Morning Memory
all i see is the mist, on top of this hill
the bloom of flowers are hidden
at night my lover comes concealed by darkness
and at dawn, after a tryst, she goes out again,
oh, she comes like a happy memory
but like a dream, she cannot stay that long
in the morning when she is gone,
as i watch a cloud coming,
it is her that i will always remember
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bloom is not a Bloom
Bloom not bloom
mist not mist
Night half come
heaven bright go
Come like spring dream how long time?
Go like morning cloud not find place The bloom is not a bloom,
The mist not mist.
At midnight she comes,
And goes again at dawn.
She comes like a spring dream -
how long will she stay?
She goes like morning cloud, without a trace.
Moving Through The Dew
I
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew,
Ere I waken in the city—Life, thy dawn makes all things new!
And up a fir-clad glen, far from all the haunts of men,
Up a glen among the mountains, oh my feet are wings again!
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew,
O mountains of my boyhood, I come again to you,
By the little path I know, with the sea far below,
And above, the great cloud-galleons with their sails of rose and snow
As of old, when all was young, and the earth a song unsung
And the heather through the crimson dawn its Eden incense flung
From the mountain-heights of joy, for a careless-hearted boy,
And the lavrocks rose like fountain sprays of bliss that ne’er could cloy,
From their little beds of bloom, from the golden gorse and broom,
With a song to God the Giver, o’er that waste of wild perfume;
Blowing from height to height, in a glory of great light,
While the cottage-clustered valleys held the lilac last of night,
So, when dawn is in the skies, in a dream, a dream, I rise,
And I follow my lost boyhood to the heights of Paradise.
Life, thy dawn makes all things new! Hills of Youth, I come to you,
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew.
II
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew,
Floats a brother’s face to meet me! Is it you? Is it you?
For the night I leave behind keeps these dazzled eyes still blind!
But oh, the little hill-flowers, their scent is wise and kind;
And I shall not lose the way from the darkness to the day,
While dust can cling as their scent clings to memory for aye;
And the least link in the chain can recall the whole again,
And heaven at last resume its far-flung harvests, grain by grain.
To the hill-flowers clings my dust, and tho’ eyeless Death may thrust
All else into the darkness, in their heaven I put my trust;
And a dawn shall bid me climb to the little spread of thyme
Where first I heard the ripple of the fountain-heads of rhyme.
And a fir-wood that I know, from dawn to sunset-glow,
Shall whisper to a lonely sea, that swings far, far below.
Death, thy dawn makes all things new. Hills of Youth, I come to you,
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Morning Star
As I wake I see a morning star
through the window dimly shines
its final statement at the closing of the day
I've got a few more minutes of night time before I rise
as the dawn is breaking through the darkness
the morning star will fade but never die
morning star, I can't see your face no more, and that's good
get out now, out on the streets of your nowhere neighborhood
as I laid down last night I felt no pain
the day went on without a sound
another night to put all the business away
I had a few more hours of night time before I'd rise
all the stars were out last night in the sky
I slept right through as they all went by
soon the dawn was breaking up the darkness
the morning star will fade but never die
morning star, I can't see your face no more, and that's good
get out now, out on the streets of your nowhere neighborhood
you come along with a color that I can't match
gold chain and a crystal ball attached
you're coming from the wrong direction
and as I sleep tonight I'll dream of you
sleeping somewhere far away
you come into my head so pretty and so true
I get a few more hours to dream of you till I rise
as the fireworks shoot off in the sky
I sleep right through as it all goes by
soon the darkness would suck up into the dawn
the morning star will fade but never die
morning star, I can't see your face no more, and that's good
get out now, out on the streets of your nowhere neighborhood
you come along with a code that I can't crack
gold chain and a crystal ball attached
you were coming from the wrong direction
you were coming from the wrong direction
you were coming from the wrong direction
song performed by by Fastball
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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1692
(copyright nazareth, tiflis tunes,inc.-ascap)
Mist upon the hill can remember murder,
Mist upon the hill that once flowed with blood,
Helped to cover up an approaching army,
Hid the killing lust in the eyes of men.
Sitting by the fire was a sentry sleeping,
Rolled up in their beds were children that play,
Unsuspecting what was to fall upon them,
None of them would see the dawn next day.
