En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Our Very Own Sounds....

we are but one of those raindrops
when we listen to how we sound
we always refer to the cacophony
of the massive rain and we do not

really figure out clearly the sound of
ourselves and when we describe it
we say we are the cicadas singing
during summer nights blending with

the sighs of the dry leaves and with
the wind we tell them that we are bleeding
but that soon we shall be healed and
what sings most in their silence are

the scars, No longer threatened no longer
scared.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Memories

the memories have become brown leaves
with the slight touch of the wind
this summer
all of them fall to the ground

some will be blown far away
some will stay and crack
and become dust
in a little while,

i will hear the sound of everything
the wind blowing,
the falling of the leaves
the cracking and
then how the dust
whispers

that it still want to stay and wait
even longer
for the next season of rain
like some seeds.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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a Poem Of Silence

Silence is a beautiful thing.
no other sound is as great as silence.

Silence is the sound of nothing,
but it is still a sound.
even if a sound is great and amazing,
nothing can top the blissfulness of silence.

not the sound of wind on grass,
not the sound of laughter,
nothing is as beautiful as silence.

silence is a sound, but it is so much
better than any other sound.
What created such a far-off winner?

I love silence, silence is the best.
Never there will be a time that there
will be
a greater sound
than silence.

poem by Llew N. Rmail
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Silence Is...

Silence is an absence
Silence is profound
Silence is a conversation
Being had without sound
Silence is an expression
One that cannot be heard
Silence cannot be spoken
Although it is a word
Silence is a presence
Of great nothingness
Silence can be something
And yet cease to exist
Silence can fill a room
And have no mass at all
Silence cannot be dropped, yet it can fall
Silence is a mystery
That will forever go unsolved
Silence is how every sound can swiftly be dissolved
Silence is the sound of rest
The only sound that can sound best
While other sounds can cause great pain
Silence is not the sound to blame
For Silence is what silence is
Something that is nothing
Nothing that exists

poem by Kyle.J Carruthers
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The Place Of My Dreams

Nobody ever walked this path before
-before trees grew here nearly touching the sky,
I am alone safely inside a world of my own-
A world where only deer roam and birds fly about-
Cardinals, robins and sometimes
I believed I saw angels-
Angels singing in harmony with bird songs-
The wind would rustle the leaves upon the trees and
In the early summertime, cicadas would sing incessantly-
Incessantly and melodiously-
Only one day I heard a different sound-
The sounds of footsteps and children screaming,
Following closely behind me-
I would hide behind a tall oak tree and I would almost weep as
My solitude has been interrupted and
I am no longer safe as my private world had been invaded-
Nobody ever walked this path before until this day and
My dream has been transformed to a nightmare-
I am not safe in a world destroyed by the presence of strangers-
Cardinals, robins and cicadas are my friends and
Other people are my enemies whom I do not trust-
Following in my footsteps and trying to make eye contact,
To read the verses of the songs my mind composes?
I know I have seen angels and heard them singing, and
Birds chanting along with the gentle winds
Rustling the leaves upon the trees-
But now other people have discovered the path,
upon which I have walked alone,
And my secure space has become a public tenement-
I once believed nobody ever walked this path before,
This path to which I could escape reality and lose myself inside
The magnificent world of my delusions-now they have come to take me away and
To lock me inside this prison which I cannot escape?
I cannot hear the angels singing here and birds are seemingly far away-
Here I have lost myself inside my own world,
one so different and so frightening?
There are people here, so close to me, yet I feel so alone-
Although alone in a dangerous way- I am singing my own song,
Hoping that the angels can hear me and one day I shall be back in unison with nature,
Far away from intruders and singing in harmony with nightingales –
And once again, alone safely,
as I shall have abandoned the nightmare of reality,
Touching the sky in my dreams, dancing with angels as I listen to the cicadas chanting
Happily as they are lost inside the world of their fantasies, just as I wish to be…

poem by Claudia Krizay
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When the wind sighs

When the wind sighs
When the wind sighs
The blind-fold statue sings
The faces of the skies are dark
And the cloud flies.

