En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Saudade

After dark the forthrightly silence
enshrouds the soul's trepidation
and the sartorial revelry of your
undying memories collect themselves
like the moonshine on the phosphorescent shore

The saudade melancholy inveigles
moths into the feral dance of flames
and as the malignant light becomes
my asylum and pantheon, I stagger
for the sparrow chance of corrupting
the ebbing of the ocean's moiré
where the solitary light is doubled
in its deluded reflections

And in this vacant room, the moon
spills empty words and cacophonies
its gravid and ashen cheeks morphs
into an empty page where the words
dissipates into ephemeral liminalities

poem by Norman Santos
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A Moth Slow Dancing In Flames

After dark
a solitary moth
clad in lackluster
traipsed across the humid air
circumnavigating dismal filigrees
like an ominous message
conveying the petrichor

It weathered the tedium
of its own gust
crumbling slivered dusts
and tread the astray thread
of light and warmth
to find a candle
weep floridly bright

Like hands reaching out -
hands shaped into
a house with an open hearth
it melted and undressed
while its sartorial flame
remain unscathed

The moth basked
in this unprecedented heraldry,
this munificent beauty
like how the wine
feign resplendence under
the moon's gentle bliss
and the moth spewed
the colours it eschewed

The saudade warmth
embraced the moth's cape
of shame and pride
and became its asylum
and gilded heaven
Slowly dancing in flames
because to burn out
is better than to fade away

poem by Norman Santos
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The Reasons

sometimes
tired of the buzzing of the word
he gives flesh to it

even wings
and so the bees
come

often
the words are empty like
a vacant room

or an abandoned
cottage in one of those
untamed forest

one can do
something as he does
after so many
experimentation

when words are just
wind or air or static space
he plants a tree
and leaves become
inhabitants

flowers arrive as buds
and butterflies
of variant colors
arrive as
colonies

must you remember
how the void is filled
with light and there was light

how the islands come
dotting the seas?

who likes a void, an empty space?
even God
dislikes it

we are here
because of that.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When Once We Were Stars

my
name was written
in the stars
brightness
complimentary to yours
turning
leisurely
beside
me
i orbited
your planet
but your gravity force
ripped me in two
half of me
left
and i felt empty
for forever
and my light
extinguished
under yours
weeping stars
shooting
and darkening
and dying
arrived in my orbit
like
a meteor shower
uncontrollable
and bursting with yellow light
i was only a shadow
next to the magnificence
they described you
as you once were
i slept
under your light
i was possessed
by your
light
dark moths
that fly to flames
never have possessed fully
flames
of their own

poem by Ms. Queenie
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In Light of the Sinking Sun

An empty chair
A quiet room
In light of the moons full glare.
A sleeping man
A cell of stone
In light of the moons full glare.
A dark hall
A silent porch
In light of the moons full glare.
Flickering light
Buzzing flies
In light of the moons full glare.
The man awakes
Stifles a moan
In light of the fading moon.
Shuffling feet
Dangling keys
In light of the fading moon.
The door opens
The man hauled out
In light of the fading moon.
Straps are tightened
Machine turned on
In light of the fading moon.
A button pushed
A scream of pain
In light of the fading moon.
A blackened body
Smoke-filled room
In light of the fading moon.
Six foot hole
Dug in the woods
In light of the fading moon.
The headstone in
The words are said
In light of the rising sun.
The next man sits
Upon that chair
In light of the rising sun.
Poor old man,
Dealt the hand
In light of the rising sun.
Dealt the hand,
The blow of power
In light of the rising sun.
An evil laugh
A blackened body
In light of the rising sun.
The executioner stands
By a silent chair
In light of the sinking sun.

poem by Samantha Jo
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The Silence Of Nothing To Say

The silence of nothing to say
Is forcibly broken by the will for words
A poem is made not born
And there are nights when only determination can say anything-

I write now in the shadow of the night
When all the light is artificial
When inside me is only an empty emptiness
A quiet of nothing deep or beautiful –

I can make a poem out of nothing
But then it may be nothing too
Words alone are not enough
The truer poem comes out of something deeper I do not have now

Let the words play
Let the silence be broken
Let this night be written down
For the empty poem it is.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Stagger Lee

The night was clear and the moon was yellow
And the leaves came tumbling down
I was standing on the corner
When I heard my bulldog bark
He was barking up at the two men
Who were gambling in the dark
It was stagger lee and billy
Two men who gambled late
Stagger lee threw a seven
Billy swore, he threw an eight
Stagger lee told billy,
I cant let you get away with that
Well, youve won all my money
And my brand new stetson hat
Stagger lee ran home
Went and got him his 44
Said, Im going to the bar room
Just to pay that debt that I owe
Go stagger lee, go stagger lee
Go stagger lee, go stagger lee
Said, i m going to the bar room
Just to pay that debt that I owe
Stagger lee went to the bar room
Boy, he stood across the bar room doors
Said, now, nobody move
And he pulled out his 44
Stagger lee, cried billy
Oh, please dont you take my life
I got me three little children
And a very sickly wife
Go stagger lee, go stagger lee
Go stagger lee, go stagger lee
Got me three little children
And a very, very sickly wife
Stagger lee shot billy
Boy, he shot that poor boy so bad
That the bullet came thru billy
And went right thru the bartenders glass
While I was standing on the corner
When I heard my bulldog bark
He was barking up at the two men
Who were gambling in the dark
Go stagger lee, go stagger lee
Go stagger lee, go stagger lee
Well, he was barking up at the two men
Who were gambling in the dark

