Penumbral Grace
partial shadow
between regions of full shadow
(the umbra)
umba! umba! umba!
umba! umba! umba!
and full illumination,
cast by Earth,
the Moon,
during an eclipse.
caramba! caramba! caramba!
caramba! caramba! caramba!
partial lunar eclipse,
a portion of the Moon's disk
remaining within the
penumbra of Earth's shadow
the rest is darkened
by the umbra
grayish outer part
a sunspot.
Compare
umbra! umbra! umbra!
umbra! umbra! umbra!
umbra! umbra! umbra!
umbra! umbra! umbra!
shower me the grace
of your Umbra Oh Lord!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
In Effigiem Oliveri Cromwell
Haec est quae toties Inimicos Umbra fugavit,
At sub qua Cives Otia lenta terunt.
In eandem Reginae Sueciae transmissam
Bellipotens Virgo, septem Regina Trionum.
Christina, Arctoi lucida stella Poli;
Cernis quas merui dura sub Casside Rugas;
Sicque Senex Armis impiger Ora fero;
Invia Fatorum dum per Vestigia nitor,
Exequor & Populi fortia Jussa Manu.
At tibi submittit frontem reverentior Umbra,
Nec sunt hi Vultus Regibus usque truces.
poem by Andrew Marvell
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The deeper the abyss, the more brilliant is the pearl.
Dan Costinaş in The Shadow of the Sea (Umbra mării) (2012)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Sea: Concerto for harpsichord and sand particles.
Dan Costinaş in The Shadow of the Sea (Umbra mării) (2012)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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There is no good poetry and bad poetry, it's just a matter of perception: some lines match more minds and souls, others less.
Dan Costinaş in The Shadow of the Sea (Umbra mării) (2011)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Thirst for God
When in penury
Man hunts for wealth.
He is then ever in thirst
And in quenching it he gets crazy.
In the process of amassing wealth
He loses his health.
And to his spiritual psyche
There strikes an injury.
If his thirst is channelized towards God
He comes under the umbra of His Mercy.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Mart. Ep. XV. Lib. 6.
MART. EP. XV. LIB. 6.
Dum Phaetontea formica vagatur in umbra,
Implicuit tenuem succina gutta feram,
Dignum tantorum pretium tulit illa laborum:
Credibile est ipsam sic voluisse mori.
ENGLISHED.
Whilst in an amber-shade the ant doth feast,
A gummy drop ensnares the small wild-beast,
A full reward of all her toyls hath she;
'Tis to be thought she would her self so die.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Wallflower
I see her alone in far distant breeze;
as umbra despair her, which does not please.
I looked into her eyes, and felt emptiness still-
a little bit of hope as she falls ill.
It is sadness which draws me to her;
the feelings of lost and fear as it were.
She hides that tear so no one to see
what lies within her, the feeling of free.
She appears translucent in a crowd of many;
she is to us but a lowly memory.
She longs for that which I cannot give;
a feeling of love, a reason to live.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Love Sonnet 51 How soon could Spring ever blossom again?
How soon could Spring ever blossom again?
This world now riles at bleak colors of gray,
Where could rainbows and fairy tales have lain,
Or where will this stranger's horses find hay?
For gates of dreams have shut and doubly sealed,
Gardens wilted, with not a scent to trace,
In no temple an oracle revealed,
The moon concealed by umbra on its face;
Only angel sent from above is hope,
To guide me by the hand through all the mist,
To one drowning, someone who throws the rope,
Of my confused story, tells me the gist;
......But how to tell appearances of things,
......Try as I may, they all came in clipped wings.
.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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Beati male (latin)
me alterum servire natus
Et luctum pesti
Tot annos damnati semen meum
Nullus liber volare! !
Voluntas tua? Sic creator
No posset intendere umbra
mea morbi Semper dolor cupiditate
World morbi
Beati sumus degustare
Hac peccati
Inhumanum est tangit
Nocturnal animal intrinsecus
Indiget lumine
Et inanis remanebit
(english translation)
another me born to serve the
And the distraction of mourning
So many years now the damned my seed
No one you wish to fly! !
The will of your own possession? So created as
No he could to attend to the shadow of
always be suffering which my disease by desire,
World disease
We are happy, to taste
For this sin
Is an inhuman touches upon the
Nocturnal within an animal
Is poor in the light of
And empty shall remain
poem by Jay W. Allen
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To Love
If, Cupid, Heaven is your home, you
are the child of Venus, Nectar and
Ambrosia are your food, then why
do you spend days and nights with
me? Why burn me with your flame,
and quench my thirst with tears?
