Hawaiian
SANDALWOOD, you say, and in your thoughts it chimes
With Tyre and Solomon; to me it rhymes
With places bare upon Pacific mountains,
With spaces empty in the minds of men.
Sandalwood!
The Kings of Hawaii call out their men,
The men go up the mountains in files;
Hands that knew only the stone axe now wield the iron axe:
The sandalwood trees go down.
More sandalwood is called for:
The men who hunt the whale will buy sandalwood;
The Kings would change canoes for ships.
Men come down from the mountains carrying sandalwood on their backs;
More and more men are levied;
They go up the mountains in files; they leave their taropatches so that famine comes down on the land.
But this sandalwood grows upon other trees, a parasite;
It needs a growing thing to grow upon;
Its seed and its soil are not enough for it!
Too greedy are the Kings;
Too eager are the men who hunt the whale to sail to
Canton with fragrant wood to make shrines for the
Buddhas;
Too sharp is the iron axe!
Nothing will ever bring together again
The spores and the alien sap that nourished them,
The trees and the trees they would plant themselves
upon:
Like the myths of peoples,
Like the faiths of peoples,
Like the speech of peoples,
Like the ancient creation chants,
The sandalwood is gone!
A fragrance in shrines
But the trees will never live again!
poem by Padraic Colum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The carpenter's hands are bleeding blood
The carpenter's hands are bleeding blood
His hearts a house made of sandalwood
He carves and smooth's it to fit a tawdry groove
A dovetail joint he shares with you. And you approve.
But still you complain; his soul it has a splintered
-Stairwell, where nothing ever is newly charted…
You say; he gazes with knotted eyes spiralling outward…
Into a space of stars, sawdust sutured.
His carpenter's hands are bleeding blood
His forefathers arms cradled in lave dust
He is now at a distance from the sharp end of the plane.
If only he could, uproots, uncouple just one carriage from the train
Derail the distance in that discontentment, love, once again!
But still you complain; his work has no honesty?
Or shame, she cries like a gull, whose ocean has no-sea-wave.
His hearts a house made of sandalwood
Is but flotsam; is but some malnourished driftwood.
A splintered
-Stairwell, where nothing ever is ever newly sculptured…
poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Gold has
Gold has no fragrance
Sugarcane plant has no sweet fruit
Sandalwood tree has no flowers
I have no money I am a man
He has a short span of life
He is a ruler
My poem has got eternal power
And it is useful for ever.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Criminal Minds...
Feeling so alert in the crisp sandalwood air! ! !
My mind draws pictures for me...
Its of two people caught up-'in secret'
What some might call their apt destiny! ! ! ;
He has long white hair-pony-tailed
She has Delilah hair-medium red...
He has done 'everything'' literally-X rated...
She has the Midas touch instead;
He dwells on sexual thoughts daily............
While she is a Nympho, at best!
He has many a fetish, thats true
Her heart is of chrome and its a mess;
They both share something in common...
Unresolved sexual tension and greed-thats right
She always wants it wherever she can get it
And he is a fan of the Harlots of night! ! ! ;
The Sandalwood incence continues to burn
The picture of these two become even more clear...! ! !
Both are so caught up in the use: of stimulants
That when: The Truth Arrives-they do not hear;
So now, it is right before their lit up eyes...
All of the destruction that they have caused to us! ! !
But bother their conscience-no not at all...! ! !
