Prima Vera (Spring)
The westerly has ceased it doesn't get
dark before seven, time for evening walks,
and let stillness read my thoughts.
Under a carob tree three stones one on
top of the other and old man sat here,
he saw everything till he lost his shadow.
No one sit on his throne, like sitting on
a tombstone, the stone-chair belongs to
him, his everlasting memorial.
Time to walk home, feel hungry,
the mundane always takes precedence.
Spring is here and life is beautiful.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Related quotes
How Long Is Short Time
How long or short is Time?
Got up early sat on a chair not reading or watching TV,
time has been running too fast lately into the sand
of a desert that doesn’t bloom; must slow time down
to a trickle. After breakfast I went for a walk and took
no interest in what I saw, back in my chair looking at
the clock, yes the forenoon was endless and I was
hungry, and finally lunch. In the afternoon I went for
another walk, didn’t buy a paper I only get engrossed
in what I read and time flies. Back home I sat in my chair
watched a dipteral circle around, fell asleep and when
I awoke it was seven in the evening, time I had saved
that day had been wasted by me snoozing in a chair.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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25th Of December
“25th of December
It’s been raining for days, fine drizzle not caused by tempest but
by a mild depression, liquid silk that gives soil time to soak it up
before it runs into rivers and brooks and disappears back into
the sea. The rain falls on the old roof tiles and gives off a soothing
sound a promise, come spring the plants will be stronger and
flowers richer in colour and profusion than the year before.
Grass grows quickly in the mizzle I stroke the mule’s flank it doesn’t
mind being wet but keeps on munching on succulent feed. It is when
the westerly blows it seeks shelter under a carob tree or comes up
to the houses to be stabled. The dog awakes she wants to go out,
I put a raincoat on, we follow the lane till she has had enough and
wants to go back to her place by the fire.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Vanishing Summer Light
Vanishing summer light
August is coming to end twilight
wraps itself around the olive grove
earlier than a few days before and
after five, sun sinks into the sea with
an almost unseemly haste.
The evening breeze is still mild but
carries pockets of cooling air like
a lover who is preparing to leave,
only waiting for the right time and
I sense the beginning of unsolvable
melancholic loss.
The village’s lane is dark, yet moon
is full, but doesn’t reach into my
heart that aches for the past, those
days in May when the future was
moving to never ending summers.
So, farewell then fly with the wind
Be gone! I will, as always, walk on
hidden tracks and in the shadow of
a carob tree sense your presence and
ask for one more summer.
poem by Jan Oskar Hansen
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Twinkling Evening-Morning Star.
The best time to see the Evening star
Just before dark when I search the sky near and far.
All year the Star is passing high above my home,
Only in the middle of October I see it was always around my dome.
I sit in my chair; look into the darkening sky,
Following with my eyes as it's passing by.
The Evening star is the first one to shine above,
It takes long time until the rest follows that rare dove.
It is the first in the sky after the sun goes down
And the last to disappear when the morning sun takes away its crown.
Nobody is wasted, everything just comes and goes and immerse,
As everything and everyone is the child of the Universe.
As it was known in the past that the strong will survive,
Never give up, be strong, face life as it arrive.
Just have faith in goodness and loose the negative,
See the NOW as a privilege, open up to be progressive.
poem by LaSoaphia QuXazs
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Poem (‘It Doesn’t Look Like A Finger...’)
