Wizened flowers
On the terrace of desire
Fall of reverie.
quote by by Oskar Hansen
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Related quotes
Flowers
(orbison/dees)
When I was a boy I ran among the flowers
Looking left and right at the bright array
I played through the spring, whiled away the hours
Lingered with the flowers every day
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
When the summer ends and the storms of life are over
When the winter comes and the petals fall away
They may write it on my stone, he was just a roller
But he stopped to pick some flowers along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, picked some flowers, along the way
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Reverie
Our love
Is a dream, but in my reverie
I can see that this love was meant for me
Only a poor fool
Never schooled in the whirlpool
Of romance could be so cruel
As you are to me
My dreams are as worthless as tin to me
Without you life will never begin to be
So love me
As I love you in my reverie
Make my dream a reality
Lets dispense with formality
Come to me in my reverie
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To lose one's self in reverie, one must be either very happy, or very unhappy. Reverie is the child of extremes.
quote by Antoine Rivarol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On a mossy stone
Minute flowers grow
Old reverie
quote by by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Surroundings-1
Up The Terrace A Beehive
Cut left dried a vine
Up the terrace the jasmine
A reversed hammock
Canopied bees hive, enjoy
Gale or breeze no mind they swing
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Absinthe Drinkers
He's yonder, on the terrace of the Cafe de la Paix,
The little wizened Spanish man, I see him every day.
He's sitting with his Pernod on his customary chair;
He's staring at the passers with his customary stare.
He never takes his piercing eyes from off that moving throng,
That current cosmopolitan meandering along:
Dark diplomats from Martinique, pale Rastas from Peru,
An Englishman from Bloomsbury, a Yank from Kalamazoo;
A poet from Montmartre's heights, a dapper little Jap,
Exotic citizens of all the countries on the map;
A tourist horde from every land that's underneath the sun --
That little wizened Spanish man, he misses never one.
Oh, foul or fair he's always there, and many a drink he buys,
And there's a fire of red desire within his hollow eyes.
And sipping of my Pernod, and a-knowing what I know,
Sometimes I want to shriek aloud and give away the show.
I've lost my nerve; he's haunting me; he's like a beast of prey,
That Spanish man that's watching at the Cafe de la Paix.
Say! Listen and I'll tell you all . . . the day was growing dim,
And I was with my Pernod at the table next to him;
And he was sitting soberly as if he were asleep,
When suddenly he seemed to tense, like tiger for a leap.
And then he swung around to me, his hand went to his hip,
My heart was beating like a gong -- my arm was in his grip;
His eyes were glaring into mine; aye, though I shrank with fear,
His fetid breath was on my face, his voice was in my ear:
"Excuse my brusquerie," he hissed; "but, sir, do you suppose --
That portly man who passed us had a wen upon his nose?"
And then at last it dawned on me, the fellow must be mad;
And when I soothingly replied: "I do not think he had,"
The little wizened Spanish man subsided in his chair,
And shrouded in his raven cloak resumed his owlish stare.
But when I tried to slip away he turned and glared at me,
And oh, that fishlike face of his was sinister to see:
"Forgive me if I startled you; of course you think I'm queer;
No doubt you wonder who I am, so solitary here;
You question why the passers-by I piercingly review . . .
Well, listen, my bibacious friend, I'll tell my tale to you.
"It happened twenty years ago, and in another land:
A maiden young and beautiful, two suitors for her hand.
My rival was the lucky one; I vowed I would repay;
Revenge has mellowed in my heart, it's rotten ripe to-day.
My happy rival skipped away, vamoosed, he left no trace;
And so I'm waiting, waiting here to meet him face to face;
For has it not been ever said that all the world one day
Will pass in pilgrimage before the Cafe de la Paix?"
"But, sir," I made remonstrance, "if it's twenty years ago,
You'd scarcely recognize him now, he must have altered so."
The little wizened Spanish man he laughed a hideous laugh,
And from his cloak he quickly drew a faded photograph.
"You're right," said he, "but there are traits (oh, this you must allow)
That never change; Lopez was fat, he must be fatter now.
