week ago.)
The express came in at half-past two,
(Three currants in a bun)
And there lighted a man in the navy blue.
(And the bun was baked a week ago.)
A stout sea-captain he was, I ween.
(Three currants in a bun)
Much travel had made him very keen.
(And the bun was baked a week ago.)
A sober man and steady was he.
(Three currants in a bun)
He called not for brandy, but called for tea.
(And the bun was baked a week ago.)
'Now something to eat, for the train is late.'
(Three currants in a bun)
She brought him a bun on a greasy plate.
(And the bun was baked a week ago.)
He left the bun, and he left the tea,
(Three currants in a bun)
She charged him a shilling and let him be,
And the train went on at a quarter to three.
(And the bun is old and weary.)
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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I Am Mirror
The function of the psychoanalyst.
Lead vocal: leo sayer
Suppose i were to tell you that the meaning of dreams
Is not all that it seems and the ultimate truth is a lie.
And you are just a puppet who can dance on a string.
Do you feel anything?
Would you laugh? would you care? would you cry?
But the meaning of life is a mystery, how can anyone disagree?
And the music is a symphony which we play in a minor key.
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. looking at me you see yourself
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. every face is someone else.
Look at me smile and you're the clown. and if i dance you turn around.
Look in my eyes and see your tears until the music disappears.
So if you are confused and don't know which way to go.
You will certainly know. from the moment we're living we die.
And if it's all a crazy game you don't want to play
Tell me what you can say.
It's a joke. it's the truth. it's a lie.
But the meaning of life is a mystery that we don't understand.
And the music is a rhapsody if you're happy the way that you are.
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. looking at me you see yourself
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. every face is someone else.
Look at me smile and you're the clown. and if i dance you turn around.
Look in my eyes and see your tears until the music disappears.
And the meaning of life is a mystery though we live it from day to day.
But the music of live should be harmony so that anyone here can play.
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. looking at me you see yourself
I am a mirror. i am a mirror. every face is someone else.
Look at me smile and you're the clown. and if i dance you turn around.
Look in my eyes and see your tears until the music disappears.
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flowery Smile
Flowery smile, flowery smile
As I glance your sparkling eyes.
Flowery smile, flowery smile
Stunning beauty, across the miles.
Flowery smile, flowery smile
Soothe my heart, makes my day shine.
Never give up, never for a while
For heart will fall, with your flowery smile.
poem by Dong Agosto
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The Metaphor Of The Mirror And The Light
there is this face
in the mirror and it is talking to the body
to remind its skin
that it is real,
lights are turned off
and the face only hears a voice
from its mouth
it is assured still that it is a face
of someone it knew
so well
and will not deny it
the voice faded in darkness
and the face
hears nothing
and sees nothing about
its skin
and eyes
it is dark
and there is no voice anymore
except the
silence
and the loneliness that is about
to make a scream
to the mirror
that had long shut itself
because there is no light
the face demands a voice
the mirror begs for light
for the voice is a security
that life exists
and the light is the only
anchor of the mirror
when it becomes a boat
in the sea
of emptiness
but there is no light
and there is no voice
the mirror breaks the silence
the face becomes the wind
there is no boat
much less an anchor
there is only a word written
on paper
left on the floor
and it is spoken for no
one....
poem by Sebastian Soberania
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I Am A Mirror
Lead vocal: leo sayer
Suppose I were to tell you that the meaning of dreams
Is not all that it seems and the ultimate truth is a lie.
And you are just a puppet who can dance on a string.
Do you feel anything?
Would you laugh? would you care? would you cry?
But the meaning of life is a mystery, how can anyone disagree?
And the music is a symphony which we play in a minor key.
I am a mirror. I am a mirror. looking at me you see yourself
I am a mirror. I am a mirror. every face is someone else.
Look at me smile and youre the clown. and if I dance you turn around.
Look in my eyes and see your tears until the music disappears.
So if you are confused and dont know which way to go.
You will certainly know. from the moment were living we die.
And if its all a crazy game you dont want to play
Tell me what you can say.
Its a joke. its the truth. its a lie.
But the meaning of life is a mystery that we dont understand.
And the music is a rhapsody if youre happy the way that you are.
I am a mirror. I am a mirror. looking at me you see yourself
I am a mirror. I am a mirror. every face is someone else.
