What Stones Tell
What stones Tell
I follow a track in the landscape see stones dug up of soil. Clay clings
to them they look unhappy and exposed in the daylight. Need of a good
shower but there will not be rain for a while. Not that it matters this year
they will be churned into grit. They have been in dreamy limbo for eons,
the dream they dreamt will be a whisper in the wind. So walk softly and
listen well. TV, is full of trivial politics, photogenic, men in silk suits, easily
talk, they are our leaders of tomorrow. False promises will be forgotten,
dream time over when stark light of truth beckons. But their mendacity
and false dawns will murmur in the wind...
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Related quotes
Follow The Wind
Im so weary from holding this load
But its only , love for you, that I walk this lonely road
I must follow the wind , follow the wind
And the wind will take me hold before the cold
Evry stay I have counted
Each flower I have seen
But the place where Im going , theres no grass as green
I must follow the wind , follow the wind
And the wind will take me home where I can dream
In the hour I am lonely, youre love will be mine
I will stay in your arms dear, until comes the time
I must be on my way for my home is anywhere
I have no time to stay , I have no time to care
I must follow the wind , follow the wind
As the wind gently blows in my hair
(break)
I must follow the wind , follow the wind
As the wind gently blows in my hair
I must follow the wind , follow the wind
As the wind gently blows in my hair
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Landscapes
Landscapes
The landscape I walk, used to be guarded by stone hedges; infinite
supply of stones this soil yields if not much else. Nature has taken
back what man did, the landscape is lush of weed, and bent trees.
I’m sliding into silence, but if I listen I can hear Spanish bluebells
peal in a mild breeze that also carries a whisper of a Nordic lullaby,
Last year a Canadian couple walked with me, their ancestors came
from around here. We stopped outside a ruin and they went silent,
cried. An ancient memory stirred they knew this place. Where their
tears had fertilized the ground, is, this year, full of wild flowers.
No, they are not returning, Canadians now and proud of that too.
I sit on a stone, not by the river of Babylon, and see how the brook,
free from icy shackles elatedly run, will not heed words of caution.
I have made boats of bark, and sail of green leaves, see them hasten
towards the North Sea. The brook is no more, indifference has seen
to that, but the landscape of my childhood is clear as a stream.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Listen To The Wind and The Rain...
Listen to The Wind and The Rain
Playing Symphonies Again
With Muted-Base of Thunder
Raise The Window; Watch and Wonder
Listen to The Wind and The Rain
Crescendo – Clean and Rise – Refrain
A Rush of Lightning Rhapsody
Love-Struck A Chord… Deep in Me…
(Listen to The Wind and The Rain…)
Open Up The Door!
I Want to Feel the Choir’s Full – Score
Wind and Rain – By Maestro’s Hand
Make Melody to Woman and Man
(Listen to The Wind and The Rain…)
Listen to The Wind and The Rain
In This Lullaby, We have Lain
In Such Peaceful Harmony
Singing in Love’s Key…
Listening to The Wind and The Rain…
poem by MoonBee Canady
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Temporary Poem Of My Time
Hebrew writing and Arabic writing go from east to west,
Latin writing, from west to east.
Languages are like cats:
You must not stroke their hair the wrong way.
The clouds come from the sea, the hot wind from the desert,
The trees bend in the wind,
And stones fly from all four winds,
Into all four winds. They throw stones,
Throw this land, one at the other,
But the land always falls back to the land.
They throw the land, want to get rid of it.
Its stones, its soil, but you can't get rid of it.
They throw stones, throw stones at me
In 1936, 1938, 1948, 1988,
Semites throw at Semites and anti-Semites at anti-Semites,
Evil men throw and just men throw,
Sinners throw and tempters throw,
Geologists throw and theologists throw,
Archaelogists throw and archhooligans throw,
Kidneys throw stones and gall bladders throw,
Head stones and forehead stones and the heart of a stone,
Stones shaped like a screaming mouth
And stones fitting your eyes
Like a pair of glasses,
The past throws stones at the future,
And all of them fall on the present.
Weeping stones and laughing gravel stones,
Even God in the Bible threw stones,
Even the Urim and Tumim were thrown
And got stuck in the beastplate of justice,
And Herod threw stones and what came out was a Temple.
Oh, the poem of stone sadness
Oh, the poem thrown on the stones
Oh, the poem of thrown stones.
Is there in this land
A stone that was never thrown
And never built and never overturned
And never uncovered and never discovered
And never screamed from a wall and never discarded by the builders
And never closed on top of a grave and never lay under lovers
And never turned into a cornerstone?
Please do not throw any more stones,
You are moving the land,
The holy, whole, open land,
You are moving it to the sea
And the sea doesn't want it
The sea says, not in me.