Why destroy me? You are indeed
descended from wild beasts. Are you
worthy of such descent and of
heaven? But I, I am merely
a shadow, why do you torture me?
Ad amorem.
Si coelum patria est puer beatum,
Si vero peperit VENUS benigna,
Si Nectar tibi Massicum ministrat;
Si sancta Ambrosia est cibus petitus,
Quid noctes habitas, diesque mecum?
Quid victum face supplicemque aduris?
Quid longam lachrimis sitim repellis?
Quid nostrae dape pasceris medullae?
O vere rabidum genus faerarum:
O domo stipe patriaque digne:
Jam levis sumus umbra, quid lacessis?
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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~ Mon Escorte ~
~ Mon Escorte ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
01 April,2010
When
I was in slumber
Was called upon
Afore timely nothing for.
Entire universe was
Still speechless
In the beams of stars
Dense darkness
Earth was shrouded with.
Family lamented
How in dark
Will recognize the path?
I voiced: Will walk with own light
Look the candle is here in my hand.
More the candle emitting
Light in full glow
Equally more and more
Obstacles fuddled.
The blended umbra
Spreads chiaroscuro
Partial vision blurs me.
Quicker I walk fearlessly
By the cloud dust
More and more
The sky gets embraced.
The flame quivers
By fidget wind
My gaits get confounded
In every step.
Suddenly
The head collided
With the mesh of woods
Candle went off suddenly
Have lost the path already
I discover.
In front
Dense darkness
Yell with stooped head
I’ve lost all powers.
In the very moment
Suddenly find
Pal of my entire life
Mon Escorte
Behind already!
-
[Adapted from R.N.Tagore [full info refer Bliss 5th Poem –niv]
Glossary: Mon Escorte ~ My Escort
====
Copyright reserved by author.
poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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Pentru Nimeni (nu citi)
Am asteptat destul, sa te intorci.
E timpul, poate, sa merg si eu mai departe,
si sa pun mana pe visele ce le visez
in lipsa ta,
pentru ca nu pot sa raman o biata umbra.
Sunt pana la urma,
creatia ta monstruasa si dementa.
E un secret,
dar eu inca te iubesc,
si a fost o prostie sa ma intrebi daca am fost vreodata fericit cu tine, pentru ca nu am fost niciodata mai fericit ca atunci cand iti juram iubire, si mi-as fi dat viata pentru tine.
Inca nu am suficienta ura, pentru a simti altceva.
Ai reusit insa sa ma faci sa-l urasc pe dumnezeu mai mult ca niciodata,
cu toate ca nu cred ca ar putea exista,
dar am nevoie de ura,
ca sa pot supravietui fara iubire.
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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Bygone and Begotten
You sauntered back
into this forlorn
with tersely steps
inveigling the phantoms
that wandered the walls
of these stygian isle
And everything leads back
into the narrow sky
where your stoned fist
pierced for amends
and the silver thread
where you staggered once
profusely bled
While the inebriated moon
danced in a field of graves
its umbra zithered
the wary ocean to salute
the midnight toast you raised
beleaguering the asylum
of yesterday's
bygone and begotten,
Caught in the vortex
where you daggers
interpolated and connived
And with all these peril
chiding the shapeless air
a silent figure stood
in the threshold of the moon
and suddenly
there were no reasons -
like a sullen
mortality,
to be afraid
Sloshing through the farce
and the limbo of flustered days
my tongue pivots through
to the gelid taste of the past
whetting the hungry flame
like a saint inside a den
of savageness and ferocity -
A candle steadfast its flame
in the insulated conundrum
and with every escalation
its sublime perspiration
perished and thawed
to clog the sky
where the spigot of regret
flourishes to die
poem by Norman Santos
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Never Too Distant
Basking the dithering umbra
of an endless, moonless
void oceanic night
where the clockwork caught tremors
with terse ebb and flow
before it defiantly sojourns
in a vertical line ensconced
in the abysmal marrows of depth,
I became the caper, and the ruse
is the stillness of the vesper
I undulated through
the most convoluted slopes
never too distant from
the diamond-tethers
riveting me in the manifold
phases of this empty night
Because in this cobwebbed room
your shadows remained prancing
even when the soiree ended
with the midnight toast
brewed with oblivion
And here I wager with solitude
contending for your echolalia's decadence
because if I leave and follow
these phantom corridors
of your generous affliction
rue will bereave the inflection
and the night would start to pass
like an inclement weather -
uncommitted thunderstorms
leaving a futile basin
to buoy the caustic veracity
And to live in this illusion
is an auspicious demise -
A deadlock where
your hands behold the bolts
piqued with the undying
phantoms of your final stride
Because the hunters astride
the frangibility of sleep
sloshes their scythe
for broken souls
And this brunt
between the fangs of death
makes me feel more alive
than living itself
poem by Norman Santos
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The Friend's Shadow
Sunt aliquid manes; letum non omnia finit;
Luridaque evictos effugit umbra rogos.