It doesn’t look like a finger it looks like a feather of broken glass
It doesn’t look like something to eat it looks like something eaten
It doesn’t look like an empty chair it looks like an old woman
searching in a heap of stones
It doesn’t look like a heap of stones it looks like an estuary where
the drifting filth is swept to and fro on the tide
It doesn’t look like a finger it looks like a feather with broken teeth
The spaces between the stones are made of stone
It doesn’t look like a revolver it looks like a convolvulus
It doesn’t look like a living convolvulus it looks like a dead one
KEEP YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF MY FRIENDS USE THEM ON
YOUR BITCHES OR
YOURSELVES BUT KEEP THEM OFF MY FRIENDS
The faces between the stones are made of bone
It doesn’t look like an eye it looks like a bowl of rotten fruit
It doesn’t look like my mother in the garden it looks like my father
when he came up from the sea covered in shells and tangle
It doesn’t look like a feather it looks like a finger with broken wings
It doesn’t look like the old woman’s mouth it looks like a handful
of broken feathers or a revolver buried in cinders
The faces beneath the stones are made of stone
It doesn’t look like a broken cup it looks like a cut lip
It doesn’t look like yours it looks like mine
BUT IT IS YOURS NOW
SOON IT WILL LOOK LIKE YOURS
AND ANYTHING YOU SEE WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU
London Bulletin, No. 2 (May 1938), 7.
poem by Hugh Sykes Davies
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In The Fields
Lord when I look at lovely things which pass,
Under old trees the shadow of young leaves
Dancing to please the wind along the grass,
Or the gold stillness of the August sun on the August sheaves;
Can I believe there is a heavenlier world than this?
And if there is
Will the heart of any everlasting thing
Bring me these dreams that take my breath away?
They come at evening with the home-flying rooks and the scent
of hay,
Over the fields. They come in spring.
poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
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Death of the undertaker
Darkness prevail as the wolf in the yonder it wails,
the loss of a soul to those alive unknown,
his tools locked back in the shed no one around for tears to shed,
the big guy with his big face be fell,
there is no one to take his reins,
what he gave and what he ment no one took time to take details,
the grounds he ones strolled and to some it seemed his home,
there emptiness will be known to all living and dead souls,
death of the undertaker whose gonna set his tombstone,
the mood seems dull the moon is shy to the sun,
the loss of this big man who never sired a son,
he never had time to have life he lived his life for those who lost theirs,
the grave aint dug the ground still untouched,
it takes his loss of breathe for us to learn,
the death of the undertaker whose gonna set his tombstone,
all that knew him more are six feet under,
all the living beings stand on ground and just wonder,
it takes a strong man alot of love and honour,
to be like this one who is dead and put asunder,
the living will get to know the dead man was important to us all,
for its death of the undertaker whose gonna put up his tomb stone,
poem by Kennedy Musyoka
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Boulevard Of Broken dreams
I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone
I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
When the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk a...
My shadow's the only one that walks
beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's
beating
Sometimes I wish someone up there will
find me
'til then I walk alone
I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line
Of the edge and where I walk alone
Read between the lines
What's fucked up when everything's alright
Check my vital signs
To know I'm still alive and I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk a...
My shadow's the only one that walks
beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's
beating
Sometimes I wish someone up there will
find me
'til then I walk alone
I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
When the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk a...
My shadow's the only one that walks
beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's
beating
Sometimes I wish someone up there will
find me
'til then I walk alone...
poem by Pawan Kumar 'Meonlafesta'
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Tombstone Shadow
Tombstone shadow, stretchin across my path.
Tombstone shadow, stretchin across my path.
Evry time I get some good news, ooh,
Theres a shadow on my back.
Saw the gypsy man, way down in san berdoo.
Said, I saw the gypsy man, way down in san berdoo.
Five dollars on the table, ooh,
Keep me way from my tomb.
Oh! oh!
Said I got thirteen months of bad luck,
Bound to be some pain.
Dont you do no travlin,
Fly in no machines.
Tombstone shadow, stretchin across my path.
Evry time I get some good news, ooh,
Theres a shadow on my back.
The man gave me a luck charm, cost five dollars more,
Said, put some on your pillow, and put some on your door.
He said, take a long vacation, ooh,
For thirteen months or more.
Oh, lord!
Tombstone shadow, stretchin across my path.
Tombstone shadow, stretchin across my path.
Evry time I get some good news, ooh,
Theres a shadow on my back.
