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The Ancient Windmill

Behind the blear of the setting sun
It stood aloft, shearing a line
Splicing the crimson and ocher tan
And in its façade it intertwined
Blending in the shadow as it spun
The fortuitous wind it forever consign

Oh! How it loomed athwart the shore
With a salient stance too sturdy
Subsisting the weather with covert valor
For many a tale that fell in history
Travels with the winds it scull and roar
With many a soul it had ferry

Like a sentry it muse upon
The small world down its feet
Whilst propelling the gears to run
To endeavor even when on the edge it sits
For it knows with virtue and wisdom
The secrets to vie and reflect in split

And there it stands to gaze on us and aid
Whilst we watch you too, never fading in savant shades

poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes

The Collective: The Ancient Windmill

And there it stands to gaze on us and aid
Whilst we watch you too, never fading in savant shades

poem by Norman Santos
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Wind Words

WHILST THE WIND BLOWS

THOUGHT-LOSING WORDS BLEW ALONG

REFLECTING ON THEIR OWN MONOLOGUES

KNOWING MORE THAN THEY SAY

WOULD STAY SILENT

IF WORDS UNDERSTAND

WHAT THEIR CONTENTS IS

BUT WHO KNOWS WHAT WORDS KNOW

WOULD THEY SHARE

WHAT WORDS UNDERSTAND

WHISPERING THEIR KNOWLEDGE

THOUGHT-LOSING AND SILENT

TO THE WIND

OH, WIND - WHAT WOULD HAPPEN

WHEN YOU KNOW

WHAT WORDS UNDERSTAND

ALL THEIR MEANINGS

SPOKEN INTO YOU

AND BEEN HEARD

READY FOR A NEW VOICE

PUTTING THOUGHTS SOFTLY

BETWEEN YOUR LETTERS

OH, LOVELY WIND

WOULD YOU CARRY YOUR WISDOM

ABOUT SPOKEN WORDS CONFIDENTIAL

TO THE WAITING ONES

AND GIVE BACK ALL YOUR KNOWLEDGE

TO SENDERS IN RETURN

WHAT WOULD THE WORLD KNOW

WHEN WINDS SHARE THEIR WISDOM

WHILST THE WIND BLOWS

poem by Floyd Floydson
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Mountain's grief

Have I ever wept on a mountain's grief?

The sadness so profound, yet so majestic
That thy strongest heart bore since thou wert born

What is so immortal in a grief that finds a spring to express?
Just a solace, an easing out of a pine

The greatest grief in this world
is sculptured on you

So thou stands still, watching forever
Whilst the rest of the world weep

So the river floats on God's tears
Whilst He mourns on thy grief

So the birds sing in melody
Whilst thy heart burns in pain

So the wild rains thunder
Whilst the saddest quake in your heart erupts
In a wave around all thy moist rocks

poem by Shamik Bose
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Plethora Of Flowers

The wind wiped mellifluously
The pollen in her vivid face
And the memory remained
In a garden of collectives
Where everything bloomed
And sank all the same, hastily
Blue as a dream, red in the evening
Bowing with the petals and their skirts
Resembling the machinism of the gears
Pushing each other and manipulating
Time's lullabies and elegies
Her statuesque silhouette stood
Crooning a limn for the breeze
That spades the buried garden

Trains will pass with faces
Pasted in the window pane
Chasing the carriage of their dreams
And running from the hearse darting
Against the winnowed sailing through
The vacuous grounds of oblivion, whilst
You scull inside my chest, rocking
Me to a perpetual sleep, and slowly
Becoming the motion that ferries me
To anywhere but here, in the ubiquity
Tangled in your sequins and niceties
From the garden, you are plucked
Tucked in the breast pockets
And your thorns riveted deeper
Than any paramour had ever gone

Swoon over me and find yourself aloft
Throned in the lips of my pits
And the enigma of your vibrant hues,
Your emollient redolence, and the spell
Caroming in the crowns of your petals
Would wake my sedative bliss with pain
And perhaps eternal ardor in ethereal places