They just wonder, why all the fuss! ! ! ! ;
This is my second write on:
Obsession, Stalking, Narciscism,
And Psychopathy
This write zeros in on two
Narcistic Psychopaths
February 10,2012
By, Theodora Onken
poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
She Is Me
Sandalwood
and the hum of busy stitches
drift through memories
on faded photographs.
a gentle hand
that turns a crackling recording
of gospel tunes
and electric guitars,
she sits reading
romance and heroes
while romance evades her sight
and heroes only fall
-
hiding her failings in the small oven
where memories were cooked
and tea leaves danced
in the ochre hue
of yesterdays travels,
she danced in hallways
aiming to please
a jeering crowd,
all except one
who took the gifts
and wrapped them in cobwebs
to open in secret
---
pressing the glistening silver
into small palms
she recited psalms
in anxious tones.
the softest of kisses
could not detract
from the perfect waves
of red
that adorned a head
so distant
so conformed
to ideals
of reform
---
and so she will dance
burn incense
of sandalwood
to rid the blight
of idealist sight
for these three
are she
and she is they
in some small way
poem by Alc Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dry Hands
on the table
trying to absorb
the moisture of
sandalwood
it is not the water
but the lacking care
of another set of
hands
inside it rains
someone claps his hands
so inconsiderate
outside is the sunshine
of her smile
impenetrability
illustrated
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Let the Spring Winds Blow
Who divided the rivers and mountains
Forty-five years ago, hearts were torn, blood flowed
Standing and waiting, turning to stone looking at my homeland
The cries of anguish are no longer heard No fertile land for the trees to grow, no water to float the ships
No flight in the sky, where did it go
Known long ago, Korea was the rising sun of the East
Everywhere, tall trees, clear waters, blue skies To roam everywhere, to greet everyone
But that was yesterday
Spring comes to other countries, where everyone can travel
But winter snow blocks the path to my homeland Following year to year, people and seasons come and go
I am waiting, why are the spring winds not blowing
Winter is long and cold but spring must come
The seeds are waiting to bloom Spring has arrived, let us join hands
Let us plant trees on the mountains
Let us sail our ships on the rivers
Let us fly far into the sky
poem by Michael I. Byun
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Difference Between You And Me....
perhaps we have the same vices,
we write to confuse, but we drive some points,
like nails on sandalwood,
not those rusty ones that make the sound
of 'trying hard'
we are original in these, competing only with
our own syllables,
we may have the same vices
i may have written all those words to confuse
but mine is a series of stairs
leading to the door to the room to the window
to the skies
and then everything i am is gone
but you do not notice it
you think that i am still the chair and the table
the napkin and
the spoon.
my wings are hands
my hands are winds,
my mind are planes,
my soul a boat,
what i write are mirages
you see, you cannot touch.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Where Are The Thunder and Lightning?
The farmers of Karnataka in India
are staging agitations and protests
standing waist deep in the Kabini river
against the verdict of the Supreme Court
for releasing some cusecs of water
from the marvellous Brindavan Dam,
to quench the thirst of the farmers
in the nearby Tanjore belt in Tamil Nadu.
The South West Monsoon Winds are sterile
belying the hopes of the farmers
of the both the States.
The rain-god is sleeping somewhere!
What can the poor do
if lightning bolt strike
the women working in paddy fields
and the boys selling snacks on the beach,
and those taking shelter under the tall trees
when thunder and lightning forewarn the rains?
The gods are snoring in the granite chambers
with the mafia of Sand, Gold, Sandalwood and Coal.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wrinkling
Give me not your style today:
the visceral truth, liberated
from painkillers.
Spying singles out the flesh
after the resentment of torture
to do more wrong;
going away in yesterday
puts the life in apocalyptic shade,
the orange condoles for dark
when I lie still on flames
of sandalwood, setting the sun
bleed in blue eyes
of lonely sea. I am again
sleepwalking on salt lake ready
to draw the boundary of reasons,
the second-hand stitch for the eternal wound.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sound Of Solitude
Do you hear as I do,
The sound of my unfolding silence
When it gets blended
With the blossoming-sound
Of a million roses in cascading colours
Of a distant Rose Island.
How often you lend your ears as I do,
To the lingering echo
Of the divine fragrance
Of a copious crop of exclusive sandalwood.
Do you listen to as I do,
The silent soaking
Of nocturnal vegetations
By the silver beams
Of a full moon.