When the wind sighs
From the door-crevice in
It begs to enter in
How darker are the shadows on the walls
How sad how sad the flame wavers
As on the wall it flickers:

When the wind sighs
The sea’s black turns to green
And on the city-bastions tall
The first chill blow of wind
The first chill dropp of rain
And in the alley strait
Rain-waters gurgle down
The old stone-cobbled streets:

When the wind sighs
When the wind sighs.

poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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Summer Wind

The summer wind, came blowin' in
From across the sea
It lingered there, to touch you hair
And walk with me
All summer long, we sang a song
And strolled the golden sand
Two sweethearts, and the summer wind
Like painted kites, the days and nights went flyin' by
The world was new, beneath a blue umbrella sky
Then softer than, a piper man one day it called to you
And I lost you, to the summer wind
The autumn wind, and the winter winds have come and gone
And still the days, the lonely days go on and on
And guess who sighs his lullabies through nights that never end
Well my fickle friend, the summer wind
That old summer wind
Talkin' 'bout the summer wind
The summer wind

song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silence Is

Silence is sitting back in the recliner after a day
at work when the radio was too loud.

Silence is hearing the birds singing after hearing
neighbors bickering.

Silence is listening to beloved hymns after hearing
yourself complaining about things that cannot be changed.

Silence is reading the words of Rumi after reading news of
rape, murder and molestation.

When one is silent about another's wrongdoings, silence is
the sound of the devil shouting. So speak up, and he will
not be heard!

When one is silent in prayer and rest, silence is the sound
of God talking. So speak up, so He may be heard!

Yes, when God talks to you, let Him talk through you!
Be silent no longer!

poem by Greg Oosterhouse
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Listen To The Wind and The Rain...

Listen to The Wind and The Rain
Playing Symphonies Again
With Muted-Base of Thunder
Raise The Window; Watch and Wonder

Listen to The Wind and The Rain
Crescendo – Clean and Rise – Refrain
A Rush of Lightning Rhapsody
Love-Struck A Chord… Deep in Me…

(Listen to The Wind and The Rain…)

Open Up The Door!
I Want to Feel the Choir’s Full – Score
Wind and Rain – By Maestro’s Hand
Make Melody to Woman and Man

(Listen to The Wind and The Rain…)

Listen to The Wind and The Rain
In This Lullaby, We have Lain
In Such Peaceful Harmony
Singing in Love’s Key…

Listening to The Wind and The Rain…

poem by MoonBee Canady
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The Stature of Truth

Watch them closely.
Your greater life depends on this.
See their bodies, watch their faces,
listen to their sound, which is
now the sound that we all own.

Now see your self, seeing them;
watch your self, watching them;
listen to your self, listening
to yourself. This is the moment
grace graces us. Our grace.

This shelf-stacker with
a battered face; this
village lady with a homely build;
this child, who, simply, sings
as if that could not be more natural:
see them; watch them; listen to the sound.

See them in profile: nobility
now shapes their face;
this is what heroes are,
heroes who await our call.

They have surrendered to their self;
was it we who called them?
Are there times when truth itself
is impatient of release; cannot wait
for us to earn that?

Perhaps just a few bars, as the song
begins to take them over,
sings, them; perhaps the climax of the song,
when all we can do is wildly clap,
applaud ourselves for what they’ve told us
that we always knew: we too, heroes,
heroines, waiting for the call
to be ourselves:

for a few bars, their stature
is beyond measure; remind yourself,
you saw it, watched them, listened:
listened to the sound which says
this, my sound, is the sound
that can do anything. anything:
now I make the world anew.

For a few bars, they tell us
this, this is who we are,
every one of us; this is
what talent’s given for; this,
what we were made for;
this is how great we are.