His paunch is senatorial, he cannot see his toes,
I'm sure of it; and then, behold! that wen upon his nose.
I'm looking for a man like that. I'll wait and wait until . . ."
"What will you do?" I sharply cried; he answered me: "Why, kill!
He robbed me of my happiness -- nay, stranger, do not start;
I'll firmly and politely put -- a bullet in his heart."
And then that little Spanish man, with big cigar alight,
Uprose and shook my trembling hand and vanished in the night.
And I went home and thought of him and had a dreadful dream
Of portly men with each a wen, and woke up with a scream.
And sure enough, next morning, as I prowled the Boulevard,
A portly man with wenny nose roamed into my regard;
Then like a flash I ran to him and clutched him by the arm:
"Oh, sir," said I, "I do not wish to see you come to harm;
But if your life you value aught, I beg, entreat and pray --
Don't pass before the terrace of the Cafe de la Paix."
That portly man he looked at me with such a startled air,
Then bolted like a rabbit down the rue Michaudière.
"Ha! ha! I've saved a life," I thought; and laughed in my relief,
And straightway joined the Spanish man o'er his apéritif.
And thus each day I dodged about and kept the strictest guard
For portly men with each a wen upon the Boulevard.
And then I hailed my Spanish pal, and sitting in the sun,
We ordered many Pernods and we drank them every one.
And sternly he would stare and stare until my hand would shake,
And grimly he would glare and glare until my heart would quake.
And I would say: "Alphonso, lad, I must expostulate;
Why keep alive for twenty years the furnace of your hate?
Perhaps his wedded life was hell; and you, at least, are free . . ."
"That's where you've got it wrong," he snarled; "the fool she took was me.
My rival sneaked, threw up the sponge, betrayed himself a churl:
'Twas he who got the happiness, I only got -- the girl."
With that he looked so devil-like he made me creep and shrink,
And there was nothing else to do but buy another drink.
Now yonder like a blot of ink he sits across the way,
Upon the smiling terrace of the Cafe de la Paix;
That little wizened Spanish man, his face is ghastly white,
His eyes are staring, staring like a tiger's in the night.
I know within his evil heart the fires of hate are fanned,
I know his automatic's ready waiting to his hand.
I know a tragedy is near. I dread, I have no peace . . .
Oh, don't you think I ought to go and call upon the police?
Look there . . . he's rising up . . . my God!
He leaps from out his place . . .
Yon millionaire from Argentine . . . the two are face to face . . .
A shot! A shriek! A heavy fall! A huddled heap! Oh, see
The little wizened Spanish man is dancing in his glee. . . .
I'm sick . . . I'm faint . . . I'm going mad. . . .
Oh, please take me away . . .
There's BLOOD upon the terrace of the Cafe de la Paix. . . .
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fairyland
If people came to know where my king's palace is, it would vanish
into the air.
The walls are of white silver and the roof of shining gold.
The queen lives in a palace with seven courtyards, and she
wears a jewel that cost all the wealth of seven kingdoms.
But let me tell you, mother, in a whisper, where my king's
palace is.
It is at the corner of our terrace where the pot of the tulsi
plant stands.
The princess lies sleeping on the far-away shore of the seven
impassable seas.
There is none in the world who can find her but myself.
She has bracelets on her arms and pearl drops in her ears; her
hair sweeps down upon the floor.
She will wake when I touch her with my magic wand and jewels
will fall from her lips when she smiles.
But let me whisper in your ear, mother; she is there in the
corner of our terrace where the pot of the tulsi plant stands.
When it is time for you to go to the river for your bath, step
up to that terrace on the roof.
I sit in the corner where the shadow of the walls meet
together.
Only puss is allowed to come with me, for she know where the
barber in the story lives.
But let me whisper, mother, in your ear where the barber in
the story lives.
It is at the corner of the terrace where the pot of the tulsi
plant stands.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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In The Silence Of A Reverie
In the silence of a reverie,
I hear a lonesome whistle call.