Look at me smile and youre the clown. and if I dance you turn around.
Look in my eyes and see your tears until the music disappears.
And the meaning of life is a mystery though we live it from day to day.
But the music of live should be harmony so that anyone here can play.
I am a mirror. I am a mirror. looking at me you see yourself
I am a mirror. I am a mirror. every face is someone else.
Look at me smile and youre the clown. and if I dance you turn around.
Look in my eyes and see your tears until the music disappears.
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Likeness.....
THE MIRROR
limits what we are
there is no shadow
behind us
only the face and the likeness
of it
flat and staring
and clear.
THERE IS
another face at the back of our mind
opaque
silent
and deep
seated sockets
and wavy eyelashes
and well kept hair
and smooth skin
and glowing
WE HAVE NOT
seen much of it
But we shall always feel it
yes,
at the back of our minds
wanting
to find us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Once Young, Now Old
I face myself in the mirror
Trying to escape the horror
That caused my hair to be grey
Was it the sorrows of every night and every day?
Or the burden of things I couldn’t say
I face myself in the mirror
Trying to escape the horror
That caused, in my eyes, that hidden tear
Was it the unachieved goals hunted by fear
Or the secrets I was left to seal
I face myself in the mirror
Trying to escape the horror
That left me with ruins of a smile
And prevented me from climbing any higher
I face myself in the mirror
Trying to escape the horror
Of the ghost I see
Empty
Not willing to breath anymore
There’s nothing to live for
poem by Whispering Rose
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Clear...
nothing in my life
has ever been so CLEAR.
no more struggle, and no more strife,
as if i'm looking in a mirror.
a mirror that shows the opposite
of everything around.
nothing is the same here...
why is everything so CLEAR?
the stars,
the moon,
everything in that blue-black sky.
it's all so very CLEAR.
everything outside that mirror
is chaos and disarray.
problems showing up left and right,
nothing goes my way,
but inside that lovely mirror,
is a paridise by the sea.
inside that mirror it's...
CLEAR.
poem by Kenzie Lynn
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Neglecting Oneself
I stop by the mirror
to wash my hands
on a public comfort room
I have no intention of looking at myself
like a map
trying to find the path for a
treasure hunt
there is none i think
that makes day
a story for a pot of gold or what
but by chance i am caught by the face of the mirror
looking at me
copying me
mimicking me
as though i am not myself in there anymore
I dread
and so i washed my hands too quickly
and did not bother
drying them
with that paper or cloth hanging on the side
the face is angry
and it is asking
for my
apology
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Now Get Out Of My Face
Mirror mirror on the wall,
Am I still the gorgeous one of all?
Mirror mirror on the...
'Look.
Come closer...
I've got something to say to you.
Don't you come here ever again,
Asking me to lie.
Is that understood?
I am not here anymore,
To fulfill your head with delusions.
Is that clear? '
Wha...'
'Is it or is it NOT clear? '
It's clear, it's clear, it's clear.
'Now get out of my face.
You make me sick! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Some Things That We Keep Forever
a handwritten name on a
grade one paper
a handkerchief with a
name embroidered on it
locks of baby's hair inside
the page of a fairytale book
an old wooden box
these are some of the things
mother kept for me:
my first paper when
i learned to write
my name,
a handkerchief that mother
gave me on my 5th
birthday,
locks of my hair
on my first hair cut,
mother kept them all,
mother's love, i too,
shall keep it forever.
I love you mama.
I always will.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Art Will Show To Eternity Your Soul
I am a woman, using a mirror everyday,
Like all of you, i'm seeing my reflection into it,
Even i am sad, happy, tired or bored,
What i'm seeing in my mirror it's my physical reality, my own truth.
I combed my hair and looked into my mirror,
I felt so delicate, unique and simple,
Having a smile on my face today,
My mirror will smile me back as feedback in same way.
I am a painter, i adore art,
In everything i'm painting it's life,
In each painting and spot of paint my brush does,
It's a history of great ideas my minds holds.
A painting is a gate to our inner side,
Through it vibrates the universe to our hearts,
A mirror will always show your face reflection to the world,
But art will show to eternity your soul.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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Do Not Look At The Mirror
Do not look at the mirror;
there is nothing
but a beauty;
the flowers are important than the vase.
Do look at the mirror
if you are not aiming to
to check on your smile
and to kiss your inner and outer face.