Bloody were the blades that fell on children,
Hate the blinding light tried to kill a name,
The mountains only know all the souls that died there,
Glen coe from that day can recall the shame.
The quiet of the night never gave them warning,
The silence of the hills wouldn't let them know,
They'd never rise again on a mist filled morning,
Never see the sunrise above glen coe.
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mist On A Monday Morning
I wake and yawn at the crack of dawn
With dewdrops on my feet
As I rise up to greet the morning
Nothing much to eat
Every breath I take seems to make my body ache
My only friend is mist on a monday morning
Pick up my sack and walk for miles
Never thinking why
To the brewers yard where I can sit
And watch my life go by
Drink and drink all day till my memory melts away
I need a friend like mist on a monday morning
Wheres my wife, has she gone
I hear misty morning call
One foot resting in the grave
Destined not to see her anymore
Theres a den in the grass by the autopath
Of corrugated steel
I may be sleeping there tonight
And depending how I feel
Damp and dirty place
Printing sorrow on my face
With nothing but the mist on a monday morning
Chorus
From... I feel the sin
Like wheels upon my feet
Intoxicated by the night
I stumbled in the street
Every breath I take seems to make my body ache
And drift into the mist on a monday morning
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Happy Encounters
Love songs of earth
And fields made
Flowers of new morning birth
Sky tinctures that never fade
A heart of a beating secret
Full of love to you
Nothing in its ways to regret
From inside colors true
Love songs coming by
Every dream of oceans wide
The azures space and sky
In cloudlets drifting and glide
Every thought that comes to be
From hope we know
The world of songs playfully
Like dawn of dewdrops glow
Love songs in each new go
That gives life a new meaning
Every day's ordinary show
From roads of its enduring greening
Spinning slowly on and on
With flowers on the sideways
Past dreams that never are done
In their many shading's lays
Happy encounters
In every step and way
Happy encounters
In gladness you give away
Moments to remember always
Happy encounters
To share and to take
Happy encounters
To enjoy and to awake
With gladness for every day
Moments to remember always
*(Poem to my song, Happy Encounters)
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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I Am Not Afraid Anymore In The Dark
yes, there is nothing to fear in darkness
nothing
is there anyway, nothing to feel in this emptiness emptying itself
like evaporating water into vapor
in space like a bag of dust spreading like feathers
in openness
you feel empty you feel the void wriggling inside your
guts
your mind floating so lightly like a dream in your sleep
like a mist
of the mountain
like a mist
of the green fields early morning
like a mist
floating in an open sea where a man paddles his life on his small wooden sail
be excited as i am excited about you
tipsy
in spirits of the red wine
and feeling so light so empty like a ray of light like a smoke rising from
a cigar
filling the room filling your chest
be excited as i am excited about you
emptying
like a window opening to the skies to see some shooting stars like eyes
gazing to an open ricefield
emptying wondering to so much wisdom now rushing back to you
like a door opening
for an incoming guest
like a crevice of your wall letting in a ray of light telling you
that morning with the sun
is coming
oh be excited as i am excited about you as i watch dawn turning into
day
oh, i am so happy seeing the void expanding
how much can you really hold on the next step after so much void?
oh i am so excited!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dream: (For my Father)
Over and over again I dream a dream,
I am coming home to you in the starlit gloam;
Long was the day from you and sweet 'twill seem
The day is over and I am coming home.
Then I shall find you as in days long past,
Sitting so quietly in the firelight glow;
'Love,' you will say to me, 'you are come at last.'
Your eyes be glad of me as long ago.
All I have won since then will slip my hold,
Dear love and children, the long years away;
I shall come home to you the girl of old,
Glad to come home to you -- oh, glad to stay!
Often and often I am dreaming yet
Of the firelit window when I've crossed the hill
And I coming home to you from night and wet:
Often and often I am dreaming still.
Over and over again I dream my dream.
Ah, why would it haunt me if it wasn't true?
I am travelling home to you by the last red gleam,
In the quiet evening I am finding you.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Summer Night, Riverside
In the wild, soft summer darkness
How many and many a night we two together
Sat in the park and watched the Hudson
Wearing her lights like golden spangles
Glinting on black satin.