Oh, oh, lord!
Oh, lord!
song performed by by Creedence Clearwater Revival
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Such beautiful eyes
Such beautiful eyes
I tell myself not to look
When you walk on by
But i take a peek
Just to remind myself why
Every time you turn the corner
Ill be there watching
Looking into those beautiful eyes
Every time you leave the house
Ill be on the other side of the street
Im your shadow
Even when its dark
Your all alone now
Walking down an empty road
Such beautiful eyes
Even when death is in sight
Such beautiful eyes
Even when life is no longer inside
Now i walk down
A busy street
Looking for another pair
Of beautiful eyes.
poem by Bill Steward
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Pre Spring
Pre Spring
It had stopped raining I went for a walk, the sun came for a visit and
it got hot. Took my coat off, marched on till the sun had had enough
and rolled back home. The almond tree, by the lane, looked puny
spindly twigs for branches, and grey bark. Ghostlike if it hadn’t been
so pathetically ugly. Looked closer and saw a pair of pink buds on its
a twig. Now the tree was beautiful and I fretted about the chill in
the wind and if frost comes in the night, will it snuff out this new life?
I took pictures of the buds, but the photos were a bit blurred and
colours not so bright as those I saw with naked eyes, yeah, like my
eyes should be undressed most of the time, or hidden behind dark
sunglasses. In about three weeks, if all goes well, my bare, nutty tree
will be covered in pink flowers and look lovely. Elderly hearts will
feel young again and beat too hard. In the vale, where I live, there are
many funerals in March.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Another Spring
Angelo badalamenti, john clifford
Old people talk to themselves
When they sit all round all day
This old woman I knew
I used to go over there and sit with her
And shed be sitting around
In a rocking chair talking to herself
And she used to say she used to say
Sometimes the cold gets in my bones so bad
Till I just dont think I can go
Yeah and for a little while well I dont care
If my days are coming to an end
And just as soon be gone sometimes
Sometimes the night comes down on me
And I know whats ahead
An evening in this cold old house
With no one to say goodnight to me when I go to bed
An evening in this cold old house
With no one to say goodnight to me when I go to bed
Sometimes
I wonder why I stay
What am I waiting for
My children are grown and gone away
They got children of their own now
Dont need me anymore
In winter when the streets are bare
There aint nothing much to see
I just cant help missing and thinking
About that kindly man
That one old winter time came
And took away from me
And then one morning
Another spring is there outside my door
Things are blooming
Birds are singing
And suddenly yes well I aint sad
Aint sad no more aint sad no more
When its warm and the sun is out
Its like my hearts restored
Ive had my love Ive had my children
And I have so many memories
So dont mind me complaining
What the years may bring
Cos this old world has been fine with me really
And Im thankful for seeing another spring
Its gonna be better this time another spring
Its gonna be groovier this time another spring
Its whats happening this time
So Im thankful for letting me see another spring
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lake, The Fountain
by the lake so still so calm
sky-blue cloud-white
more sky than water this autumn day
the air so still above
there a tree leans over the water
as if in thanks
and here a gathering of stones
awaits the offhand lapping of the wavelets
bringing out the many colours of the stones
that remember mountains edging the horizon
with light and shadow through the day
over there a fountain plashes over worn carved stone
fed by a mountain waterfall wild fountain tamed
throwing up a million new-mined diamonds
droplets sparkling like a chandelier
the sun catches turning air and water
into unceasing dance of somehow joy
the still lake the dancing fountain
telling with water two stories
stillness in joy
joy in stillness
as two white-robed nuns who whisper laughing
laughing whisper
in the cool of the evening
beside the fountain
before prayer
and holy silence
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Shadow
The shadow of your threshold is so full
Of meaning, that the stranger knows what home
Is yours, if peace dwell here, or strife, or restless
Unsatisfied ambition. As the tree's
Deep shadow meaneth rest and comfort, or
Is poison, sleep eternal, such the house
That is a home's sweet shadow or a dark
Abode of sin, of lurking lie and danger.
