Macquarie Harbour
Macquarie Harbour jailers lock
the sullen gates no more.....
but lash-strokes sound in every shock
of ocean on the dismal rocks
along that barren shore.
No more the bolters hear the hound
that bays upon the wind,
and terror-spurred kepp onward-bound
until they drop upon the ground
starved and terror-pinned....
But gales that whine among the hills
sniff at the savage tracks
the hopeless took. The snowfall fills
bleak ranges; then the moonlight spills
broad arows on their backs.
poem by Rex Ingamells
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Related quotes
Over The Hills
The old hound wags his shaggy tail,
And I know what he would say:
It's over the hills we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills, and away.
There's nought for us here save to count the clock,
And hang the head all day:
But over the hills we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
Here among men we're like the deer
That yonder is our prey:
So, over the hills we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
The hypocrite is master here,
But he's the cock of clay:
So, over the hills we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
The women, they shall sigh and smile,
And madden whom they may:
It's over the hills we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
Let silly lads in couples run
To pleasure, a wicked fay:
'Tis ours on the heather to bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
The torrent glints under the rowan red,
And shakes the bracken spray:
What joy on the heather to bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
The sun bursts broad, and the heathery bed
Is purple, and orange, and gray:
Away, and away, we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
poem by George Meredith
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Shock And Terror
the psychotic dress the senseless feature
it terrifies every living creature
predictability is wearing thin
groundbreaking practice for the preacher
clowns mortified by my expression
breathing new life into invention
and gagging the maggots with a weary hand
has failed to leave any impression
the shock and terror keeps me sane
the shock and terror keeps me sane
does anybody feel the same?
the shock and terror keeps me sane
up now for seven days and wired
the concept of sleep is way too tired
and I've dialed in a plan to reinstate
your sense of humor has expired
the shock and terror keeps me sane
the shock and terror keeps me sane
does anybody feel the same?
the shock and terror keeps me sane
song performed by by Cky from Infiltrate - Destroy - Rebuild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hound Voice
BECAUSE we love bare hills and stunted trees
And were the last to choose the settled ground,
Its boredom of the desk or of the spade, because
So many years companioned by a hound,
Our voices carry; and though slumber-bound,
Some few half wake and half renew their choice,
Give tongue, proclaim their hidden name -- 'Hound Voice.'
The women that I picked spoke sweet and low
And yet gave tongue. 'Hound Voices' were they all.
We picked each other from afar and knew
What hour of terror comes to test the soul,
And in that terror's name obeyed the call,
And understood, what none have understood,
Those images that waken in the blood.
Some day we shall get up before the dawn
And find our ancient hounds before the door,
And wide awake know that the hunt is on;
Stumbling upon the blood-dark track once more,
Then stumbling to the kill beside the shore;
Then cleaning out and bandaging of wounds,
And chantS of victory amid the encircling hounds.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Vox Silentii
In screaming silence, minds will shatter
And bleed dry the terror of a thousand hearts;
In silence our minds will lock, will warp—
Silence will scream a thousand secrets
That we’ve kept dry, desolate, distressed
For as long as I’ve friended the shade.
And in simple silence sometimes I hear
The words that escape her deepest stores
Of thought, lie, hurt, regret—A fear,
In darkness will scratch the walls raw
With the tear-streaked terror that slits,
Scours, tearing down fatality, facade.
The others—smooth, are rough in thought,
Never brought, silenced in tracks they tread,
Words ringing their piercing shrieks,
Reverberating respites, snuffing silence,
And shunting the ones who hear, but listen,
Who know that talking is unnecessary.
They’ll never know, for they never listen,
Hearing the others in loquacious laughter,
But never listeing, truly, genuine sound,
The purest of sounds and spites,
The echoes and entrails of thought,
The sound of his eyes, of her silence.
poem by Adam Pinheiro
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The Destroying Spirit
I sit upon the rocks that frown
Above the rapid Nile;
And on the toil of man look down
With bitter and scornful smile.
My rocks are inaccessible,
And few return their terrors to tell.
My subjects are the birds, whose wings
Never soar'd into other air;
To whose shrill cries each echo rings—
For their nests are hidden there:
They dip their plumes in that mighty river,
Whose course is onward—onward, for ever.
I see the deluge come sweeping on
Where waving corn-fields gleam;
And forests, and cities, and herds are gone,
Like the shadows of a dream:
The rushing tide is an ocean now;
And islands of ruin darken its brow.