The cries of someone wanting
their lover to come back home,
and the sound of anguished voices
from a battlefield far away.
In the silence of a reverie,
I hear a baby cry for its father.
A father who marched to duty
to fight a far off war
and whom will never see
another spring again.
In the silence of a reverie,
I hear the muted cries
of the wailing widows
struggling in the tears of their grief.
I see the white crosses
row upon row is silent cemeteries.
In the silence of a reverie,
I hear a future filled
with the cries of hope and understanding.
A future filled with victories
from the enemies
we hold within our minds.
5 May 2010
poem by David Harris
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The City Of Choan
The phoenix are at play on their terrace.
The phoenix are gone, the river Hows on alone.
Flowers and grass
Cover over the dark path
where lay the dynastic house of the Go.
The bright cloths and bright caps of Shin
Are now the base of old hills.
The Three Mountains fall through the far heaven,
The isle of White Heron
splits the two streams apart.
Now the high clouds cover the sun
And I can not see Choan afar
And I am sad.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Les Fleurs des Mots: Paul the Roo
Rivals at roo delivery
Feeling rude and livery
After revelry at the Rivoli
Sought ruder revelry
At the Rue de Rivoli.
They threw a roo
Into the Seine.
Paul was never
seen again.
If they'd settled for ruder reverie,
Those rude arrivals
could have had their ruder reverie
At the Rue de Rivoli
And Paul would be okay.
But reverie ain't revelry
And Paul's now in Bay Biscay.
poem by Douglas Scotney
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Dreamland
See the light of those who find
As time pass you by, youre still left behind
Time has come for you to see
That life is a game youd rather play or flee
The ivory gates cast shadows, might betray
Surrender this night, or choose my way
Come with me, ill take you there
To the land of make belive
Let us fly beyond our dreams, fall into reverie
On the wings of destiny, I will claim our liberty
With the power of the steel
With the power of the steel
With the power of the steel
Dreamland will reveal
All you see is black or white
You have to spell out whats wrong or right
Spoken words may have let you down
Its time to stand up and rise with the sun
You entered the gates and theres nothing left to fear
But dont let the matter stand, youre near
Come with me, ill take you there
To the land of make belive
Let us fly beyond our dreams, fall into reverie
On the wings of destiny, I will claim our liberty
With the power of the steel
With the power of the steel
With the power of the steel
Dreamland will reveal
Let me know if you wanna go, theres a place for you and me
Let me take you to the temple of your heart, let me know
You entered the gates and theres nothing left to fear
But dont let the matter stand, youre near
Come with me, ill take you there
To the land of make belive
Let us fly beyond our dreams, fall into reverie
On the wings of destiny, I will claim our liberty
With the power of the steel
With the power of the steel
With the power of the steel
Dreamland will reveal
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Ever Open Door
Desire to live, love and dream
Desire to desire more
Desire is the flirtiest whim
It's an ever open door.
Desire to touch you once
Desire to break into a dance
Desire to hold your hand
Desire to build on sand!
It's an ever open door
You desire and desire more!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Too Up, Two Down
Two up two down terrace town, heading far away
Well I just deserted but Ive seen that road before
Two up two down terrace town, roll on salad days
Well Im a mighty lorne greene to mow
Oh oh! better let me grow
Youre bringing me up, holding me down
The looks, the sighs and the frowns
So this time Im on my own!
Its eyes down look in but dont you ever turn back
(back to front in the back to backs) and its no big deal
From a heartless jack
Who keeps cheating the cards
And splitting the deck
Youre bringing me up, holding me down
The looks, the sighs and the frowns
So this time Im on my own!
Just watch me go
Too up too down terrace town, numbing all the senses
Well I just left home but Ive seen that porch before
Well, Im too up too down terrace town, leaning on defences
But Im a ruddy lorne greene to mow so now
Youd better let me grow
Youre bringing me up, holding me down
Stick in the mud, face in the ground
So this time Im on my own
Oh this time Im on my own
Building you up
Pulling me down
Sick of the glares, the flairs and the browns
So this time Im on my own
Oh this time Im on my own.
