For Fellow Amateur Poets (a repost)
Riding on winged lines
We shall flock like doves
In the rain
So the fire in our breasts
Shall not die
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For Fellow Amateur Poets
Riding on winged lines
We shall flock like doves
In the rain
So the fire in our breasts
Shall not die
In the hideout of flowers
Soft reeds and singing marshes
Where the moon sleeps
Throughout the night
We are all watchful eyes
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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58
Riding on winged lines
We shall flock like doves
In the rain
So the fire in our breasts
Shall not die
In the hideout of flowers
Soft reeds and singing marshes
Where the moon sleeps
Throughout the night
We are all watchful eyes
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Doves And The Tree
what i first see are the doves hovering on the tree
they are many and the tree looks as though its leaves are plenty
for one thing
the doves when they hover
they hover together
as a flock
and when they leave
they also leave together
as a flock
and the tree can do nothing about it
and thus it happens
the doves all left at the same time leaving the tree to the truth
of its existence
it has no leaves at all this summer
when hot is really hot in here
when all the doves fly away together
the tree
looks like the thin, worn fingers of a very old man
opening, stretching to the skies
praying for mercies
and what about it God?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Riding
IF I should live again,
O God, let me be young,
Quick of sinew and vein
With the honeycomb on my tongue,
All in a moment flung
With the dawn on a flowing plain,
Riding, riding, riding, riding
Between the sun and the rain.
If I, having been, must be,
O God, let it be so,
Swift and supple and free
With a long journey to go,
And the clink of the curb and the blow
Of hooves, and the wind at my knee,
Riding, riding, riding, riding
Between the hills and the sea.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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On Two Sisters Whose Deaths Were Together
IN woods remote, hid in the mountain hollows,
Doves there are that have a gentler beauty,
Doves that are marked as by a poet's image,
And hence are called Doves of the Wounded Heart.
And such ye were, and we could never learn the
Call that would bring you to our breasts, our hands!
And such ye were, and ye were aliens in our
Barnyard-world Doves of the Wounded Heart!
You who were proud no storm had ever turned your
Flight, and you who were her cherished one
May ye have found, hid in your mountain hollows,
Your wood remote, Doves of the Wounded Heart!
poem by Padraic Colum
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My Doves
OPPOSITE my chamber window,
On the sunny roof, at play,
High above the city's tumult,
Flocks of doves sit day by day.
Shining necks and snowy bosoms,
Little rosy, tripping feet,
Twinkling eyes and fluttering wings,
Cooing voices, low and sweet,-
Graceful games and friendly meetings,
Do I daily watch and see.
For these happy little neighbors
Always seem at peace to be.
On my window-ledge, to lure them,
Crumbs of bread I often strew,
And, behind the curtain hiding,
Watch them flutter to and fro.
Soon they cease to fear the giver,
Quick are they to feel my love,
And my alms are freely taken
By the shyest little dove.
In soft flight, they circle downward,
Peep in through the window-pane;
Stretch their gleaming necks to greet me,
Peck and coo, and come again.
Faithful little friends and neighbors,
For no wintry wind or rain,
Household cares or airy pastimes,
Can my loving birds restrain.
Other friends forget, or linger,
But each day I surely know
That my doves will come and leave here
Little footprints in the snow.
So, they teach me the sweet lesson,
That the humblest may give
Help and hope, and in so doing,
Learn the truth by which we live;
For the heart that freely scatters
Simple charities and loves,
Lures home content, and joy, and peace,
Like a soft-winged flock of doves.
poem by Louisa May Alcott
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One Winged Angel
one winged angel
stands in the rain
crying out for help
crying of the pain
someone help her
the one winged angel
is going crazy
the one winged angel is going insane
she slits her wrists
she screams his name
crying out for help
crying 'hes to blame'
the one winged ange
dies heartbroken
the one winged angel
dies inside
now all he feels is guilt
knowing that hes
the fight of her life
poem by Kristyann Celello
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Lichtenberg
(New South Wales Contingent)
Smells are surer than sounds or sights
To make your heart-strings crack--
They start those awful voices o' nights
That whisper, " Old man, come back! "
That must be why the big things pass
And the little things remain,
Like the smell of the wattle by Lichtenberg,
Riding in, in the rain.