But the waters sink, and earth again
Smiles under Nature's gentlest reign:
Where, from scenes of bliss, shall I go?
I—whose existence is terror and woe.
Now I hide in the burning breast
Of some mountain, whose fires are never at rest,
And urge the torrents that downward flow,
Crashing and swallowing all below.
Then, through the air—away!—away!
Till I check my course on the dread Himmaleh:
Down to its deepest valleys I dive,
Which no mortal can ever see and live,
To visit the evil spirits who dwell
In the ceaseless gloom of that murky dell.
With them, from their rocky temples I roam,
To lure the traveller from his home:
When he rests beneath some charmed tree
With dreams we vex his mind;
And he wakes our hideous forms to see,
As we hover upon the wind;
And our voices howl in the hurrying blast,
Till in frantic fear he breathes his last:
Then we bear him to our dismal cave,
And his tortured spirit we claim as our slave!
I dwell where tempests are loud and dread—
I ride on the billow's foam;
And wherever terror is widest spread
There is the Spirit's home.
poem by Louisa Stuart Costello
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Listen
Listen
to the grasses breathing in the breeze
to the sky unfurling without cease
to the sea waves caressing the shore
to the tree leaves rustling even more
to the raindrops tapping on the roofs
to the rivers rushing through the grooves
to the icetops breaking in the creeks
to the rocks unsettling, rattling peaks
to the thunder trashing into sound
to the rhythm of nature, shifty lands
to the wind in deserts' moving sands
to the voice of silence, moonlight dance
to the ocean humming a lullaby
to the hills asleep under the stars
poem by Amber Breeeze
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Enemy Tracks (Quatern)
There are many tracks on the ground,
enemies could be anywhere,
the spoor does the tracker astound,
he looks carefully here and there.
To me the tracks look all the same,
there are many tracks on the ground,
I do not know from where they came,
how enemies are to be found.
To the tracker it is renowned,
the way that it is set, its line
there are many tracks on the ground,
to me looking almost as mine.
We drink water under a tree
find a booby trap tightly bound
that almost is disposing me,
there are many tracks on the ground.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Ocean Breakers
She went to water;
she always did.
The heaving ocean
matched her heavy breathing;
it was a Ocean of Tears
like hers.
The swells crash
against the shore
relentlessly;
life was relentless too.
The foam;
Anger in the Water that day.
She went to water
she always did,
moving among the sand dunes,
face against the wind.
The sea gulls overhead;
caw! caw! caw!
She lifts her arms,
the wind blows her sleeves
making a flapping sound;
she could hear whispers
between the breakers,
she could hear weeping
among the retreating waves.
She stood there
on the Edge of Forever.
There is no end to the ocean.
Every day it calls to the Sun
and makes it rise.
.
Every night it extinguishes it.
She could walk to China;
she could
and no one would know;
no one would know.
The voice said
'I thought I would find you here'
Waves crashing
more soothing now
two tracks in the sand.
Sad swells
rise again
and retreat;
time and ocean breaks
bring them back together again.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Nowhere Fast
Id like to drop my trousers to the world
I am a man of means (of slender means)
Each household appliance
Is like a new science in my town
And if the day came when I felt a
Natural emotion
Id get such a shock Id probably jump
In the ocean
And when a train goes by
Its such a sad sound
No ...
Its such a sad thing
Id like to drop my trousers to the queen
Every sensible child will know what this means
The poor and the needy
Are selfish and greedy on her terms
And if the day came when I felt a
Natural emotion
Id get such a shock Id probably jump
In the ocean
And when a train goes by
Its such a sad sound
No ...
Its such a sad thing
And when Im lying in my bed
I think about life
And I think about death
And neither one particularly appeals to me
And if the day came when I felt a
Natural emotion
Id get such a shock Id probably lie
In the middle of the street and die
Id lie down and die ...
Oh, oh
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Journey You Must Take...
i often wonder...
if i'm preaching to the choir,
skimming rocks across a lake,
building kingdoms in the sand.
do you hear what i'm hearing?
do you feel the shudder, and the shake?
do you lie sleepless in the night?
do you walk barefoot into the darkness?
are my words made of stone?
of feathers? of dust?
is my heart an open door,
with no knob, no lock, no key?
i cannot hold the wind
in my old hands...
i know, for i have tried!
nor capture moonlight in a bowl.
i am nothing but a shell,
holding the echoes to your ears.
the sound of the flute,
and the sound of your hearts...
a journey you must take!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Barren Shore
Full many sing to me and thee
Their riches gather'd by the sea;
But I will sing, for I'm footsore,
The burthen of the barren shore.