For now, I shall wait and hum your song
Hiding in clandestine places and salient stones
Of graveyard sifting in mirth and luster
Amidst a plethora of flowers, plucked and not
Possessing and debauching passersby's hearts.

poem by Norman Santos
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In This Tacit Realm of Crimson Sky

In this tacit realm of crimson sky
where the winds inebriate with
a cloyed saturnalia adrift your breaths
I wallowed, wearing my shoes like
a silent stone skipping a pond
and every step, and every ripple
I shatter unbeknownst of the things
that abjures my puppet strings
in this tacit realm of crimson sky

In this tacit realm of crimson sky
the winter would remain sly
tethered to its autumn boudoir
so I muse upon the field of stones
and graves of flightless flesh
amongst its stellar descries
and whilst you blossom without me
I gorge myself in the saccharine cries
in this tacit real of crimson sky

In this tacit realm of crimson sky
I nurtured my brittle spine
and waxed my shy lacquer
rooted in the epistemological reasons
of the irrational aberrations of the heart
and now the vermillion palette devours
the vertical line raising you horizons -
what had become to my home
in this tacit realm of crimson sky?

poem by Norman Santos
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Mutability - II.

I.
The flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay
Tempts and then flies.
What is this world’s delight?
Lightning that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright.

II.
Virtue, how frail it is!
Friendship how rare!
Love, how it sells poor bliss
For proud despair!
But we, though soon they fall,
Survive their joy, and all
Which ours we call.

III.
Whilst skies are blue and bright,
Whilst flowers are gay,
Whilst eyes that change ere night
Make glad the day;
Whilst yet the calm hours creep,
Dream thou—and from thy sleep
Then wake to weep.

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Lonely Bone

The hollow bone stands alone
Amidst the clapping condor wings
Commiserating with the fallen plumes
Cascading sunwards to deny
The winds from their liberty
Whilst you traversed the leaking sun
And leave the deafening ruins

The bone bows to implore protection
Sullying in the graying sky
Where your remorseful faces
Was painted by the Eastern wind
Like a danseuse of passing time
You glanced, waved not your good bye
And left the vermillion bleeding
Trapped in the vineyard of memories
Until one day the vines would sprout
To touch the havens in your sky
Intoxicated from the brewery
Of your empty rues and bliss

But for now the bone remained alone
Whilst you depart with the sun
And the sky was ever higher
Whilst time was away and somewhere else.

poem by Norman Santos
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Sonnet XL: But Love

But love whilst that thou mayst be lov'd again,
Now whilst thy May hath fill'd thy lap with flowers;
Now, whilst thy beauty bears without a stain,
Now use thy Summer smiles ere Winter lours.
And whilst thou spread'st unto the rising sun,
The fairest flower that ever saw the light,
Now joy thy time before thy sweet be done;
And, Delia, think thy morning must have night,
And that thy brightness sets at length to west,
When thou wilt close up that which now thou showest,
And think the same becomes thy fading best
Which then shall hide it most and cover lowest.
Men do not weigh the stalk for that it was;
When once they find her flower, her glory pass.

poem by Samuel Daniel
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Small Trees

I am little like the small trees,
These are at least bigger than flowering plants,
The richness of theirs is far superior to us.
Since they are richer and we are taller,
The magnificent colours shine as they do.
Greenness is our nature as trees,
Whilst they are always colourful
More than us.
The tree of bigness is a lethal organ,
One we sit by and watch growing older.
Then the small trees subjugate the other trees
Far smaller, but we are supposed to respect
The bigger trees, they are certainly not the biggest.
The best of us are longer in health,
Whilst I am little for I am a small tree.

poem by Naveed Akram
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They March Towards the Sun

Fall with the drizzle and watch
The myriad of sunsets
Like the ubiquitous mist, and
Wade through the mud
To create the ripples that
Would whisk the stark portrait
Of the striding demise

One by one, footsteps fell
Like raindrops on the eaves
With the same alacrity
And magnitude, and mass,
Outnumbering the silence
Of my sojourning breath
And the gushing rivers
Pummeling the latticed walls
Of my abashed lashes
From my gaze they thawed
Into bodies, into silhouettes,
Into shadows treading
The paths towards the sun