There was some silly fire on the flank
And the small wet drizzling down--
There were the sold-out shops and the bank
And the wet, wide-open town;
And we were doing escort-duty
To somebody's baggage-train,
And I smelt wattle by Lichtenberg--
Riding in, in the rain.
It was all Australia to me--
All I had found or missed:
Every face I was crazy to see,
And every woman I'd kissed:
All that I should n't ha' done, God knows!
(As He knows I'll do it again),
That smell of the wattle round Lichtenberg,
Riding in, in the rain!
And I saw Sydney the same as ever,
The picnics and brass-bands;
And my little homestead on Hunter River
And my new vines joining hands.
It all came over me in one act
Quick as a shot through the brain--
With the smell of the wattle round Lichtenberg,
Riding in, in the rain.
I have forgotten a hundred fights,
But one I shall not forget--
With the raindrops bunging up my sights
And my eyes bunged up with wet;
And through the crack and the stink of the cordite
(Ah Christ! My country again!)
The smell of the wattle by Lichtenberg,
Riding in, in the rain!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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An Exhortation On Some Lines....
something is missing in your lines.
i regret to tell you that.
it does not speak well of yourself
or the world
or any moment, it is like a desert and all we have is space and
a horizon
there is even no wind to blow the sands away
i do not expect rain in the desert
but i could have seen a camel or a line of trucks or a
caravan
or even a Bedouin riding on his black horse with a scimitar
here i am again
in my worst self trying to tell you what to do so that you can be what you are
your lines are straight and too clean and that make them appear
dishonest
people love crooked lines and those that move in free directions
lines that are cold like the wind
and yet vibrant at night
not really dead, but simply grieving in silence for the loss of
someone so loved and missed.
i do not want you to change your lines, they are yours to
show,
i may be unfair wishing that your lines may be like mine
but mine are too sad and always sounding like a lover abandoned.
the beautiful lines are not clean.
they are imbued with our errors, erasures, blasting in our faces
like explosives
where shattered as we are on the fields of our disasters
only in a few seconds
we become silent spaces again.
mine are sad, and lonely and abandoned.
they are the only ones i have now, and so i must be compelled to
have them and love them
just the way they are.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mnemosyne
THOU fill'st from the winged chalice of the soul
Thy lamp, O Memory, fire-winged to its goal.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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These rainbow winged doves
wandering between my heart
and your azure eyes
haiku by Nizamettin Esen Haymanali
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Midnight Train
(instrumental intro)
Oh my darling will you come to me
Shaking now just like a willow tree
So tell me whats the story
This track well ride to glory
Coming home
Pretty karla and her russian clothes
Clapboard house and a different nose
Love keeps a candle burning
These steel wheels are turning
Back for home
Come in out of the rain
Come out of the night
Out on the midnight train
Midnight train
Come out of the light
Come out of the rain
Riding the midnight train
Midnight train
Moscow lights, well they dim and glow
The taste is sweeter than its driven snow
So tell me whats the story
This track to ride to glory
Coming home
Come out of the rain, come out of the lights,
Out on the midnight train, midnight train
Come out of the lights, come out in the rain,
Riding the midnight train, midnight train
(instrumental)
Oh my darling will you come to me
Shaking now just like a willow tree
Come out of the lights, come out in the rain,
Riding the midnight train, midnight train
Out of the rain, live again, riding the midnight train, midnight train
Come of the lights, into the rain, riding the midnight train, midnight train
One little strange, come back again
(instrumental fade out)
song performed by by Ufo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Conceal to reveal
Breasts bare, breasts with bra,
Breasts revealing the cleavage,
Breasts under blouse with bare belly
And breasts with contour visible
Have their appeal up in that order.