The hue of love how lively shown
In this sole found cerulean stone
By twenty leagues of ocean roar.
O, burthen of the barren shore!
And these few crystal fragments bright,
As clear as truth, as strong as right,
I found in footing twenty more.
O, burthen of the barren shore!
And how far did I go for this
Small, precious piece of ambergris?
Of weary leagues I went threescore.
O, burthen of the barren shore!
The sand is poor, the sea is rich,
And I, I am I know not which;
And well it were to know no more
The burthen of the barren shore!
poem by Coventry Patmore
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Inkwell Spills
Inkwell
spills
on
the frills
of my frock
drip
drip
drip
blackened sock.
Inkwell
spills
over
the lines
of my sonnet
drip
drip
drip
blackened bonnet.
Out into the rain
breathe in the air.
Ocean spray on my face
Wild wind in my hair.
I climb
I canter
over mountains
and hills
while
drip
drip
drip
the Inkwell spills
poem by Frances May
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To Governor Swain
DEAR GOVERNOR, if my skiff might brave
The winds that lift the ocean wave,
The mountain stream that loops and swerves
Through my broad meadow's channelled curves
Should waft me on from bound to bound
To where the River weds the Sound,
The Sound should give me to the Sea,
That to the Bay, the Bay to thee.
It may not be; too long the track
To follow down or struggle back.
The sun has set on fair Naushon
Long ere my western blaze is gone;
The ocean disk is rolling dark
In shadows round your swinging bark,
While yet the yellow sunset fills
The stream that scarfs my spruce-clad hills;
The day-star wakes your island deer
Long ere my barnyard chanticleer;
Your mists are soaring in the blue
While mine are sparks of glittering dew.
It may not be; oh, would it might,
Could I live o'er that glowing night!
What golden hours would come to life,
What goodly feats of peaceful strife,--
Such jests, that, drained of every joke,
The very bank of language broke,--
Such deeds, that Laughter nearly died
With stitches in his belted side;
While Time, caught fast in pleasure's chain,
His double goblet snapped in twain,
And stood with half in either hand,--
Both brimming full,--but not of sand!
It may not be; I strive in vain
To break my slender household chain,--
Three pairs of little clasping hands,
One voice, that whispers, not commands.
Even while my spirit flies away,
My gentle jailers murmur nay;
All shapes of elemental wrath
They raise along my threatened path;
The storm grows black, the waters rise,
The mountains mingle with the skies,
The mad tornado scoops the ground,
The midnight robber prowls around,--
Thus, kissing every limb they tie,
They draw a knot and heave a sigh,
Till, fairly netted in the toil,
My feet are rooted to the soil.
Only the soaring wish is free!--
And that, dear Governor, flies to thee!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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The Storm
The clouds turned to gray
The air turned to cold
And I knew by that day
Some evil would unfold.
It arrived without a warning
Along with the pounding rain
And it was gone by the morning
As violently as it came.
But for that night I lived in terror
That night I lived in fright
With every sound I heard
With every flash of light.
Violently came the wind
Terrorizing with no form
Then came the thunder and lightning,
Arriving, was the storm.
Many trees I saw bent
Then God clapped his mighty hand
While many trees were refusing to fall,
But then, a tree didn't stand.
Rushing came the wind
Pounding came the rain
Crashing came the thunder
Quickly, came my pain.
Underneath my bed I hid
From the terror of the storm
And in pain and terror I cried
In horror and pain I moaned.
That night I lived in terror
That night I lived in fright
With every sound I heard
With every flash of light.
And the rain just kept falling
More tears I began to weep
For the wind just kept calling,
Then that night; I fell asleep.
Then morning she finally came
I awoke to the sound of peace and birds
The sound of thunder and rain was gone
Which had awoke my sleeping world.
Then outside towards the sky I stared,
To the clouds God he did call
I saw Gods hand moving the wind
Commanding the rain not to fall.
Then the sun began to shine
So on my knees I fell to pray
Then again, I began to cry
Thanking God; the storm had went away.
poem by Randy McClave
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Rotting Ways
Terror fills My mind
Cannot prevent what's mine (revenge was mine)
Silence life thats...