Do you hear as I do,
The silent descending
Of the sparkling sound
Of delicate dew-drops
On the greenery of meadows.
Do you also hear with your broad eyes as I do,
The twinkling din
Of stars and starlets
Jostling for dotted space
On a rustic sky.
SOUND OF SOLITUDE
Do you hear as I do,
The sound of my unfolding silence
When it gets blended
With the blossoming-sound
Of a million roses in cascading colours
Of a distant Rose Island.
How often you lend your ears as I do,
To the lingering echo
Of the divine fragrance
Of a copious crop of exclusive sandalwood.
Do you listen to as I do,
The silent soaking
Of nocturnal vegetations
By the silver beams
Of a full moon.
Do you hear as I do,
The silent descending
Of the sparkling sound
Of delicate dew-drops
On the greenery of meadows.
Do you also hear with your broad eyes as I do,
The twinkling din
Of stars and starlets
Jostling for dotted space
On a rustic sky.
Cargoes
Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
With a cargo of ivory,
And apes and peacocks,
Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.
Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
With a cargo of diamonds,
Emeralds, amythysts,
Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.
Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack,
Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,
With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rails, pig-lead,
Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.
poem by John Masefield (1902)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
Random Senrys
Dreams
Dreams fade at day light
Residue of dreams leaves dreamer
Unsettled!
Wave of Time
Interval between
Two waves in the time we have
Let’s make most of it!
Moon
Sandalwood moon
Lies cuddled in my palms
You’re perfumed
Love
Disappointment or
Fulfillment in or of love
What one is!
Defenseless Heart
Into your palms flows
My vulnerability
Heart defenseless!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blessings Tears Offered In Prayers Prayed
in this quiet house built on high ground
burns sacred incense with prayers
prayers prayed for souls of our drowned
sandalwood smoke in longevity rises
blessings tears offered in prayers prayed
in house on high ground purchased
father’s words echo build on high ground
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Frosty Scent!
The sweet scent of a Rose
Stays frozen when sprayed with a hose;
Rose-water, Natural Sweet notes of a Rose
Aroma rejuvenates in Beauty's Classic pose;
Perfumes that suit you, are so many
Rose, Orange, Vanilla, Sandalwood and Honey;
Scents that soothe, please, enhance, refresh, cheer
All depends on the taste and mood, what you wear;
Smell that makes one happy and attractive
Personality, Taste and Mood is indicative;
Frost covers the flower but enhances it's fragrance
Sweet Odour hides the essence of your presence.
poem by Manjeshwari P MYSORE
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Orientale
She's an enchanting little Israelite,
A world of hidden dimples!--Dusky-eyed,
A starry-glancing daughter of the Bride,
With hair escaped from some Arabian Night,
Her lip is red, her cheek is golden-white,
Her nose a scimitar; and, set aside
The bamboo hat she cocks with so much pride,
Her dress a dream of daintiness and delight.
And when she passes with the dreadful boys
And romping girls, the cockneys loud and crude,
My thought, to the Minories tied yet moved to range
The Land o' the Sun, commingles with the noise
Of magian drums and scents of sandalwood
A touch Sidonian--modern--taking--strange!
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
This September
This September I have turned yellow and seventy
The sky's translucence no longer mystifies
By holding out hazy undefined amber promises
This air is still crisp and there is promise of
Excitement on the leafy floor of the forest
As the mongoose scurries among the yellow leaves
Tens of thousands of zany butterflies of many hues
Have burst out of the bushes on the Tirumala hills
Striking the stunned panes of the passing cars.
At night I open the window with rusty hinges
To feel the September draught resurrecting
The archived sensations of my withered skin
These limbs feel cheated of pleasurable walks
On dirt tracks lined with fragrant ketaki bushes
There is now not even fear churning in the belly
The creaking bones, powdery and forgetful,
Cry out in sorrowful unison waiting for deliverance
My senile mind, at times agile, refuses to sleep
Unable to muffle the burst of the creative voice
My sonorous monologues have no listeners.