The shadow of your life, that is so small
In bright midday and summer's burning sun,
Begins to lengthen when your evening comes,
And shows the beauty of the tree in outline,
Its graceful forms, its harmony and power;
And never did its beauty strike before,
As now, when lost in thought, you contemplate
The shadow on the lawn. The golden rays
That flood it, make it higher, nobler, and
Its shadow ever greater, till the night
Calls forth the moon, to make it deep and weird
As if unspoken pain had darkened it,
As if the silvery paleness of the moon
Sharpened its features into hardness almost.
Behold the shadow of thy life! Look well if
It be a threshold that reveals the strong
Unbending will, the height of all your aims,
Your passions' darkness, and the harmony
Of all the branches that were put into
Your care! Look at the shadow when your day
Is done, and winter's moon will draw its line
In naked truth, without the flattering leaves
Upon your windingsheet's unruffled snow.
poem by Carmen Sylva
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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My Opinion
What is happiness?
What is loneliness?
What is love?
The questions I asked above
we ask ourselves & others often
up to the end, up the coffin.
I will tell you my opinion,
it is not the only one out of million.
That one is lonely who doesn’t love.
He walks his life on a slough.
People are like flowers
which bloom at a certain hour.
When the time comes
they show their charms.
A good gardener with patience
waits appearing the fragrance.
The one who loves
let aroma out of his heart.
His love is a beautiful art.
That one doesn’t know loneliness,
that one knows only happiness.
His heart belongs to others,
he worries about the loved ones,
he suffers together with them,
but behaves like a lamb
when they are joyful.
His life becomes eventful,
he has no time to be lonely,
he loves truly & sincerely,
he has no time for pondering,
he knows well what’s happening,
he forgets about himself,
his love he gives to others itself.
You can tell me:
But it is only half!
I will not laugh but tell:
Everyone wants to be loved as well.
When your thoughts & heart are in harmony,
when they just live in one company,
when they play one role
it’s already a whole.
The one who loves sincerely
can never be lonely,
he never asks for love in return,
that one only tries to learn
how they are and pray.
If you ask who loves more
meaning the one you adore,
if you don’t show your feelings,
if you don’t feel your heart beatings,
if all the time you measure and weigh
there is nothing more to say.
Love was not born yet
and I could only regret.
Around you is emptiness & coldness,
as a result you get your loneliness.
Why? ‘Cause other people feel it,
they try to escape it.
Don’t worry about mutual love!
Be in a hurry and let your heart free.
Like apples on a tree
your love has to grow,
your heart has to show
your kindness, your tenderness.
Show everyone that you are selfless,
then a miracle will happen.
You’ll get love in return.
Real love will be born.
Now you know what happiness is,
You never know loneliness as it is.
Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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When the Night Falls Upon the Alone
When relationships keep failing, it really makes you wonder, am I meant to spend life alone
When the sun falls upon the city
Here you are alone
You think of families
Gathering in their homes
Moms putting a meal on the table
Making sure homework is done
Dads doing catch up work
He had to bring home
Here you are
Watching t.v.
