The Home
I paced alone on the road across the field while the sunset was
hiding its last gold like a miser.
The daylight sank deeper and deeper into the darkness, and the
widowed land, whose harvest had been reaped, lay silent.
Suddenly a boy's shrill voice rose into the sky. He traversed
the dark unseen, leaving the track of his song across the hush of
the evening.
His village home lay there at the end of the waste land,
beyond the sugar-cane field, hidden among the shadows of the banana
and the slender areca palm, the coconut and the dark green jack-
fruit trees.
I stopped for a moment in my lonely way under the starlight,
and saw spread before me the darkened earth surrounding with her
arms countless homes furnished with cradles and beds, mother's
hearts and evening lamps, and young lives glad with a gladness that
knows nothing of its value for the world.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Related quotes
Going Home
UNDER the young moon's slender shield
With the wind's cool lips on mine,
I went home from the Rabitty Field
As the clocks were striking nine.
The yews were dark in the level light,
The thorn-trees dropped with gold,
And a partridge called where the dew was white
In the grass on the edge of the fold.
O, had your hand been in my hand
As the long chalk-road I trod,
The green hills of the lovely land
Had seemed the hills of God.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Memories Of The Pacific Coast
I know a land, I, too,
Where warm keen incense on the sea-wind blows,
And all the winter long the skies are blue,
And the brown deserts blossom with the rose.
Deserts of all delight,
Cactus and palm and earth of thirsty gold,
Dark purple blooms round eaves of sun-washed white,
And that Hesperian fruit men sought of old.
O, to be wandering there,
Under the palm-trees, on that sunset shore,
Where the waves break in song, and the bright air
Is crystal clean; and peace is ours, once more.
There Beauty dwells,
Beauty, re-born in whiteness from the foam;
And Youth returns with all its magic spells,
And the heart finds its long-forgotten home,--
Home--home! Where is that land?
For, when I dream it found, the old hungering cry
Aches in the soul, drives me from all I planned,
And sets my sail to seek another sky.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Evening Coconut
The statue of liberty is breathing in the air
Atlantis is waiting down below.
Late at night, flashing lights are sighted in the air.
Its no secret, what everybody knows.
It really dont matter much, which way I go.
But remember to pull over in the storm.
Have you seen the evening coconut
Bobbing on the bay?
Standing on the waters edge of stone
Someone there besides you
To hear the words you say
To show you things your eyes have never known.
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
The statue of liberty is breathing in the air
While atlantis is waiting down below.
Late at night, flashing lights are sighted in the air.
Its no secret, what everybody knows.
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
Evening coconut, evening coconut
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Daylight
(sung by chorus)
Daylight over the village green early in the morning.
Daylight over the hills and valleys heralding the morning.
Daylight over the mountains, daylight on the village green,
Daylight over the field and the factories.
Another night has gone away and here comes yet another day.
See the early morning risers walking round with bleary eyes.
Worn out housewives grit their teeth ignoring new born babies cries.
Look at all the busy people this way, that way, everywhere
Biting toast and swallowing tea and breakfast specials on the air.
Feel that daylight.
Feel the sunlight on my pillow and it stops my yawing.
I thank God that Im still around to see another dawn in.
Daylight over the valleys, daylight lighting up the trees,
Daylight over the hillside,
Smile a smile and sing a song, another night has been and gone.
Middle-aged bankers crack their backs and wish they were young and in their teens,
Lonely spinsters dream of dating roger moore or steve mcqueen.
Health fanatics in their attics training for the empire games,
School boys dream of captain scarlet, battle ships and aeroplanes.
Feel that daylight, daylight.
Daylight on the village green,
Daylight,
Field and the valleys,
Daylight.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Goal Of Poetry
it is simply to reach
out to people
with our verbal hands
these mental arms
and make them
look
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
d eeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeperdeeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
deeper
too, within
themselves
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bavarian Gentias
Not every man has gentians in his house
in soft September, at slow, sad Michaelmas.