Fearing the souls of fate
Death decides rotting ways
Rotting Ways
Fear of death the signs from below
Rotting Ways
...
The fear has come beyond the rotting ways
Now the time writes down the days
They're coming for the glory of the kill without a sound
Mystery... back into the ground
Terror fills My mind
Cannot prevent what's mine (revenge was mine)
Silence life thats...
Fearing the souls of fate
Death decides rotting ways
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Mountshannon October Morning
The stranger sat upon the park bench,
and looked across the Lough.
Smoke from his pipe
blended with the cool morning breeze.
The distant mountains patchwork of green
sat under the hand of dawn’s rolling mist.
The white capped dark waters rolled endlessly against the shore,
nudging the sheltering boats against their moorings,
and washed over shoreline rocks
speckled with lichen and moss.
A pair of swans with their signets sheltered
in the calmer waters of the harbour
away from the white capped waves.
The sun edged its way into the sky,
from behind the sleeping mountains,
spreading red and oranged fingers
to touch the retreating night clouds.
The village adopted ginger cat
made his morning patrol
along the harbour’s sleeping boats,
in a search for breakfast.
The autumn coloured tree leaves,
fluttered in the morning breeze
as the wind and waves rolling
over the shore bound rocks disturbing
the dawning silence.
poem by David Harris
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Sonnet XLIII: The Unhappy Exile
The unhappy exile, whom his fates confine
To the bleak coast of some unfriendly isle,
Cold, barren, desart, where no harvests smile,
But thirst and hunger on the rocks repine;
When, from some promontory's fearful brow,
Sun after sun he hopeless sees decline
In the broad shipless sea—perhaps may know
Such heartless pain, such blank despair as mine;
And, if a flattering cloud appears to show
The fancied semblance of a distant sail,
Then melts away—anew his spirits fail,
While the lost hope but aggravates his woe!
Ah! so for me delusive Fancy toils,
Then, from contrasted truth—my feeble soul recoils.
poem by Charlotte Smith
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Whispers Of The North
Whispers of the north
Soon I will go forth
To that wild and barren land
Where nature takes its course
Whispers of the wind
Soon I will be there again
Bound with a wild and restless drive
That pulls me from within
And we can ride away
We can glide all day
And we can fly away
Whispers of the north
Soon I will return again
To those endless afternoons
In sunshine and in rain
Whispers of my love
Days and weeks on end
I will share my thoughts of her
In prayers that I will send
And we can ride away
We can glide all day
And we can fly away
Whispers of the north
The river and the shore
In the land that tested eskimos
Ten thousand years before
Whispers of my heart
In the tracks of animals
I will leave my footprints there
To lie beneath the snow
And we can ride away
We can glide all day
And we can fly away
Whispers of the wind
I will feel it sting
I will see it rise and fall
I will hear it sing
The sound is like a song to me
It takes away the pain
The river is the melody
And sky is the refrain
And we can ride away
We can glide all day
And we can fly away
And we can ride away
We can glide all day
And we can fly away
Whispers of the north
Soon I will go forth
Whispers of the north
Soon I will go forth
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Windy Day
We live in the land
of the western wind.
Sit silent and still
under dancing leaves.
See how it fills
the savage trees
with whispered passion,
strokes rough wood,
enraptures
tender stems.
poem by Steven Federle
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Off The Ground
There must have been a lot of heartache
For you to sink so low.
You must have had a ton of pressure.
Only answer if the answers no.
I need loving, you need loving too.
Doesnt take a lot to get off the ground.
There must have been a lot of magic
When the world was born.
Let me be the one you wish for,
One you call for, when youre all alone.
I need loving, you need loving too.
Wouldnt take a lot to get off the ground.
Off the ground, off the ground.
Fly around, fly around.
Hear the sound, hear the sound.
Off the ground, off the ground.
Though it takes a lot of power
To make a bog tree grow.
It doesnt need a pot of knowledge.
For a seed knows what a seed must know.
You need loving, I need loving too.
Doesnt take a lot to get off the ground.
Off the ground, off the ground.
Fly around, fly around.
Hear the sounnd, hear the sound.
Off the ground, off the ground.
Hear the sound, hear the sound.
Off the groound, off the ground.
Yeah yeah, off the ground.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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