Wondering is there someone
Out there for you
As your sitting home alone
A boyfriend here, a boyfriend there
But nothing really stable, nothing on solid ground
Wondering why is it, there is not anyone here
Sharing what couples share
Wondering who else is sitting
In this world alone
No one to bother you
Doing what you wanna do
No one to interrupt while the t.v. is on
Being able to walk out the door
No one to report to
Where have you been, when are you going to be back
Asking in worry what took you so long
No one to make plans with
The week days so long
Waiting for the weekend
To go out to social places
Watching couples kiss, cuddle
And dance, not going home alone
Someone catching you sitting there
Stuttering over invading your space
Asking, what are you doing here alone
Shrugging your shoulders
I just am
Asking if they could have the empty chair
Can I buy you a drink
Conversation covers topics
Thoughts of taking you home
Till you make it clear
One night stands is not what you do
The night ending with a favorite song
Can I call you sometime
When it dawns on him
Your still
walking out the door
Going home alone
Some day the phone may ring
Would you like to go out to dinner
Would you like to go out dancing
Sometimes it so tiring to be alone
Yea, I know what you mean
And the question is asked
Why are you alone
Your answer is plain
It may even match theirs
Just haven’t found that one
That wants to be focused on a relationship
to make plans that includes two
to wonder where I am when I am late
the moment when thoughts to give
who rings who to see how things are going
to only be with me
yea, I know what you mean
they tell of the story of why
they’re alone
you think this might be it
lets take it slow
see where it may lead us
yet in the mean time
I think I’ll watch the evenings
Come and go
Spending time alone
Till they make up there mind
They don’t want you
Or them to spend their life
Alone
poem by C. Lea Harris
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Time Stands Still
Him and her
Life is turned.
The day I knew you would leave
I can barely breath
Can you hear me scream
O-o-o thrown in all directions
You epitome of perfection
Shes lost her will,
Time is standing still
He walks, her, home
Now he walks a-lone
The days they turn into years
The eyes they drown in tears
Can you hear me scream
The way we are the way they were
(its just a shadow of whats wrong)
The time with you the time is stirred
(I love you for , so long)
The hearts they turn, they turn away
(she says to go please dont you cry)
Love lost was found, night turns to day
Time is standing still
song performed by by All American Rejects
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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End Of Line
End of the Line
Old man, yes, you who walk near the houses on the pavement
down the street using a cane, is there something wrong with
your hips? Hey! Old man when you see a group of youngsters
standing by the corner you feel fear, and if they make fun of
the way you walk you pretend not to hear only try to walk faster.
It didn’t used to be like this you looked the world in the eye as
you broad shouldered swaggered down the street of life, no one
dared to challenge you then; you didn’t know it was going to end
like this. Hey! Old man your life is behind you and your future is
the grave, and your walk often takes you to the cemetery where
you often go and read the names of people you used to know.
You live in pain- tell me way- most of the time, watch irrelevant
news TV, while drinking a little whisky. Every Saturday you go
the café and drink beer with other old men, only there are so few
of them now. Hey! Old man with a foot in the grave, in your dream
you are still virile and when you wake up you feel young until you
see the cane or your face in the unforgiving mirror. Yet you go on
living your loveless life in the hope of seeing another spring and
see the blossoming of the almond tree.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Summer Teeth
Like a cloud his fingers explode
On the typewriter ribbon, the shadow grows
His hearts in a bowl behind the bank
And every evening when he get home
To make his supper and eat it alone
His black shirt cries
While his shoes get cold
It's just a dream he keeps having
And it doesn't seem to mean anything
And it doesn't seem to mean anything
One summer, a suicide
Another autumn, a travelers guide
He hits snooze twice before he dies
And every evening when he get home
To make his supper and eat it alone
His black shirt cries
While his shoes get cold
It's just a dream he keeps having
And it doesn't seem to mean anything
It's just a dream he keeps having
He feels lucky to have you here
In his kitchen, in your chair
Sometimes he forgets that you're even there
It's just a dream he keeps having
And it doesn't seem to mean anything
It's just a dream he keeps having
It's just a dream
And it doesn't seem to mean anything
song performed by by Wilco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Night Walk
Swiftly yet softly he walks each night
Watching each step he takes
Each step thet takes him further from home
A home that is no longer safe
A home filled with terror and uncertainty
He's only nine
and he's looking for refuge
For a place safer than home
Aplace anyone but the rebels can reach,
for they have a mission,
to kill and to abduct
Each night he walks
Knowing he has to return home tomorrow
'Tomorrow will be different', he says
But alas by night time nothing has changed
and the night walk begins again
poem by Sharon Amayo
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