This is the sound of truth
singing the truth of truth itself;
this is what grace can do.
This is who we are.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Summer's Rain

Another child bathed in summer's rain
Another cloud rised in horizon's plain
Another piece broke from your crystal heart
Another piece broke your consiousness apart

Chasing after the brightest eyes
Where have you been all my life?
Perhaps you've been a thorn in my side
Perhaps you've been a flower to revive

And here we are, adrift upon summer's sky
And here we are, adrift upon our bitter lives

Though drowning in summer's rain
No longer, no longer, no longer
Now that we've found the urge
For memory to remember

And forgetfulness to forget
For all our times to spend
Dreaming about summer
And summer's end....

poem by Lubna Hazeem
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Ultima Thule: My Cathedral

Like two cathedral towers these stately pines
Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones;
The arch beneath them is not built with stones,
Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines,
And carved this graceful arabesque of vines;
No organ but the wind here sighs and moans,
No sepulchre conceals a martyr's bones.
No marble bishop on his tomb reclines.
Enter! the pavement, carpeted with leaves,
Gives back a softened echo to thy tread!
Listen! the choir is singing; all the birds,
In leafy galleries beneath the eaves,
Are singing! listen, ere the sound be fled,
And learn there may be worship with out words.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Summer Wind

The summer wind, came blowin' in - from across the sea
It lingered there, to touch your hair and walk with me
All summer long, we sang a song - and then we strolled that golden sand
Two sweethearts, and the summer wind
Like painted kites, those days and nights - they went flyin' by
The world was new, beneath a blue - umbrella sky
Then softer than, a piper man - one day it called to you
I lost you, I lost you to the summer wind
The autumn wind, and the winter wind - they have come and gone
And still the days, those lonely days - they go on and on
And guess who sighs his lullabies - through nights that never end
My fickle friend, the summer wind

song performed by by Westlife
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Saint Of Circumstance

This must be heaven, tonight I cross the line.
You must be the angel, I though I might never find.
Was it you I heard singing, oh while I was chasin dreams.
Driven by the wind, like the dust that blows around,
And the rain fallin down, but I never know.
Got to be heaven, cause heres where the rainbow ends.
If this aint the real thing, then its close enough to pretend.
When that wind blows, when the nights about to fall.
You can hear the silence call, its a certain sort of sound,
Like the rain fallin down.
Holes in whats left of my reason, holes in the knees of my blues.
Odds against me been increasin, but Ill pull through.
I never could read no road map, I dont know what the weather might do.
But when that rich wind whines and I see the dark star shine,
I got a feeling theres no time to lose, no time to lose.
Never know now, just dont never know, no.
Well its been heaven, but even the rainbows will end.
Now my sails are fillin and the wind is willin.
And Im as good as gone again.
Im still walkin, so Im sure that I can dance.
Just a saint of circumstance, just a tiger in a trance.
And the rain fallin down, well, you never know, just dont know.
Listen, sure dont know what I going for, but Im gonna go for it for sure...

song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Listen to the wind

Listen to the tranquil sonatas of the
Low blowing breeze and you'll think here
Is Mozart descended from Heaven to
Bring merriment to your happy heart
Listen to the wind as the mighty
Wind rocks the young of spirit
The wind will rock you and live you
Panting for more
Hear the sound of the great blowing wind
The wind is strong
The wind plays the majestic symphonies
To keep you spellbound and you will
Be enchanted by the spirit of the
The great cacophony of the myriads of
The the sheer ferocity of the souring
Lyrics of the almighty conquering wind
And you'll wish you too was blessed
To be born earlier and know how Beethoven
Came to compose the great symphonies
For he too must have been enchanted by
The sound of the high spirited blowing wind
The wind has a new melody to gladden your
Happy heart and your kind spirit with
Listen with an open mind and a clean soul
This exquisite melody the loving wind dedicates
Exclusively for you to immortalize you and
They'll remember you whose name is fused into
The song and make you live on five hundred more
Years after you have long departed from this earth
Appreciate the haunting mourning sound of the
Brooding wind and learn to live with it
The wind is God's greatest grand gift to Humanity
The life giving air you breath is His breath
That gives meaning for your being here

poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Prelude To Death

When you speak
Your voice carries and finds it's way
To me
No matter what room you
Happen to be in
I listen to it,
More intently than I ever
Have before

When you laugh
The sound lingers in the air
Around me
Like a wind chime
In the breeze
And surrounds me
Like a warm summer day

When I hug you
I squeeze a little tighter
Hold on a little longer
Filling myself with enough
Of your love
To last throughout the night

When I look at you
I stare long and hard
As though I am seeing you
For the first time,
...Or the very last

poem by Erika Wingo
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Old Thoughts (Imagine: I'm aging)

- The winter wind blows through the cracks
Around an old window pane,
It mournfully howls a brooding tune
Flashing images of age into my brain.