PROPERTIUS.
_ __
To Albion's misty isle across the waves I sped me:
It look'd as if interr'd beneath a leaden sea,
And gathering round our bark the halcyon's music led me,
While all the crew rejoiced in their sweet melody.
The dancing surge, the evening breezes falling,
And through the sails and shrouds those breezes whistling thrill,
And to the watch the active helmsman calling,
The watch, who, midst the roar, sleeps tranquilly and still.
All seem'd to rock itself to gentle thought;
Like an enchanted one, I, from the mast, look'd forth,
And through the night and through the mist I sought,
I sought the star beloved of my domestic north.
Then into memory melted every feeling—
My soul had sanctified my home of joy and peace,
And the sea raging, and the zephyrs gently stealing,
Cover'd my eyelids o'er with self-forgetfulness.
Then dreams with other dreams were blended,
And lo! there stood— was it a dream?— the form
Of that dear friend who his career had ended
Nobly, amidst the thundering battle storm.
He stood upon the mist, and smiled— his face,
Fresh as the morn and bloodless, shining
Like the young spring in gaiety and grace,
Even as an angel from high heaven declining:—
'Comrade of better time! and is it thou?
And is it thou?' I cried, 'thou hero bright!
Did I not in the fury of the fight
Attend thee— and when thou hadst fallen below
Make thy new grave— and on a neighbouring tree
Write with my sword thy feats of bravery,
And follow'd thy cold ashes to their bed,
And hallow'd it with prayers, and with tears watered?
Speak, unforgotten one! speak! was it a deceit?
Is all that's past a dream— a cheating dream?
A dream that corpse— a dream that grave— that sheet
Wrapt round thee— were they not— did they but seem?
O but one word! let that tongue's melody
Yet sweetly fall on my transported ear:
O unforgotten one! stretch out to me
Thy old right hand of friendship— stretch it here.'
I sprung towards him— Oh! the mists had dimm'd my eye—
He vanish'd like a shade— a lock of airy smoke—
Dispersed in the wide azure of the sky,
And I, arousing from my dream, awoke.
Beneath the wing of stillness all was sleeping;
The very winds— the very waves, at rest;
And scarce a breath upon the sea was creeping;
The pale moon swam along upon the white cloud's breast.
But I was troubled— peace had left my soul—
I stretch'd my hands tow'rds him, whom I no more could see—
I called on him— whom I could not control—
On thee— belov'd one! best of friends! on thee!
poem by Konstantin Nikolaevich Batiushkov
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Matanza to Welcome Spring
for Pat and Victorio
Spread eagle sheep legs wide,
wire hooves to shed beams,
and sink blade in neck wool,
’til the gray eyes drain of life
like cold pure water
from a tin pail.
(It kicked, choking on nasal blood,
liquid gasping coughs
spattered blood over me.)
Slit down belly, scalp rug-wool
skin away, pinch wool back
with blade to pink flesh, ssst ssst ssst
inch by inch, then I sling
whole carcass in bloody spray over fence.
(Close to its face, I swear
it gift-heaved a last breath
from its soft black nose
and warmed my nostril hairs
as I sniffed the dark smell
of its death.)
Mesquite in hole
boils water in the iron cauldron
which steam-cooks
hind quarters
on grill across cauldron.
Tonight I invite men and women
con duende,
who take a night in life
and forge it into iron
in the fire of their vision.
Aragon has gone
to the river to play his drum.
I hear the deep pom pom pom.
Round bonfire
Alicia squats, ruffles sheaf of poems,
while Alejandro tunes guitar.