Too up too down
Too up two down
song performed by by Haircut 100
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Leaves and flowers fall
Fruits fall, trees all fall, rains fall
Resurgence yet freed
haiku by Indira Renganathan
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The desire of excessive power caused the angels to fall; the desire of knowledge caused men to fall.
quote by Francis Bacon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fallin' Again
Thinking of the faces I've seen
Back when I was young and green
I was falling back then
Now I'm workin' on building a fire
And flirtin' with that old desire
And fallin' again into the wind
I fall in love again, I'm fallin' again.
Well, you'd think that I would learn by now
To keep from falling somehow
But I'm fallin' again
'Cause when I caught that look in your eyes
That's when I realized
I was fallin' again into the wind
I fall in love again.
--- Instrumental ---
Fall, fall, fall, fallin' again
Fall, fall, fall, fallin' again
Fall, fall, fall, fallin' again.
I fall in love again
Fallin' again into the wind.
--- Instrumental ---
Fall, fall, fall, fallin' again
Fall, fall, fall, fallin' again.
I fall in love again
Fallin' again into the wind...
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We grow like flowers, and bear desire, The odor of the human flowers.
quote by Richard H. Stoddard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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C[l]over Girl after Emily Dickinson - To make a prairie it takes a clover
To make true change it takes a Biden and one B.
One Biden and a B.
And reverie.
But reverie alone won't do
'til Palin's blue.
To make an omelette it takes some milk and one egg.
Some milk and an egg
and gas or light.
With reverie alone make do
if we're not few.
To stake a claim takes some land and one hope.
Some land and a hope,
called reverie.
The reverie alone won't do
with carats few.
To bake a cake it takes...
'and so ad infinitum'
Author notes
C[l]over Girl = Cove Over Cover Lover Clover Girl
[c] Jonathan Robin parody Emily Dickinson first stanza written 1 November 2008 subsequent stanzas added 2 November 2008
robi3_1400
ROBIN Jonathan 1947_20xx robi3_1400_robi1_0000 PWX_JXX Clover Girl_To make true change it takes a Biden and a B
n.b. cove in English may also mean Man
Clover and Bee
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee,
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.
DICKINSON Emily 1830_1886 dick2_0017_dick2_0000 PXX_NXX To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee_To make a prairie
poem by Jonathan Robin
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December Moon
Up the terrace down the sky
On my back as I lie
Splashes silvery flecks through the fronds
The coconut tree swaying in dulcet breeze
Up the hill and upon the sea
Yonder bliss all that we see
Stand will they in analogy
On this terrace with what I see
Launch of a round fulgent splotch
Haloed with a brace of hazy torch
This priceless coin of the night
The empyrean sphere treasures so bright
'The Luminous' flashing through the fronds
The fronds softly swaying in the winds
Darkened coconut tree peeping in the terrace
Displaying happily the gleaming luminance
Well, all I understand about her blemishes
Is all that it's Sun's kisses
And all my possible guess
Is all she so the other side hides
While there's a secrecy vincible
As 'Chidhambara rahasyam' possibly sensible
This charming December-queen is evincible
And her Lord of Betelguese is invincible
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Behind a Wall
I own a solace shut within my heart,
A garden full of many a quaint delight
And warm with drowsy, poppied sunshine; bright,
Flaming with lilies out of whose cups dart
Shining things
With powdered wings.
Here terrace sinks to terrace, arbors close
The ends of dreaming paths; a wanton wind
Jostles the half-ripe pears, and then, unkind,
Tumbles a-slumber in a pillar rose,
With content
Grown indolent.
By night my garden is o'erhung with gems
Fixed in an onyx setting. Fireflies
Flicker their lanterns in my dazzled eyes.
In serried rows I guess the straight, stiff stems
Of hollyhocks
Against the rocks.
So far and still it is that, listening,
I hear the flowers talking in the dawn;
And where a sunken basin cuts the lawn,
Cinctured with iris, pale and glistening,
The sudden swish
Of a waking fish.
poem by Amy Lowell
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