I sleep fitfully and dream of the beyond
Of what lay beyond the Sahyadri mountains
Of the gusts of howling wind passing through
The swaying red sandalwood trees on the other side
And of the myriad mountain streams pouring
In steady trickles into innumerable check-dams
I think of death, the beginning of the tunnel
Not knowing where and when I would emerge
I am at times afraid of the all-enveloping darkness
Darkness closing in slowly amid the staccato cries
Of noisy crickets from invisible crevices.
I turn to my left and go back to self-obliterating sleep
It is only when I lie supine that I get my nightmares.
poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Where Perfumed Rivers Flow
Where perfumed rivers flow,
Is the home of my beloved.
Where passing breezes halt,
Is the home of my beloved.
Where dawn arrives on bare toes,
Where night paints henna-beams on feet,
Where fragrance bathes in moonlight,
Is the home of my beloved.
Where rays of light roam nakedly,
In green forests of sandalwood.
Where the flame seeks the lamp,
Is the home of my beloved.
Where sunsets sleep on wide waters,
And the deer leap.
Where tears fall for no reason,
Is the home of my beloved.
Where the farmer sleeps hungry,
Even though the wheat is the color of my beloved,
Where the wealthy ones lie in hiding,
Is the home of my beloved.
Where perfumed rivers flow,
Is the home of my beloved.
Where passing breezes halt,
Is the home of my beloved.
poem by Shiv Kumar Batalvi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Land O' Free Love & Goodbye
Oh the trees grow higher than the mountains
In the land of free love and goodbye
The river's ever flowing, fishing growing
And the god i love loves me.
In the sky rides a gleam of white horses
And the glimmer clean in your eye
The bird of dawn is bringing
The simpleness of singing
And the god i love loves me.
Oh the trees grow higher than the mountains
In the land of free love and goodbye
The river's ever flowing, fishing growing
And the god i love loves me.
And the sun lies all around
And everything is as it must be
And winter lies underground
And the god i love loves me.
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Land O Free Love Goodbye
Oh the trees grow higher than the mountains
In the land of free love and goodbye
The rivers ever flowing, fishing growing
And the God I love loves me.
In the sky rides a gleam of white horses
And the glimmer clean in your eye
The bird of dawn is bringing
The simpleness of singing
And the God I love loves me.
Oh the trees grow higher than the mountains
In the land of free love and goodbye
The rivers ever flowing, fishing growing
And the God I love loves me.
And the sun lies all around
And everything is as it must be
And winter lies underground
And the God I love loves me.
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Reoccurring Dream
PENANCE CRANE:
The pirate anchored on a Wednesday
And why he came to port I wonder
To see a lady so my friends say
She dances for the sailors
In a smoky cabaret bar underground
Down in a cellar in a harbor town
I know he told her love was treasure
And they would reap the fullest bounty
He only comes to port for pleasure
So when the winds of morning
Blew the curtains in she woke and found he'd gone
I saw his sails unfurling Thursday dawn
The pirate he will sink you with a kiss
He'll steal your heart and sail away
THE DANCER:
Saturday early we met in the cove near the forest
PENANCE:
He'll leave you drowning in the flotsam Of a broken promise in the bay
THE DANCER:
(Dancing we wakened the dawn and the birds into chorus)
PENANCE:
He came again to see her
Yes I think they told me it was Saturday
THE DANCER:
(Ask Penance Crane she was out in her garden she saw us)
PENANCE:
I was at sea then
I didn't see them
I don't believe what you are saying
It isn't true I hardly knew him
Is this some game that you are playing
Go ask the dancer she's the one who saw him last
The one who drew him here
He hasn't come to me since spring last year
There was a time when he would
Bring me silks and sandalwood and Persian lace
THE DANCER:
(Then came another
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!