The rail along the curving pathway
Was low in a happy place to let us cross,
And down the hill a tree that dripped with bloom
Sheltered us,
While your kisses and the flowers,
Falling, falling,
Tangled my hair. . . .
The frail white stars moved slowly over the sky.
And now, far off
In the fragrant darkness
The tree is tremulous again with bloom,
For June comes back.
To-night what girl
Dreamily before her mirror shakes from her hair
This year's blossoms, clinging in its coils?
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Mist Hidden Fantasy
The mad piper played the hornpipe
in the evening mist near the fairy glade
and water sprites dances across the lochs waters.
The monster roared from the depth below
in keeping with the tune
and a wolf howled at a hidden moon
on a hill draped with heather.
Owlets awoke with watchful eyes
as their mother swooped from the skies.
The mist rolled down the glen,
then up the hill at the other end.
The castle stood faintly still
as shadows watched from the brow of the hill.
You could not call this the dead of night
with all the watchful eyes hidden from sight.
Still, the mad piper played
his tunes of joyful reverie
while the moon remained
in the mist hidden from sight.
poem by David Harris
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A Dying Brain
Do you recall how I was once your fire –?
And we, a regal cloud of unity
Meandering through the closing blues of night,
Commanding stars to glitter;
Dawn to blush?
Your answer comes in ever-blanking stares:
A wall that blocks the know,
Damping down the glow that used to emanate
From clear and lucid eyes.
They've lost the will to recognise.
But hear! We are fifty years together –
And once we writhed in pleasure –
Drowning in emotion,
That which was our prime.
You don't recall.
You only lie as vegetation
Scattered on the ground:
A living mound of flesh,
Devoid of any neural mesh
To let you say 'I'm sound.'
Don't worry Dear,
For I'm aware with memory!
I'll tell you how we were.
We have our right of history!
If you could just concur.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Please remember, remember me, remember, remember me, remember
Please remember, remember me, remember, remember me, remember
Please remember, remember me, remember, remember me, remember
Please remember, remember me, remember, remember me, remember
Please remember, remember me, remember, remember me, remember
Please remember, remember me, remember, remember me, remember
Please remember, remember me, remember, remember me
Please remember, remember me, remember, remember
Please remember, remember me, remember
Please remember, remember me
Please remember, remember
Please remember
Please
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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A blooming flower without Petal
all come to whisper the perfume of sweet
fume dried like dune in the wind of the sun,
where all the raindropp falls into the ground of
waited wasted land; pasteurized in the moist
of sweeten halos of welcome
dried in the wind and capture the dew of the
morning midst; a no where to run but shadow
of the solid ground of strength, the wall behind
the lovely Daffodils in the oasis of truth; and
as it find the flavor of hope
scent the soft melody of the past and ring all
the bells that welcome the day of your forever
with me, the leaves kiss no more in the garden
of yesterday a honey comb of my stay; beats all
that step in the knocking door of where i will
always be true to what you say, thank you
find my dear heart, the flowers begins to bloom,
and the petal, never be gone in your memory it
will be done, let me wait until, my last touch in
your dried hand, and i will be lost forever in your
wishing dream
hold me not in your dreamy heart, bloom the
golden petal in the meadow of everlasting heart in
your wonderful hand, the palm of where i always
remember your memory, oh! my dream, as i stay
with you dear
i leave no regret and find my trouble heart no
more, for my hand is to cool to hold your stay....
poem by Antonio Liao
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On a Midsummer's Day
Pale Dawn Blushes
As a raven flies
a black speck against
the morning skies
Wonder! at his audacious flight
this last remaining trace of night.
Anxious eyes then
note its span
straining as hard
as ere they can
everyman with his secret fear
will the raven bring it near?
A white Hare runs
breaking cover
a surefire omen
of a jealous lover
each woman feels her heart astir
is he sick for love of her?
Do the flowers bloom
too late or too soon?
Does Midsummer fall
on a full moon?
Do you have a dream to tell -
is all Ill or is all Well?
Did you meet a
Darkhaired Lass
Or trudge behind
a Beggar's Ass?
Did a black cat cross your way
as you came to greet the day?
Note each omen
every one
that marks the season
of the sun
and you'll be blessed with happy days
and long hot nights (in many ways!)
poem by Geraldine Moorkens Byrne
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Awake From A Dream
In the silent of night
the only sound that I hear
is your voice in my head
as if you were here.