Please throw little stones,
Throw snail fossils, throw gravel,
Justice or injustice from the quarries of Migdal Tsedek,
Throw soft stones, throw sweet clods,
Throw limestone, throw clay,
Throw sand of the seashore,
Throw dust of the desert, throw rust,
Throw soil, throw wind,
Throw air, throw nothing
Until your hands are weary
And the war is weary
And even peace will be weary and will be.
Translated from the Hebrew by Barbara and Benjamin Harshav
poem by Yehuda Amichai
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Promises On The Wind
as the wind blows,
you can hear the angels whisper,
promises on the wind.
all your hopes and deepest fears
have had to be hidden for many years,
and never been revealed,
promises on the wind.
wings to fly upon your back,
and the key to heavens almighty gate,
promises on the wind.
immortal beauty shown upon thy face,
with god and jesus in attendence grace,
the angels come to watch in that empty space,
you hear them as they whisper,
promises on the wind.
poem by Kenzie Lynn
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Dream On (live, MTVIcon)
Every time that I look in the mirror
All these lines in my face gettin' clearer
The past is gone;
It went by like dusk to dawn
Isn't that the way?
Everybody's got their dues in life to pay
I know nobody knows
Where it comes and where it goes
I know it's everybody's sin;
You got to lose to know how to win.
Half my life's in books' written pages,
Live and learn from fools and from sages
You know it's true,
All the feelings
Come back to you.
Sing with me,
Sing for the year,
Sing for the laughter and sing for the tear.
Sing it with me
If it's just for today,
Maybe tomorrow the good Lord will take you away.
(aaaaaaaaa...)
Sing with me,
Sing for the year,
Sing for the laughter and sing for the tear.
Sing it with me
If it's just for today,
Maybe tomorrow the good Lord will take you away.
(come on )
Dream on, dream on, dream on,
Dream yourself a dream come true.
Dream on, dream on, dream on,
Dream until your dream comes true.
Dream on, Dream on, Dream on,
Dream, Dream ,Dream come true
Dream on, Dream on, Dream on, Dream on
Dream on, Dream on, Dream on (aaa...)
song performed by by Train
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The authoritarian impulse is reasserting itself, to challenge free people and free societies, everywhere. In our own country, from the trivial to the truly dangerous, it is the range and regularity of the untruths we see that should be cause for profound alarm, and spur to action. Add to that the by-now predictable habit of calling true things false, and false things true, and we have a recipe for disaster. As George Orwell warned, "The further a society drifts from the truth, the more it will hate those who speak it." … The question of why the truth is now under such assault may well be for historians to determine. But for those who cherish American constitutional democracy, what matters is the effect on America and her people and her standing in an increasingly
unstable world — made all the more unstable by these very fabrications. What matters is the daily disassembling of our democratic institutions. We are a mature democracy — it is well past time that we stop excusing or ignoring — or worse, endorsing — these attacks on the truth. For if we compromise the truth for the sake of our politics, we are lost.
quote by Jeff Flake
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sliver Dream
To a curly hair girl
Last night, I dreamt in the dream
Orange tree, growing at my heart
Under blue sky, on the blue ocean
Wind of change, lifting my heart
Last night, I dream in the dream
Curly hair girl, walking softly
Visible into my eye, I only saw her shadow
With wing of angel, flying slowly
Over my starry sky, in my dream
Oh, curly hair girl, beheld me with your eye
And you will see, life is not a dream
Or love is not dream in my eye
Through lonely night, I dreamt of song
That neither lyric, nor music
Nor word, but I still could hear the song
Of your walking, softly, on my heart.
poem by Kathup Tsering
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The History Of Tomorrow
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of light
By dumping us in the dark with pits everywhere
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of food
By asking us to chop several fire-woods to heat up a pot full of stones
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of job creation
By making us slaves on our own soil
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of education
By dumping us in dilapidated buildings without teachers
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of accountability
By looting our treasury and asking us for yet another term in office
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of safety
By leaving pot holes large enough to swallow countless accident victims on our roads
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our bows and arrows
Would secure our future
I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless heroes
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless robbers
Robbers with fame
Robbers without shame
Robbers that we would roast with flame
© Adegbenro Adekunle Jacob
Tomorrow’s history is today. All world leaders must make real democracy work. They must be selfless. We must not wait until there is horror and terror before we learn. Nigerian leaders must shun CORRUPTION.
poem by Adegbenro Adekunle
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False Truth
False truth
Just like a word that says
Love will always find the way
No matter how hard
No matter how much
I want to hear what i want
I want to see what i like
As simple as that
Yet it's impossible to be done
Because it's just a false truth
That would never be found
A personal satisfaction within
Called ''Happiness''
Let it slide
Begone for tomorrow
Because when it's the time
You'll learn and see
That truth is just a truth
A fact that simply
Without false
And without doubt…
poem by Alva Cross
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Dream I Killed God
Dream I killed God and woke up
Dream I killed God and woke up
Hes begging please, please, please.