Bavarian gentians, big and dark, only dark
darkening the daytime, torch-like, with the smoking blueness of Pluto's
gloom,
ribbed and torch-like, with their blaze of darkness spread blue
down flattening into points, flattened under the sweep of white day
torch-flower of the blue-smoking darkness, Pluto's dark-blue daze,
black lamps from the halls of Dis, burning dark blue,
giving off darkness, blue darkness, as Demeter's pale lamps give off blight, lead me then, lead the way.
Reach me a gentian, give me a torch!
let me guide myself with the blue, forked torch of this flower
down the darker and darker stairs, where blue is darkened on blueness even where Persephone goes, just now, from the frosted September
to the sightless realm where darkness is awake upon the dark
and Persephone herself is but a voice
or a darkness invisible enfolded in the deeper dark
of the arms Plutonic, and pierced with the passion of dense gloom, among the splendor of torches of darkness, shedding darkness on the lost bride and her groom.
poem by David McKee Wright
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Not Here
Pensiveness touches me,
When the last ray of the
Sun, flutters its wings,
to fly away from this,
Woeful day...........
The green darkness,
Sits beside me to knock,
Me with the words-- not
Here, not here is your,
Root in the melancholic
Present, the shady yard,
The monotonous crickets,
The homeward birds declare--
This evening has approached,
As a must, inevitably as
Destiny drowns a good
Swimmer! I can't move,
From the far-stretched,
Growing night...........
My childhood days creep back,
To me-the coconut, the mango,
Jack fruit, guava, tamarind trees,
Crowd in single frame!
Mother lights the evening lamp,
Blows conch, father calls me,
I hear...The evening, my childhood,
And I thus become eternal,
On the canvas of a,
Standstill evening!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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I
"Ah, poet, the evening draws near; your hair is turning grey.
Do you in your lonely musing hear the message of the hereafter?"
"It is evening, the poet said, and I am listening because some
one may call from the village, late though it be.
I watch if young straying hearts meet together, and two pairs of
eager eyes beg for music to break their silence and speak for
them.
Who is there to weave their passionate songs, if I sit on the
shore of life and contemplate death and the beyond?
The early evening star disappears.
The glow of a funeral pyre slowly dies by the silent river.
Jackals cry in chorus from the courtyard of the deserted house
in the light of the worn-out moon.
If some wanderer, leaving home, come here to watch the night and
with bowed head listen to the murmur of the darkness, who is
there to whisper the secrets of life into his ears if I,
shutting my doors, should try to free myself from mortal bonds?
It is a trifle that my hair is turning grey.
I am ever as young or as old as the youngest and the oldest of
this village.
Some have smiles, sweet and simple, and some a sly twinkle in
their eyes.
Some have tears that well up in the daylight, and others tears
that are hidden in the gloom.
They all have need for me, and I have no time to brood over the
afterlife.
I am of an age with each, what matter if my hair turns grey?"
poem by Rabindranath Tagore from The Gardener (1913)
Submitted by Silvia Velea
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Bavarian Gentians
Not every man has gentians in his house
in Soft September, at slow, Sad Michaelmas.
Bavarian gentians, big and dark, only dark
darkening the daytime torchlike with the smoking blueness of Pluto's
gloom,
ribbed and torchlike, with their blaze of darkness spread blue
down flattening into points, flattened under the sweep of white day
torch-flower of the blue-smoking darkness, Pluto's dark-blue daze,
black lamps from the halls of Dis, burning dark blue,
giving off darkness, blue darkness, as Demeter's pale lamps give off
light,
lead me then, lead me the way.
Reach me a gentian, give me a torch!
Let me guide myself with the blue, forked torch of a flower
down the darker and darker stairs, where blue is darkened on blueness
down the way Persephone goes, just now, in first-frosted September
to the sightless realm where darkness is married to dark
and Persephone herself is but a voice, as a bride
a gloom invisible enfolded in the deeper dark
of the arms of Pluto as he ravishes her once again
and pierces her once more with his passion of the utter dark
among the splendour of black-blue torches, shedding
fathomless darkness on the nuptials.