The more one is left for imagination
The more the beauty will reveal.
06.12.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Riding With Cats Eyes Nine Lives
riding with cats eyes nine lives
riding in dark or moonlight
riding in cloud shadow or rain
riding with a lucky stars roll
riding at speed in night magic
hitting judder bars in darkness
hitting judder bars hard fast
hitting judder bars all alone
hitting judder bars straight on
hitting judder bars at speed
is heightened airborne rush
is riding racing death in night
is riding in night fed wonder
is heightened seconds flying
is ready road rocket launch pad
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Rough God Goes Riding
Oh the mud splattered victims
Have to pay out all along the ancient highway
Torn between half truth and victimisation
Fighting back with counter attacks
Its when that rough God goes riding
When the rough God goes gliding
And then rough God goes riding
Riding on in
I was flabbergasted by the headlines
People in glasshouses throwing stones
Gaping wounds that will never heal
Now theyre moaning like a dog in a manger
Its when that rough God goes riding
And then the rough God goes gliding
Therell be nobody hiding
When that rough God comes riding on in
And its a matter of survival
When youre born with your back against the wall
Wont somebody hand me a bible
Wont you give me that number to call
When that rough God goed riding
And then that rough God goes gliding
Theyll be nobody hiding
When that rough God goes riding on in
Riding on in
When that rough God goed riding
When that rough God goes gliding
Therell be nobody hiding
When that rough God goes riding on in
Riding on in
Therell be no more heroes
Theyll be reduced to zero
When that rough God goes riding
Riding on in
Riding on in
Riding on in
Riding on in
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Realize My Mind
I wake in the morning to the darkness of my soul
Look into your eyes and my body senses the fire below
Move myself close to you and lay upon your breast
Reach up and light your long black cigarette
My winged angel your embrace surrounds me
You realize my mind
My winged angel your touch binds me
You realize my mind
My winged angel cast your spell on me
You realize my mind
My winged angel give myself to you
You have all of me
You move smooth, dance slow I feel your dark tenderness
Wings around me, mesmerize me love to serve my hearts temptress
Feeling free touching you, you accept your little pet
You have a walk so bold and I know
Your eyes burn me to death
My winged angel your embrace surrounds me
You realize my mind
My winged angel your touch binds me
You realize my mind
My winged angel cast your spell on me
You realize my mind
My winged angel give myself to you
You have all of me
I give my words to you to please you each and everyway
They spring forth from truths you release within me with the games you play
This girl is grateful to be so uninhibited and free for you
This girl knows girl is so happy to serve you
My winged angel your embrace surrounds me
You realize my mind
My winged angel your touch binds me
You realize my mind
My winged angel cast your spell on me
You realize my mind
My winged angel give myself to you
You have all of me
poem by Barbara Vanier
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In this Rain of Fire
The memories of those blue nights
Are doing no good
I need no shelter
When I stand here and hurt myself
In this rain of fire
Those promises and dreams
You say, are now the past
Your words affect me no more
When I destroy my history
In this rain of fire
Tears don’t fall
Because the eyes now bleed
Bleed out all the love and trust
You broke it all and now my world burns
In this rain of fire
My mind doesn’t listen to me
Neither my heart does
So I accept the pain you have showered
And let you kill me
In this rain of fire
My heart doesn’t cry
For the fault ain’t mine
But it hurts even worse
Because it’s you who threw me down
In this rain of fire
Oh yes, it burns a lot
And yes it burns badly
But your betrayal doesn’t let me live
And so I call my end
In this rain of fire
- Nabil Bhatiya
poem by Nabil Bhatiya
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No Letters From Home!
A stranger lies ill, in a distant city,
With no - - letters from home!