These soldiers armed for wars
Heads held like wards,
Arms folded like barricades,
Eyes like sentries watching,
And souls like battlefields
Before the war, silent but
Brazenly shunning disaster
They held their married guns
Close to the fathom's of the viscera
Like a crying child, some
Like a dead wife, and
Loaded them with bullets
Fear clouted and nil dodged
For the patios never quaver
Safe within their turrets

The sanguinary epistles
Invoked by anticipation
Dissipates with their cloaks
As they knocked through the gloaming
And rummage for virgin grounds
Safeguarded by an intangible
And invisible strength and valor
Whilst I careen closer,
Like curious spectator
Blinding the storm's eye and
Becoming the scull and temper
Of this modest typhoon;
Emotions on a violent vertigo
Behind the marching thirty seconds
Towards the small sun
Feigning my own bastion.

poem by Norman Santos
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The Black Tower

SAY that the men of the old black tower,
Though they but feed as the goatherd feeds,
Their money spent, their wine gone sour,
Lack nothing that a soldier needs,
That all are oath-bound men:
Those banners come not in.

There in the tomb stand the dead upright,
But winds come up from the shore:
They shake when the winds roar,
Old bones upon the mountain shake.

Those banners come to bribe or threaten,
Or whisper that a man's a fool
Who, when his own right king's forgotten,
Cares what king sets up his rule.
If he died long ago
Why do yopu dread us so?

There in the tomb drops the faint moonlight,
But wind comes up from the shore:
They shake when the winds roar,
Old bones upon the mountain shake.

The tower's old cook that must climb and clamber
Catching small birds in the dew of the morn
When we hale men lie stretched in slumber
Swears that he hears the king's great horn.
But he's a lying hound:
Stand we on guard oath-bound!

There in the tomb the dark grows blacker,
But wind comes up from the shore:
They shake when the winds roar,
Old bones upon the mountain shake.

poem by William Butler Yeats
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Counting Crows

Five jet black birds hover
In an ominous flight above head
Whilst I stood amidst the sea of luster
This gilded outgrowth of summer possessed
They spun obliviously, maladroitly,
Entangling and severing lies
And when the sun hides
In the foliage of white pages
Brewing a concoction of lightning,
Thunder, rain, and mistral wind,
The crows would perch in a leafless tree
Forking its branches into the sky
Asking for alms, shearing the charms
Of false hoping and the crows
Beckon the sedentary peril
Lurking like panthers behind the curtain
Of inevitable and malignant fate
Watching and calculating
In ravine and vulpine askance
And every gloaming one crow would fly
To anywhere but in the sea of rye
Hastily in fastidious motions
Its wings would flap and glide
Leaving the horizon,
Leaving an anxious anticipation,
One after another, they flew
Pilfering the lustrous tawny view
And as the number dawns to extinction
I stood still, holding my breath
Up into the small of my neck
Swallowing the clock
As I count crows,
Malinger days,
Sojourn deaths;

A close good bye.

poem by Norman Santos
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Uncertain Weather

A day of uncertain weather
Captured in a frame forever
A face in a faded photograph
He must have had a life
Maybe with a family
People who meant everything to him
A sinner, a saint, a soldier
Caught up in a war he never
Had a chance to start or build a life
All gone long ago
Leaving no trace
Disappearing like smoke in the wind
To become just a face without a name
Leaving no trace
Disappearing like smoke in the wind
Hopes and fears important plans
Forgotten memories
Footsteps fading in the sand, ooh
Schemes and dreams small and grand
Nothing left to see
Footsteps fading in the sand, ooh
Someone who cast a shadow
Maybe just a lazy man
Doesnt make much difference now its true
A day of uncertain weather
Captured in a frame forever
A face in a faded photograph
All gone long ago
Leaving no trace
Disappearing like smoke in the wind
To become just a face without a name
One more to add to the total
Of those never heard of again
Yes hes gone
Just a face without a name
Leaving no trace
Disappearing like smoke in the wind
All gone
Just a face without a name
Leaving no trace
Disappearing like smoke in the wind...