Time walks on
Always at a steady pace,
Continuously spitting dirt
In humanities face.
The elderly forced to wear age
Worn and weary,
Towards the end
No longer in such a hurry.
For all who long enough live
Age shall wear old upon old,
Yet amazingly for so many
The soul refuses to grow cold.

- (more thoughts come in, with the wind)
I'm alone
And barely breathing
Ecclesiastes is the book
I prefer these days to be reading.
Quietly pondering and listening
I know time is winding down,
For increasingly, in the wind I hear drawing near
A far off inescapable sound.

Far too soon spring buds turn
Into fall's dried and dead leaves.
So short are the sweet summer birdsongs
Hence, south they have flown
Leaving behind empty, old and brittle trees.

So many May days
Have come and gone,
It all starts to sound
Like the same old melancholy song.
The falls not much changed
From the spring,
'Cept the lack of desire
To jump and sing.
Winter's chill draws closer than ever
And summer is far gone,
Cheap thrills no longer seem so clever
As days grow short, and nights long.

Yes 'old' is the way to say
We are running beyond
Our youthful days,
But, old shall take us step-by-step
To the end, of ourselves, and
To the end of all that is here wrong,
Slowly returning us from exile, back
To where we started, and
Have always belonged.

- Through this broken pane tonite
The wild wind yet blows,
Mysteriously whispering epic secrets
About age, life, and meaning.......
The outcome of which, we must trust
God alone fully knows.

poem by Smoky Hoss
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About Antonio's Infection

antonio's infection comes
from my own infection, and
so is candice's and
hazelen's infection of the
beautiful mind,

ahh, poetry, the beauty
of each word uttered in silence

each word be it sliding in the
snow and nesting in the
snowflakes

be it in the rustling of the
leaves in the tropical
sun of our islands

be it anywhere, the sound of
each word like a hush from
someone who is far away
and yet so near in the
touch of your sighs

ahh. poetry, the infection
of your sound and
rhythm

filling us softly with clouds
and stars and moon and
sun

upon the loneliness of our
plains and mountains

like a wind, a very cool wind
inside our hearts.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sounds that should not be missed

Sound of blossom of a flower,
I desire to hear,
the sound of nature.

Sound of rain's glassy water drop,
over a roof's top,
the sound of joy.

Sound of beat of our heart,
through our ears caught,
the sound of wonder.

Sound of delicious supper in boil,
after a great day's toil,
the sound of hunger.

Sound of a mother's loving ballad,
hearing the cry of her toddler,
the sound of love! ! !

poem by Shyam Balaji
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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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What.... (If Not To Listen...)

what are we here for then
if not to listen...
to words spoken by the longing heart,
to the sound and inflections of suffering,
to the very heartbeat of need.
to the human cry against injustice,
to the song of freedom
borne by an angry wind...

to listen...
to the soft cry of the newborn baby,
to the moan of lovers entwined.
to the hum of the tractor,
and the thud of the axe.
to the hope of the hammer pounding nails.
to the voices of people choosing dialogue,
to the honest plea for forgiveness...

to listen...
to the song of the mockingbird,
the bark of the dog,
the meow of the cat...
to the marching chant of the ants.
to the sound of the butterfly's wings,
rhyming infinity!

to listen...
to the stillness in our own heartbeats.
for the name we had before birth.
to the prayers of clouds and trees.
for the sound of the Lover's footsteps.
to the ancient wisdom of mountains,
the forever birth of the rivers.
for the voice we've followed throughout time...

to listen...
for the bowls of hunger being filled.
for the silence after gunfire ends.
for the sound of hands joining ours.
for the sound of feet walking beside!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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