No, dont....
Dream I killed God and woke up
Time dries, time dries my mind
Oh, Ill survive, no one can save us
Talk to myself, talk to my soul
I want you to follow
Yes, follow...
Its only...its only a dream, only
Dream I killed God and woke up
He was lying, bleeding and wishing
Its passing
Its passing
Dream I killed god
Dream I killed god
Is he dead?
And then I dreamt of him
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Requiem For The Year 2011
at the last hour
we march toward a common grave
bringing the flowers
and some stones
they year is kept inside
a niche laced with white silk
slowly the men with strong arms
lowered the niche
to the the newly dug hole
seven feet under
the women with long black hair
wept beside their innocent children
the year is buried
as we then throw the final stones
then it is covered
with its soil returned
until it is full
and then we put the flowers
it is over
now
and then we go back to our houses
it is nighttime
we close the doors
and open the windows to see
those beautiful stars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Migration
Migration
In this rich flat landscape there are no stones they had to
travel to the far mountain and with mule and cart it was
a long arduous journey. Stones were only used as base for
houses and as grave stones, but since these were stolen
so this practice ended, the dead had to do with wooden
crosses which tend to rot when it rains. Farmers buried
their stones under a mass of soil, for safety mounds of
them dotted the flat landscape and made it less monotone.
Modern time, a railway line stretches across the land and
ends in a haze were the mountain begins, stones are now
a common thing, way, all and sundry has one, the poorest
even have gravelled strewn back yards. A clever man decided
to open a rise and sell stones a souvenir as a memory of
the past, when life was idyllic, but he found a mass grave,
not only human skeletons but also household goods, toys
and musical instruments.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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All Will Be Well
Whisper to the wind,
Hey, wind, please stay calm.
Give a gentle breeze,
And do us no harm.
Blow away the rain,
So that there is none.
Then all will be well,
When the day is done.
Whisper to the rain,
Hey, rain, that feeds all.
When you need to cry,
Let it gently fall.
Wash away the dust,
Freshen up the soil.
Then all will be well,
And the day won’t spoil.
Whisper to the sun,
Hey, sun, shine on me.
Let me know your warmth,
All your heat is free.
Brighten up the hours,
Setting in the west.
Then all will be well,
Our day truly blessed.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Perchance to dream for friend thad
I dreamt or maybe dreamt I dreamt.
A lucid dream I could control,
in which I thought I would attempt
to contact my immortal soul.
I moved up to a higher plane.
Which I accomplished easily.
I thought perhaps that I could gain.
Some knowledge relevant to me.
I met myself and face to face
we could converse quite naturally.
Discussed the trials I must face
This seemed quite logical to me.
Was it a dream? I can’t be sure
I only know it seemed to be.
Somehow it served to reassure
me that all is as it ought to be.
Was it a dream or possibly
an altered state of consciousness.
A different reality
It could be either one I guess.
What does it matter anyway.
A dream may have reality
which we perceive a different way.
When viewed imaginatively.
Imagination is the key
which opens portals we can pass
in spirit form so easily
But must return too soon alas.
I dreamt or maybe dreamt I dreamt
a lucid dream I could control.
Perchance I failed in my attempt.
Not ready yet to be made whole.
29-Jan-09 http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Parts Of Me
There is one part of me that
Feels safe sometimes, that part of me
That doesn’t go outside of my front door and
Just stays home and listens to music playing and
Sings along softly to the tunes while
I paint my life’s story in vivid colors or
Write my testimony over and over again, though in different words every time-
My dream being that someday I shall be discovered
As the person I truly am-
That person who wants the world to know
That the path I have walked has been
Scattered with stones and branches of fallen trees-
And how I have bent over to collect those stones and
How I have kicked the branches aside- That person I truly am who
Is like a bird with broken wings but has found a way to fly-
Perhaps not high in the sky but flying, just the same or
Maybe as a deer with a broken leg who still can run,
Perhaps not at a galloping speed but running just the same-
There is a part of me that is terrified and has always been-
Terrified of the people in this world so vast and so threatening-
I have found myself a cave inside of which to hide and
Here I can sing, dance or just merely talk- I have pulled the curtains shut and as I
Whisper words as incoherent as they may be-
It hardly matters because no one is here to
Slight me or to interrupt my performance-
So many have often said how lonely I must be-
Living alone inside my shelter, though a safe place for me to hide-
Safe with the curtains drawn, windows shut and doors locked and chained-
This one part of me is none but victorious as
I call myself a survivor, having collected all of the stones and
Having kicked all of the branches on the paths I walk aside-
Happy to be here at home- singing and dancing-
I can laugh and run about here and sometimes when I step outside my sanctuary
If only for a moment and I could tell any passerby –
I am never alone, never lonely because
The whole world could disappear within a gust of wind- and
I am not alone in this world or never lonely only because-
Even if every person in this world would vanish, I shall always have myself-
The tunes I carry- the canvas upon which I majestically paint my life’s story-
And most of all- my dreams-
poem by Claudia Krizay
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The Amazement
The Amazement
The track I walked, in the thorny landscape, was full of loose
stones that kept coming up from ground trying to trip me up,
where the track narrowed amongst unkempt trees, boughs
tried to push me over, and in the undergrowth I heard snarls
of animals too vicious and hideous too appear in the flesh.