song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Francisca

Francisca walks in the shadow of night,
But 'tis not to gaze on the heavenly light—
But if she sits in her garden bower,
'Tis not for the sake of its blowing flower.
She listens—but not for the nightingale—
Though her ear expects as soft a tale.
There winds a step through the foliage thick,
And her cheek grows pale—and her heart beats quick.
There whispers a voice thro' the rustling leaves,
A moment more—and they shall meet—
'Tis past—her Lover's at her feet.

poem by Byron (1815)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Nocturnal Nightmares Internal

Nocturnal nightmares internal,
Rage throughout the inferno of my thinking
As crimson nightshades age
Upon a ancient tattered page I’m sinking.

All it is I’d give to know the soft smooth sands of your soothing shores.
All it is I’d give to rise with you aloft amongst the crowds.

Caterpillars of titanic proportions
Drift swift upon the winds of destination.
Bellowing words of wisdom
He chases the lioness upon her hunt
As high above two toned souls kiss upon clouds,
KIssing above crowds of wishful Slumbers blissful.

The sky fades towards the horizon
As we perceive expectation Of natures surprises.
The birds of the bush set forth upon a rush of light emotion.
They drift in invisible spheres,
Their auras magnifying the radiance of Apollo’s presence.

Outside in the world is shaking; Inside out my soul is aching.
Honest eyes call upon the tides of experience, rejecting the Interference of divine intervention.

We seek Love beyond convention; beyond expectation.
We seek whilst baked the face of our creator,
knowing that if ever we were to Absorb in glory full the source
we would be forced to live our life un-heard.

Rejecting initiation into the mysteries of our forefathers
we are able to keep our tongues, free for the leash of secrets un-told. Embrace the fold of the tides in their ebb As within their flow know
You may seek destiny beyond the eggshell cracked.

Turning back within our self’s
We are as angels aloft a isolated cloud,
High above the silence of solemn crowds
We perceive a sky of radiance,
A fantastic array of brilliance takes
Control of the sense, we are shaken bare
Of defences as we wonder in wandering
What it is to know the flow of the rivers showing.

Grow grass grow, beneath the sun,
Beneath the snow; grow to know,
The way the river flows.

With each man as an island
With each man as a rock
We make a mockery
Of what it is to Slip into passivity.

Slip not because you have no will to know
The life that is yours beyond the hill,
But slip in faith of natural rhythms,
Slip in faith of natural charms.

Know faith will do you no harm
Else you use it upon the offensive,
Claim no enlightenment beyond
Those that will never cease in their un-caring.

Know you are here, Know that now is there
Beyond the moment of its passing,
Now and then, everywhere and when,
Keep upon the journey laughing,

Smiling through the clouds of grey
That have followed us for too many days now,
Shine in smiling, embrace the presence
Sf isolated angels whilst you may,
They may not last beyond the day.

Seek another way to voice all you have to say,
And know beyond any shadow of a doubt beyond the horizon lay Landscapes unknown to the fantasy of the imagination,
Seek them at your pleasure as I hope you treasure
Them forever within the galleries of your minds exhibition

poem by David Lacey
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The Throne

I stood amidst a thousand place
In a single shifting of a day
My legs ached, my knees throbbed -
In malcontent and bereavement
And my salient stance cringed confounding
To muse on too many places in one glance;

In the hollow vestibule of churches,
The putrid cushion in a bus,
The noisy creaking chair in a class,
The rocking chair swinging for decadence,
The lavish divan in a parlor,
The Victorian craft in a banquet,
The eiderdown in a perforated cloud;

All were impressed by presences
Because to matter, you occupy space
And weigh it down with your grace
Whilst I stood amongst seated legs
Crossed and folded in security
Married to a vacant throne
Assembled by my agog hands,
Lacquered by the hands of time
And weighed by the colossal
Absence of a queen

Because to live you have to give life
So I stand here, waiting hopefully
For someone to take this open hand
Of this vacant throne betrothed to
The myriad reasons to doubt
To have and have not hope

So I stood amidst the blaring crowd
Faster and fastidious than a rose
Taking it slowly, unraveling the eternity
Of waiting and the artistry
Of never effacing the neutral poise.

poem by Norman Santos
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The Wind

I felt the blowing of the wind
As it entered my breadth from deep within
It entered my soul, and then wouldn't let go
It is the wind, from whence life begins.