Bavarian gentians, tall and dark, but dark
darkening the daytime torch-like with the smoking blueness of Pluto's gloom,
ribbed hellish flowers erect, with their blaze of darkness spread blue,
blown flat into points, by the heavy white draught of the day.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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The Christmas Homes of England
The Christmas homes of England!
How far-famed and how dear;
In bright array they ever stand,
That glad day of the year;
When gathered round the hearth-stone,
The loved ones joyful meet,
With one accord from far and near,
The circle glad to greet.
The Christmas homes of England!
O, many a joyous brow,
Which ever yet hath hailed that day,
Will sorrowfully bow,
When this one now returneth;
For they look, but look in vain,
The pride and joy of that glad home,
They ne'er shall see again!
The Christmas homes of England!
In manhood's noblest bloom,
On Alma's bloody fields thy lords
Have found their lowly tomb;
The warrior grey, whose stalwart arm
Had prostrate laid the foe;
And gallant sons of noble sires,
By them in death lie low!
The Christmas homes of England!
Alike in peasant's cot,
Where hath the death-wail not been heard,
Where hath it entered not?
And the widowed mother silent weeps,
And sheds the bitter tear,
As fancy sees her gallant boy,
The cold ground for his bier!
The Christmas homes of England!
In that far-off Eastern land,
What thoughts will be awakened
Among that gallant band?
How from scenes so dark and fearful,
Their spirit will take flight
To the bright home of their childhood,
And the happy Christmas night!
The Christmas homes of England!
The love of many years
Is turned into a ceaseless fount
Of bitterness and tears;
The mother and the widow,
The maiden and the child,
They call; but none shall answer,
Those loving accents mild!
O, Christmas homes of England!
There's One, the widow's God!
Who, while He chastens, pitieth
The sad ones 'neath His rod;
His arm beneath supported
Thy loved ones in the field,
And whispered, "Leave thy little ones
To me, their God, their shield!
O, Christmas homes of England!
Let all unite in prayer,
That He, the widow's God, may take
Such to His special care;
And we to whom he spareth
Our hearts best treasure yet;
The widow and the orphan,
O let us not forget!
poem by Caroline Hayward
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The Good Earth
When I was a child and the road was dark and the way was long and alone,
My heart would lift as I turned the bend and saw the lights of home.
Now high above in a silent sky,
In a still and starry space,
A man looks down on the earth below,
And that blue and green and shining glow,
To him is the lights of home.
Its the good earth, yes the good earth.
Its a land of sun and rain and snow,
And mulberry trees and mistletoe,
And burning plains and raging seas,
And sunday morning taking your ease,
Watching your children grow.
Its the good earth, yes the good earth,
Where we fought and loved and killed and died,
And ruined and ravished the countryside,
But now, from a million miles away,
From another world thats cold and gray,
Someone is able to look and say,
Thats the good earth.
So isnt it time we stopped the tears?
Weve lived together for thousands of years,
And whether Im wrong, and whether youre right,
Whether youre black, and whether Im white,
One day well stand on the edge of the world,
And someone will ask us the land of our birth,
And well look into his eyes and quietly say:
Its the good earth, yes the good earth.
Why cant we be good on the good earth?
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deeper, Dig Deeper
Deeper, dig deeper
Deeper, deeper, dig, dig, deeper, deeper
Get a little closer
You dont have to be afraid
You have to trust your inner pilot
Dont let it drift away
Dig a little deeper
You gotta get it in your soul
Reach out with your spirit
And let your feelings show
Deeper, deeper, dig, dig, deeper, deeper
You cant deny the feeling
That touches you inside
When youre tired and lonely
You dont have to lose your pride.