In the darkness of night
the only image I see
is the image of you,
you in my dreams.
And in the chill of the night
I only wish I could feel
the warmth of your flesh
from lips down to heel.
In the first morning rays
the only sight coming in
is the radiant glow
of your porcelain skin.
But awake from a dream?
The only reason you're here
is a dream within dreams -
is a dream that I fear.
Like a dream come untrue
you're fading away.
If it were only real
I could ask you to stay.
poem by Jason Cline
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A Cloud In The Sky
There is a cloud in the sky and mixtures of colors floating around, now touch your lips and dream away. This is only a cloud in the sky, just only one cloud in the sky. Won’t you take me to the stars at night and watch them go flaying by, one by one they seem to fade into the night sky, now everything is alright. But when that sun comes out of his early morning bed, I’ll start to think of what I have done in my lifetime. You know that each night just brings the memories back to life, an you seem to be in a daze. And wondering to places where you never been. Now there is a cloud in the sky and it’s calling your name. Please come over here my darling and hold my hand tightly. Because you’re the light that shines on me.
Max Hornbogen
Feb 23,2008
poem by Max D. Hornbogen
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Flower No Flower
Flower no flower
mist no mist
arrives at midnight
and leaves at dawn
arrives like a spring dream – how many times
leaves like a morning cloud – nowhere to find
Demystified for M' lady Cate
The mist persists, it will insist
it has the right to block the light
with trailing wisps of dirty white.
The mist is wrong and it will learn
to leave when it has served its turn
Because the sun will rise and burn
the remnants of the mist away
There is no way that it can stay
once the bright sun comes out to play.
The mist defeated has to go.
It leaves reluctantly and slow
but where it goes I do not know.
It will return with fall of night
lurk in the darkness hid from sight.
Unless outlined by the moonlight.
The silver light makes it appear
to be the ghosts which cause men fear.
But they will quickly disappear
When banks of cloud obscure the light.
Be re-absorbed into the night.
to their dismay but men’s delight.
The mists persist they wont desist
as long as day and night exist
and if they did they would be missed.
The moisture which the mist supply
the plants trees drink thirstily.
Without the mists some plants would die.
1-Jun-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Dream Weaver
Dream weaver
Ive just closed my eyes again
Climbed aboard the dream weaver train
Driver take away my worries of today
And leave tomorrow behind
Ooh dream weaver
I believe you can get me through the night
Ooh dream weaver
I believe we can reach the morning light
Fly me high through the starry skies
Maybe to an astral plane
Cross the highways of fantasy
Help me to forget todays pain
Ooh dream weaver
I believe you can get me through the night
Ooh dream weaver
I believe we can reach the morning light
Though the dawn may be coming soon
There still may be some time
Fly me away to the bright side of the moon
And meet me on the other side
Ooh dream weaver
I believe you can get me through the night
Ooh dream weaver
I believe we can reach the morning light
Dream weaver
Dream weaver
Dream weaver
- gary wright
song performed by by Reo Speedwagon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silver Frosty Leaves (from Minutes of Falling Days)
Sweet love of dreams and morning's blossoms white
That from twilight comes in to its bloom
With some spear of gleams from bluish starry night
Conquer of the winter in gray and gloom
Life's glimmer and silver frosty leaves
Show their ways when darkness again comes
Each their dream and longings that retrieves
When tone down in palpable deep winter hums
The morning of shadowed silvery moon
Ice on the river in mirroring hold
Yesterday’s retention - in memory
Flowers of winter in their midnight noon
Hallucinations of chill that now fold
Like decorations on every tree
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Let The Memorial Hill Remember
Let the memorial hill remember instead of me,
that's what it's here for. Let the par in-memory-of remember,
let the street that's-named-for remember,
let the well-known building remember,
let the synagogue that's named after God remember
let the rolling Torah scroll remember, let the prayer
for the memory of the dead remember. Let the flags remember
those multicolored shrouds of history: the bodies they wrapped
have long since turned to dust. Let the dust remember.
Let the dung remember at the gate. Let the afterbirth remember.
Let the beasts of the field and birds of the heavens eat and remember.
Let all of them remember so that I can rest.
poem by Yehuda Amichai
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