The Wind she is know by boy and man
And whomever sits, or walks or stands
For the wind is known, when she has blown
And when she does not, the world it moans.

The Wind, she is my friend
As a boy journeys through the world of man
She strengthens the soul, when she has blown
So onto her breadth, I will forever hold.

The name of the wind, I will call it Kim
As she enters my breadth from deep within
She surrounds my soul, and will not let go
Kim, is the name of the wind.

The wind is a woman dear
As beautiful as the stars painted in the sky
And when she sends her kiss, Men then wish
And the boys just kneel down to cry.

The Wind she is my breeze I do believe
From the steps I walk to the air I breathe
And when she touches my face, my sorrows are erased
For she is the wind, and the wind, she is my breeze.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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Sonnet to Ocean

Shall I rebuke thee, Ocean, my old love,
That once, in rage, with the wild winds at strife,
Thou darest menace my unit of a life,
Sending my clay below, my soul above,
Whilst roar'd thy waves, like lions when they rove
By night, and bound upon their prey by stealth!
Yet didst thou n'er restore my fainting health?—
Didst thou ne'er murmur gently like the dove?
Nay, dost thou not against my own dear shore
Full break, last link between my land and me?—
My absent friends talk in thy very roar,
In thy waves' beat their kindly pulse I see,
And, if I must not see my England more,
Next to her soil, my grave be found in thee!

poem by Thomas Hood
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Sonnet XIII: Letters and Lines

To the Shadow

Letters and lines we see are soon defac'd,
Metals do waste and fret with canker's rust,
The diamond shall once consume to dust,
And freshest colors with foul stains disgrac'd;
Paper and ink can paint but naked words,
To write with blood of force offends the sight;
And if with tears I find them all too light,
And sighs and signs a silly hope affotds,
O sweetest shadow, how thou serv'st my turn,
Which still shalt be, as long as there is sun,
Nor, whilst the world is, never shalt be done,
Whilst moon shall shine or any fire shall burn;
That everything whence shadow doth proceed
May in my shadow my love's story read.

poem by Michael Drayton
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On The Dark Height of Jura

I.
Ghosts of the dead! have I not heard your yelling
Rise on the night-rolling breath of the blast,
When o’er the dark aether the tempest is swelling,
And on eddying whirlwind the thunder-peal passed?

II.
For oft have I stood on the dark height of Jura
Which frowns on the valley that opens beneath;
Oft have I braved the chill night-tempest's fury,
Whilst around me, I thought, echoed murmurs of death.

III.
And now, whilst the winds of the mountain are howling,
O father! thy voice seems to strike on mine ear;
In air whilst the tide of the night-storm is rolling,
It breaks on the pause of the elements' jar.

IV.
On the wing of the whirlwind which roars o'er the mountain
Perhaps rides the ghost of my sire who is dead:
On the mist of the tempest which hangs o'er the fountain,
Whilst a wreath of dark vapour encircles his head.

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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En.Citatepedia®.ro

The Ancient Windmill

Related quotes

The Collective: The Ancient Windmill

Wind Words

Mountain's grief

Plethora Of Flowers

In This Tacit Realm of Crimson Sky

Mutability - II.

Lonely Bone

Sonnet XL: But Love

Small Trees

They March Towards the Sun

The Black Tower

Counting Crows

Uncertain Weather

Francisca

Nocturnal Nightmares Internal

The Throne

The Wind

Sonnet to Ocean

Sonnet XIII: Letters and Lines

On The Dark Height of Jura

En.Citatepedia^®.ro