Take the time to listen
Stay a little while
Got a song to sing for you
Let the music get you higher, higher.
song performed by by Santana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Krishnakali
In the village they call her the dark girl
but to me she is the flower Krishnakali
On a cloudy day in a field
I saw the dark girl's dark gazelle-eyes.
She had no covering on her head,
her loose hair had fallen on her back.
Dark? However dark she be,
I have seen her dark gazelleeyes.
Two black cows were lowing,
as it grew dark under the heavy clouds.
So with anxious, hurried steps,
the dark girl came from her hut.
Raising her eyebrows toward the sky,
she listened a moment to the clouds' rumble.
Dark? However dark she be,
I have seen her dark gazelle-eyes.
A gust of the east wind
rippled the rice plants.
I was standing by a ridge,
alone in the field.
Whether or not she looked at me
Is known only to us two.
Dark? However dark she be,
I have seen her dark gazelle-eyes.
This how the Kohldark cloud
rises in the northeast in Jaistha;
the soft dark shadow
descends on the Tamal grove in Asharh;
and sudden delight floods the heart
in the night of Sravan.
Dark? However dark she be,
I have seen her dark gazelle-eyes.
To me she is the flower Krishnakali,
whatever she may be called by others.
In a field in Maynapara village
I saw the dark girl's dark gazelle-eyes.
She did not cover her head,
not having the time to feel embarrassed.
Dark? However dark she be,
I have seen her dark gazelle-eyes.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Harvest Moon
Drinking the dripping light
Of the Harvest Moon,
I lie on my back, only
The sound of some crickets
Is trembling around.
The stillness to me is now a boon!
The wet grass land calms
My feverish head.
The cool air blows and I
Remain as a person dead.
Insects roam beside my body though
I do not leave them away!
This is the evening I want, I know
Every time, to be alone, alone....
No one with me on this special day,
When the evening will embrace night,
The moonlight will focus on me.
I shall bathe with his color bright
The green darkness will hug me soon!
No human eye can watch my love in the lea,
With the Evening harvest moon...
poem by Nilakshi Das
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A Death in the Woods
The road fell out of the mountains
Into a field that spread toward the horizon,
Dark trees rose slowly,
Climb toward the sunset.
Presence to the traveler's eye
On road reach the crest of hill
Drop to the small river,
Climb down the sunset.
The horses slosh through,
The wagon wheel bolts below
Cross to the entrance of the forest
Known simply as Blackbird.
He escaped two days before,
His partner decides to give in
And turns to head toward sheriff
A bullet race through his head.
poem by A.K. Karam
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Trapped Im Somewhere One Guess? !
Somewhere there must be
theres gotta be a way logically
if not logically some other way!
o reason and spirituality neither be far away!
stay close i need thee to understand thy world
mind unfurled!
everything spinning and all of it just gone!
grr no energy i cant make rhyme or song!
then what is this you think i know? !
i dont know i cant even show a little brightness
its so dark so confusing world in dark
scratchy, hard, and firm like bark
it puts up these walls and keep me in the darkness
you think there is a way to handle this with finesse
will i be trapped here spiral lower: ? ! deeper into it!
lets go deeper darker danker in this pit!
bring it on! ill take it all
one more time just let me fall
further further into the fray!
mmmkay?
so deep
i can feel it closer it will creep
up higher the mossy darkness its real now! real
no expected this but no need to squeal
it won't be over it won't be okay its not gonna end well
Welcome to the living he**
confusion, ambivalence, torture, pain, suffering, rife guilt, everything you could want
do not let all these daunt
you my friend we are not too deep yet
even though its dank dark and wet
we can still get out the darkness is never too deep......
or are we? or is it? ... hello? ? ....
a voice solemly replied
'you are always alone, always afraid, always in darkness, always in confusion, always in death..'
no... always hope
as i grope
around in the darkness trying to find my way home
now i wish i had kept my tome
of knowledge
trying to find my home always... hope
'ALWAYS DARKNESS FOOL! '
poem by David Knox
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The Green Above The Red
Full often when our fathers saw the Red above the Green,
They rose in rude but fierce array, with sabre, pike and scian,
And over many a noble town, and many a field of dead,
They proudly set the Irish Green above the English Red.