The glances that meet him, in lieu of pity,
Are querring, "Why does he roam?"
"Oh, heed my request," says he, "else 'twere better
I slept in this gold-dusted loam;
Dismiss the physician, and bring a letter--
A flock of kind letters from home."
"Oh, heed my request," says he, "else 'twer better I
I slept in this gold-dusted loam;
Dismiss the physician, and bring a letter--
A flock of kind letters from home."
Like messenger doves, from across the mountains,
Cream tinted and golden and white?
Like the clouds that have sipp'd at the Eastern fountains
For thirsty land to take flight;
So come the dear missives--but ah! the stranger
Receives none to lighten his gloom;
In this time of sickness, this hour of danger,
Not ever one letter from home!
He moans in his slumber "Why did I ever
So far - - westwardly roam;
Oh, must I lie down must I sleep forever
With no loving letters from home?
My bones you may bury where winds are lifting
Pacific's broad billows in foam;
Or there on Lone Mountain, where sands are drifting,
But first, bring a letter from home."
"From the 'Golden' up to the portals pearly,"
He murmurs, "Oh can it be far?
On the sunset domain, in the morn how early
Will glimmer the Orient Star?
What light is the melting my shade like fetters?
What birds are those circling the dome?
Those messenger doves are my long sought letters
My flock of kind letters from home."
"They heed my request," says he, "best of debtors,
Their favors are whitening the dome!
Sweet messenger doves are my long sought letters,
My flock of kind letters from home."
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Lizzy & The Rainman
(henley / odell)
He came riding in on a sunrise
A hot west texas day
A fancy man in a painted wagon
Some fancy things to say
Looks like you folksll need some water
Well water is my game
For the small price of a hundred dollars
I bet you I can make it rain
So get away all non-believers or the rainll never come
Someone start a fire burning, somebody beat the drum
Some may think Im crazy for making all these claims
But I swear before the day is over your folksll see some rain
They all just stood a staring trying to believe
But there was one named lizzy cooper said he was a lying cheat
She said you call yourself a rainman, well you oughta be ashamed
For starting all these people dreaming thinking you can make it rain
So get away all non-believers or the rainll never come
Someone keep the fire burning, somebody beat the drum
Some may think Im crazy for making all these claims
But I swear before the day is over your folksll see some rain
Oh lizzy, a mans gotta have a dream
And if you can walk on the inside with me
Ill meet you in between
Come with me lizzy
And the starsll write your name
And if you still think Im lying to you
Look yonder here comes the rain
So get away all non-believers or the rainll never come
Someone keep the fire burning, somebody beat the drum
Some may think Im crazy for making all these claims
But I swear before the day is over your folksll see some rain
So get away all non-believers or the rainll never come
Someone keep the fire burning, somebody beat the drum
Some may think Im crazy for making all these claims
But I swear before the day is over your folksll see some rain
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Riding In A Circle
I keep...
Riding in a circle.
I keep...
Repeating those,
Same old lines.
I keep...
Riding in a circle.
Wanting to find,
Reasons for the rhyme
What am I trying to pick up?
And what am I trying to find?
Could it be,
The reason for the rhyme?
And the reason I'm riding this merry-go-round,
Out of mind.
I keep...
Riding in a circle.
I keep...
Repeating those,
Same old lines.
I keep...
Riding in a circle.
Wanting to find,
Reasons for the rhyme
What am I trying to pick up?
And what am I trying to find?
Could it be...
The reason for the rhyme?
And the reason I'm riding this merry-go-round,
Out of mind.
And the reason I'm riding this merry-go-round,
Out of mind.
I keep...
Riding in a circle.
And the reason I'm riding this merry-go-round,
Out of mind.
I keep...
Riding in a circle.
And the reason I'm riding this merry-go-round,
Out of mind.
I keep...
Riding in a circle.
And the reason I'm riding this merry-go-round,
Out of mind.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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