song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Dark Dreams

I'm in the dark
And I'm lost
In my mind, screaming
Through the empty
Space, filled with no light
All I hear is my echo

I listen and hear the echo
Of silent breaking through the dark
Nothingness that consumes any light
That I don't see, in this lost
Place of empty
Dreaming, in which I scream

Soon as it stops, the screaming
High painful cry, and the echo
Fades, leaving me again in the empty
Hallow thoughts of my dark
Sleep, and wander through my mind lost
Of what I had, it was my light

What I had was like a warm light
That held me from the bitter screaming
Of the cold, it found me when I was lost
It covered me like a blanket, and echoed
Through my soul, with it I was never in the dark
And never left empty

Now, in my sleep, I am empty
The warm blanket of hte light
No longer holds me, but exposes me to the dark
And painful piercing screams
Of my own voice echoing
In my nightmares of what I've lost

I am lost
In the emptiness
Of my own pain, that echoes
Through me, and all I want again is the light
For it I scream
In my dreams, but all I get in the dark

I dream of the dark and I'm lost
My screaming is only heard by the empty
Space in my mind, where light shined, but there is only echo.

poem by Nicole Hiebing
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030910 Traffic By Ocean

fog shrouding your beauty
from my adoring eyes
steady mast, leafless trees
empty shore except crabs
teasing ebbing tide
sun begging for the clouds

slow traffic, yellow flashing light
fog too thick, won't take a chance
tunnel, hungry dragon's mouth
take you in, push you out
from ocean floor to land up above
i'm confident, got flooded last month

poem by Manonton Dalan
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Solitude, Singing

Being alone is knowing
That in in this solitary splendour
Solitude, stark and staring,
Solitude, singing a lullaby
Solitude, singing a dirge
Surrounded by so many sundry things;
Things seen and unseen
Factors known and unknown
Solitude singing softly, chanting without ranting
Solitude’s songs that sing of solemn things

Silence singing golden songs
Silence healing ancient wrongs
If only silence could be
More than a memory
More than history
Silence can be more than words
Empty words echoing in an empty world
Echoing in empty valleys
Silence unspoken, unspoken, unbroken
Transfixed by time.

poem by Rani Turton
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Let The Poem I Write Be The Dream I Am

Let the poem I write be the dream I am
And let the secret silence of my words
Be the mystery of my own inner music
And let what comes to me on the page
Be the dance of the light God has given me
And let my words be quiet holy words
Which fill this day with prayer for all those
I Love.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Sadness of The Empty Home

The light flickers on
Illuminates the empty hallway
The thud, click of a door in closing
Brings a silence to the room
A heavy sigh escapes
A look to the mirror sees only
Tired eyes looking back
A bag lain upon the small table
The light turned back off
On route to yet another room
Light creeps through the window
Allowing enough to see
The sound of a running tap
Filling the kettle for a final drink
Keys thrown upon a side
The clatter of cups and spoons
Then further silence
Now the creaking of a staircase
Another door opened
Another light flicked on
The curtains drawn to the world
Drink set beside the bed
The silence of the empty home
Fills the heart with loneliness
A television switched into life
Nothing worth watching
Just a sound there to fill
The silence and the sadness
Of the empty home

poem by Matthew Holloway
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37

A dance in the dark Is a nude dance
Two forms Fuse as one

Shades in the Dark with some Specks of light
A dance of Coming and going

One that tells me Out you go And yet takes Me by her hand

And without a Word the two Forms kiss
and Lose themselves In an empty space

Where the specks Of light may Turn into fire
a wild fire A burning dance A wild dance

And it stops only As the Two Lovely Forms
Become the dark And an empty space.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Dance In The Dark

A dance in the dark Is a nude dance
Two forms Fuse as one

Shades in the Dark with some Specks of light
A dance of Coming and going

One that tells me Out you go And yet takes Me by her hand

And without a Word the two Forms kiss
and Lose themselves In an empty space

Where the specks Of light may Turn into fire
a wild fire A burning dance A wild dance

And it stops only As the Two Lovely Forms
Become the dark And an empty space.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Bard's Song To The Pensive Canaries

Hiding in the floor
of a bottomless ocean
I watched bubbles scampered
to meet the climbing dithers
of light in this abyss

And muse alone I did
while the limpid limbs continually
oust the life it possessed
and the cage of feral memories
shattered from the inner tyranny