Overcast day and the wind that blew had ice on its breaths,
I shivered alone in the enmity of a landscape gone feral.
But I staggered on unwilling to give into phobias and fear,
suddenly stones went subversive and the path was soft as
a carpet, unseen animals disappeared and trees welcomed
me with fluttering leaves; even a love hungry zephyr
whispered sweet words. In a shimmering glade- smooth as
a rich man’s lawn- a plum tree, full of juicy fruit, I picked and
ate some; they tasted of magic and sweet marvel.
Dizzy with pleasure I sat on a stone, formed by ten million
years of rain, like a throne, saw sirens dance to Pan’s flute and
swim with sunrays and moon waves that hadn’t made it home
and had to wait for night, and mother moon to come pick them
up. Fell asleep when I woke up a boar, with her seven piglets,
drank water by the lake’s far shore. White clouds on blue, time
to go home and remember not speak of this to anyone.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Box Of Rain
Look out of any window, any morning, any evening, any day.
Maybe the sun is shining, birds are singing,
No rain is falling from a heavy sky.
What do you want me to do, to do for you to see you through?
For this is all a dream we dreamed one afternoon, long ago.
Walk out of any doorway, feel your way, feel your way like the day before.
Maybe youll find direction,
Around some corner where its been waiting to meet you.
What do you want me to do, to watch for you while you are sleeping?
The please dont be surprised when you find me dreaming too.
Look into any eyes you find by you, you can see clear to another day,
Maybe been seen before, through other eyes on other days while going home.
What do you want me to do, to do for you to see you through?
Its all a dream we dreamed one afternoon, long ago.
Walk into splintered sunlight,
Inch your way through dead dreams to another land.
Maybe youre tired and broken,
Your tongue is twisted with words half spoken and thoughts unclear
What do you want me to do, to do for you to see you through?
A box of rain will ease the pain, and love will see you through.
Just a box of rain, wind and water,
Sun and shower, wind and rain,
In and out the window like a moth before a flame.
And its just a box of rain, I dont know who put it there,
Believe it if you need it, or leave it if you dare.
And its just a box of rain, or a ribbon for your hair;
Such a long long time to be gone, and a short time to be there.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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History Stones People.
History stones people.
They stoned Moses, David and Linclon,
history did that for all to see
Marbel and cement,
that's all it leaves behind
of a long changing life.
Great heroes of time,
fall under the mercy
of the sculptor's knife.
History stones faces,
in a way that would make
ecclestias cringe.
History stones feet,
in a way that would make
piligrims cry.
History stones life
to always stay fresh,
yet, what is life without
the sins of the flesh.
All the radical kids
get stoned
and never change
or even move a muscle.
All the sword raising warriors
history stoned
without blood in their veins.
You can see all the victims
that history stoned
when you walk in the park,
they got kings
and queens
hell, they even got Gods.
They are there captive
in history's stones,
never to be again what they were;
wilting flesh and
breakable bones.
People look up at them
they are victims too.
History's stones fall far,
even on to you.
Those stoned to live
are like the ones stoned to die.
enslaved to the search
of the frozen smile.
Life is a burning bush
that doesn't get consumed.
not a dead rock
or a statue of history.
It's a fusing wind
of happinnes and misery.
An exploding volcano
of courage and fear.
It is the stem of the flower
struggling through the seasons
to stand and bloom
above the drying soil.
Life is the fighting wave
you see at sea
forgotten and denied
by the stones of history.
poem by Samuel Katz
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The Wind Doesn't Cry Mary
Tempests that howl over chimneypots
No words whispering Mary
Not a single name not a single verse in rhyme
That traffic light didn't turn blue
The wind didn't say anything at all this time.
Another time, another age, the wind
Played with us but now its through
Now there is nothing left to murmur
The wind doesn't whisper Mary
The urban lights twinkle and glow
Wet dark streets decay and buildings grow
Bombs splatter and fields decay
But that for most of us is far, far away.
The wind doesn't whisper Mary
But its true, we are still staggering along
The road is long, the wind is strong
But doesn't whisper the words of that song
And the wind doesn't cry out
Mary
poem by Rani Turton
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