Do look at the mirror
but ask me
I will tell you
what I am seeing and
what I am hearing;
My clairvoyance shows only but your grace.
Do look at the mirror
one smile is enough;
it is your mirror and your face.
poem by Atef Ayadi
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Be Lost In The Call
Lord, said David, since you do not need us,
why did you create these two worlds?
Reality replied: O prisoner of time,
I was a secret treasure of kindness and generosity,
and I wished this treasure to be known,
so I created a mirror: its shining face, the heart;
its darkened back, the world;
The back would please you if you've never seen the face.
Has anyone ever produced a mirror out of mud and straw?
Yet clean away the mud and straw,
and a mirror might be revealed.
Until the juice ferments a while in the cask,
it isn't wine. If you wish your heart to be bright,
you must do a little work.
My King addressed the soul of my flesh:
You return just as you left.
Where are the traces of my gifts?
We know that alchemy transforms copper into gold.
This Sun doesn't want a crown or robe from God's grace.
He is a hat to a hundred bald men,
a covering for ten who were naked.
Jesus sat humbly on the back of an ass, my child!
How could a zephyr ride an ass?
Spirit, find your way, in seeking lowness like a stream.
Reason, tread the path of selflessness into eternity.
Remember God so much that you are forgotten.
Let the caller and the called disappear;
be lost in the Call.
Mirroring
I looked through the mirrors
And saw my reflection
What I saw was darkness and suffering
It could chase any bright life away.
I looked through the mirror of death
And saw myself burning in hell
Screaming out in sweet torment
Enjoying this immortal condemn.
I looked through the mirror of hate
And saw myself taunting my enemies
I enjoyed my foes pain and smile in shame.
I looked through the mirror of happiness
And saw myself in love; Laughter filled my face with these
With these wrongful feelings.
I looked through the mirror of envy
And saw myself resentencing my friends
Cracking their hearts open with my words.
I looked through the mirror of fears
And saw myself hiding under a hollow tree,
Not even He could shelter me.
I looked through mirror of sorrow
And saw myself buried in pain,
Having a knife at my wrist,
Ready to end this game
poem by C.F Francis
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The Last Masquerade
A wan new garment of young green
Touched, as you turned your soft brown hair
And in me surged the strangest prayer
Ever in lover's heart hath been.
That I who saw your youth's bright page,
A rainbow change from robe to robe,
Might see you on this earthly globe,
Crowned with the silver crown of age.
Your dear hair powdered in strange guise,
Your dear face touched with colours pale:
And gazing through the mask and veil
The mirth of your immortal eyes.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Haircut
I have wooly, wavy, woozy silvery hair
Cut just 20% you earn your fare
In bad trim down
Make sure I won't look like a clown.
With white cover she cuts away,
Her scissors, snip, snip night and day.
In mirror see my hair disappear
Trimmed nicely above each ear.
Finally touched my hair—few curls,
The more she accommodates I would adore.
Finish look seems more like 30% gone,
Hair wetted, scalped, I mirror no fun.
Next time another barber or good cutter
Better not scalp me" I sadly angry mutter
For well-kept hair on head?
I'd rather make more love in bed.
poem by Arthur Weil
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Only My Wealth
Only heaven, only mist, my sacred fortune
Is ceasing to be, opening now into good fellowship.
I have meanings, too many friends,
I bless each when they arrive;
But then a sacred fortune returns,
I fear this occasion of the night
When they stare into me, and see me.
Offering me new heaven, all of the school of learning,
They insult the grades of my living
When the sacred fortune disappears
For a time.
What is this foam or leather? It is my luck.
It is my hair when I look in the mirror,
The locks carry meaning, but no!
I find in my reflection a story,
A story of a sacred fortune:
It is ignorance of my wealth.
poem by Naveed Akram
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On Pallas Bathing, From A Hymn Of Callimachus
Nor oils of balmy scene produce,
Nor mirror for Minerva's use,
Ye nymphs who lave her; she, array'd
In genuine beauty, scorns their aid.
Not even when they left the skies,
To seek on Ida's head the prize
From Paris' hand, did Juno deign,
Or Pallas in the crystal plain
Of Simois' stream her locks to trace,
Or in the mirror's polished face,
Though Venus oft with anxious care
Adjusted twice a single hair.
poem by William Cowper
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