The flustered world
caromed in a wistful ballet
while my breaking bones played
the esoteric melody and
everything under this
pirouetting parasol was just
a defunct music box
playing songs - tinkering violins
and effaced harmonicas,
inveigling the canaries
and their trepidation to fly,
carrying on with their
their genial metronome

Dance, like a wallflower
riveted amongst the shadows
of your cobwebbed chandelier,
my own tersely plea reckoned
And my lifeless body
wrecked even more

As the charade engulfs my hymns,
lecherous malcontent filled
the empty crevasses,
the saudade effulgence
descried the terrorizing desires
to kneel before the nights
that sundered our parsimony

And for all the lonely silhouettes
still enthused to break with me -
in flight or in plight -
I offer my percussive endeavors
to debilitate our forged camaraderie
in the insularity of our myriad
sundered predicaments,
this wordless song that falls
like star in a fecundated supernova
is the water that shall baptize
our rebirth from our plethora of deaths,
a candle on our tilled grave.

poem by Norman Santos
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Empty Chairs

I feel the trembling tingle of a sleepless night
Creep through my fingers and the moon is bright
Beams of blue come flickering through my window pane
Like gypsy moths that dance around a candle flame
And I wonder if you know
That I never understood
That although you said you'd go
Until you did I never thought you would
Moonlight used to bathe the contours of your face
While chestnut hair fell all around the pillow case
And the fragrance of your flowers rest beneath my head
A sympathy bouquet left with the love that's dead
And I wonder if you know
That I never understood
That although you said you'd go
Until you did I never thought you would
Never thought the words you said were true
Never thought you said just what you meant
Never knew how much I needed you
Never thought you'd leave, until you went
Morning comes and morning goes with no regret
And evening brings the memories I can't forget
Empty rooms that echo as I climb the stairs
And empty clothes that drape and fall on empty chairs
And I wonder if you know
That I never understood
That although you said you'd go
Until you did I never thought you would

song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Rosy Dream

This is for you,

Did pencils ever write
unwritten paper
empty blank
broken moment
unsaid poems and little words of fear

This morning of our affection
we spill our emotions
through the glass of wine
of ordinary hot words....
and walk through the shore of sand
sea shore is now empty....

a rosy garden
where roses fall silent
at the gaze of the moon,
where the night falls in a rosy faint, and snow
like a' ruby 'drops....

In the morning of our belief
in the faces of stars
like a kiss of words
we rely upon,
the streets remain empty
and our watches break again...
our skies sing
in a painful breeze
we miss our little song

Did paint ever portray
unspoilt canvas
empty hands
idle colours
rest

In the morning of singing song,
whistling
birds.....

poem by Thampi KEE
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Ocean's Moon

i'm the ocean's moon
i belong to the sea
i dance to her tune
and she sets me free

in her freezing waters
ive found a warm home
her love encompasses me
in her shelter i have grown

when the sky looks down
feeling empty without me
i look up and smile
but turn away silently

the sky held me too long
the ocean's call i heard
the sky has lost it's light
ocean's moon; nature reversed.

poem by Richa Mehta
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Fading ink

Fading ink
~
the words which flowed
from pen to page
in a steady stream
have trickled silently
into a vacant space
silent prose sits impatiently
awaiting the spark
to ignite inspiration
to fire up the pen
and resume its flow
of words from pen to paper
but a nothingness holds
space for rent across the page
a canvas of thought
where words once ran
the old ink fades
in the light of a new day

poem by Matthew Holloway
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Out Of The Darkness

Theres an empty street in an empty town
Theres an old boutique selling ageing gowns
Some words on the walls that were written
By the light of the moon so bright
Can you hear me, can you her me tonight
Take me out of this darkness and in to the morning light
The rain that falls doesnt make me cry
And the wind that blows cannot hurt my eyes
But the things that I see when I turn on tv
Make me wanna lie down and die
Can you hear me, can you her me tonight
Take me out of this darkness and in to the morning light
Can you hear me
Take me out of this darkness and in to the morning light

song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Enchantment of Birds.

Winter green, showing dark in morning haze of fractured warmth
Of tall shadows cast in absence of light upon empty air
Of ephemeral breezes that dusk among bough arched halls
Where light glanced threads stitch the ground and make joyful a prison of twined trees
Who fall in ungainly ranks that dress on, innumerable and innominate
With needles to splinter the clustered light for the specklings of dust that show it off

All is a prelude to the more timid green of spring

Sails of new hope dawning carry each restless stride
From leaf brown shore to moss green isle and on some feral bearing
That tacks its way in the gentle company of ‘nothing much to do' and ‘everything to see'
The passage continues, into the deep green of fir woods
Through sun wrought mists to an end
An end that is not ‘yet' or ‘now' or even ‘soon to be'
And so in looking through the miles of absent time
Between this living slope and that, shown in clearest motion
The perfection of what is

This thing, this all in the enchantment of birds

poem by William Reed O'Connor
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