But in the end throughout the land, the shameful sight was seen-
The English Red in triumph high above the Irish Green;
But well they died in breach and field, who, as their spirits fled,
Still saw the Green maintain its place above the English Red.
And they who saw, in after times, the Red above the Green
Were withered as the grass that dies beneath a forest screen;
Yet often by this healthy hope their sinking hearts were fed,
That, in some day to come, the Green should flutter o'er the Red.
Sure 'twas for this Lord Edward died, and Wolfe Tone sunk serene-
Because they could not bear to leave the Red above the Green;
And 'twas for this that Owen fought, and Sarsfield nobly bled-
Because their eyes were hot to see the Green above the Red.
So when the strife began again, our darling Irish Green
Was down upon the earth, while high the English Red was seen;
Yet still we held our fearless course, for something in us said,
'Before the strife is o'er you'll see the Green above the Red.'
And 'tis for this we think and toil, and knowledge strive to glean,
That we may pull the English Red below the Irish Green,
And leave our sons sweet Liberty, and smiling plenty spread
Above the land once dark with blood-the Green above the Red!
The jealous English tyrant now has banned the Irish Green,
And forced us to conceal it like a something foul and mean;
But yet, by Heavens! he'll sooner raise his victims from the dead
Than force our hearts to leave the Green, and cotton to the Red!
We'll trust ourselves, for God is good, and blesses those who lean
On their brave hearts, and not upon an earthly king or queen;
And, freely as we lift our hands, we vow our blood to shed
Once and for evermore to raise the Green above the Red.
poem by Thomas Davis
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As the Clouds that are so Light
As the clouds that are so light,
Beautiful, swift, and bright,
Cast shadows on field and park
Of the earth that is so dark,
And even so now, light one!
Beautiful, swift and bright one!
You let fall on a heart that was dark,
Unillumined, a deeper mark.
But clouds would have, without earth
To shadow, far less worth:
Away from your shadow on me
Your beauty less would be,
And if it still be treasured
An age hence, it shall be measured
By this small dark spot
Without which it were not.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Dark Meat Of Darkness
Discover a land so shadowed with darkness,
It spreads like dark flowers around the land.
The reality is bitter, falling away like silver has dropped
Into a chasm to be rebuilt as gold.
Retrieve this gold, when the goats of meat
Are cooked above a burning fire,
And then the gold can be filling the meat
So that it is worth more to eat.
To eat the gold, you must defeat
Shadows of the land, and the goats
Of meat have clung to the land then,
And after this you have paid for the good.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Lonely Cities Of The Heart
As the midnight fades in boys town
And the hustle stops to glow
This urban landscape sprawls before me
And the hunger starts to grow
But something more than my daddy showed to me
How he wanted to make a man of me
Living in the lonely cities of the heart
Hiding in the shadows and searching in the dark
My mama reads me like an open book
She knows when Im up or down
But every night I stay longer
In the creole part of town
Something more than what the good lord gave to me
Something more, much more than this
Living in the lonely cities of the heart
Hiding in the shadows, searching in the dark
And it never stops, no it never stops, no one defends you now
Living in the lonely cities of the heart
(instrumental)
I can take a little pain, but not tonight again
Outside my hotel window I hear the mardi gras
Keep the candle burning bright babe, Ive come too far
As daylight creeps through the curtains I start to slip away,
And everything that seems so certain is just another day
Living in the lonely cities of the heart
Hiding in the shadows searching in the dark
And it never stops, no it never stops, no one defends you now
Living in the lonely cities of the heart
Hiding in the shadows searching in the dark
And it never stops, no it never stops, no one defends you now
Living in the lonely cities of the heart
Living in the lonely cities of the heart...
song performed by by Ufo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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