Shadows dance round
stones that edge the fire.
(In Alejandro’s boot
a knife hilt glimmers.)
Their teeth gleam grease juice
(as do those of the children, who play
in the dark behind us).
There is fear
in the horse’s eye
corralled nearby.
(Hear the drum on the Río Grande.
Boom pom boom pom....)
Blood sizzles,
moist alfalfa in the air,
bats flit above the flames.
I toss a gleaming bone to spirits
in the orchard,
and Gonzales yells,
with his old earthen voice,
“Play, hombre, �Canta, mujer! Sing!
Sing the way the old ones sang!”
Tonight life is
lust
death
hunger
violence
innocence
sweetness
honor
hard work
and tomorrow I will go
to church.
But tonight
I leap into
impulse, instinct,
into the burning
of
this moment.
(I commit myself! One moment to the next
I am chasm jumper and silence is
a blue fire on my papery soul. I construct
out of nothing. I am air, am labyrinth,
place with no entry or exit,
am a smoking mirror.
Commit myself! Storms stroke my heart
and destroy its neat furrows.
My words are mule teams,
that loosen, pound, hurl, out and up,
and leave me standing in the open, naked,
with star flame roar, life opening. . . .
Commit myself!)
Hear the two hands
bleed along the river beating
drumskins,
deep sounds of thu-uba,
of magic, despair, joy,
emotions trance-weave through sound,
thumba, thumba, thumba.
Follow drum,
thumba thumba thumba,
umba umba umba
ba-ba ba-ba
thumba thumba thumba,
hear hearts mate with earth
in song,
spiral toward death
in its long thuuumbaa,
toward life again
in ba-ba ba-ba.
The sound is stain on purity,
is cry of broken thing,
drum does not wither beneath bed,
but rises heart
into newness around us,
all around us,
come follow Follow the drum,
thumba thumba thumba
ba—ba—ba
thumba thumba thumba
ba—ba—ba,
of living!
poem by Jimmy Santiago Baca
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Pedra De Responsa
Juraci me convidou preu ir
Num parque mais ela l em birigui
E eu vesti o meu terninho engomado
Alisado alinhado pra brincar com Juraci
J no caminho eu comi um churrasquinho de charque
E um suco de sapoti
E foi ficando divertido pra caramba
Juraci danando samba enquanto eu lia O Guarani
Mas j chegando
Eu tive o maior susto
E tentei a todo custo
Ento crer no que vi
No lugar do parque
Um self-service por quilo
Fiquei puto com aquilo
E perguntei pra Juraci
Juraci que parque
Juraci que parque Juraci
que parque esse que eu nunca vi
Juraci que parque
Juraci que parque Juraci
Quebrei o pau fiquei de mal com Juraci
(juro por deus que odiei a Juraci)
song performed by by Zeca Baleiro
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hot, hotter and now bombastic, (this is not a poem)
The Philippine government on Sunday (24 Aug) rejected a call by Muslim guerrillas for a halt in a massive air and ground assault, and instead intensified the four-day attack, capturing a rebel training camp in a southern province, officials said.
Moro Islamic Liberation Front Chairman Al Haj Murad urged the government in a rare news conference Saturday to stop the offensive, warning it could imperil a years long peace process and escalate violence in the country's troubled south.
About 6,000 troops and police commando forces, backed by artillery and bomber aircraft, have attacked guerrilla positions to capture a rebel commander who occupied and looted Christian farming communities in North Cotabato province. Two other commanders are also being hunted who led a rampage last week in which 37 people were shot or hacked to death in Lanao del Norte province.
'There will be no let up in government offensives, ' Press Secretary Jesus Dureza said.
He said government forces would 'enforce the law' if Murad does not turn over the three commanders for justice. Murad has refused to do so.
After four days of air and artillery strikes and attacks by army rangers, rebel resistance has softened, allowing troops to capture a guerrilla training camp in Maguindanao's Mamasapano township, said Army Col. Marlou Salazar, who was overseeing the offensive.
Troops were checking the camp, which has obstacle courses, assembly areas and small buildings for combat training, for possible booby traps and land mines, he said.
'They're scampering and leaving only token forces to delay our advance, ' Salazar told The Associated Press by telephone.
At least 27 guerrillas have been killed and 21 others wounded in three Maguindanao townships where Salazar's army brigade was pressing its assault against the forces of rebel commander Ameril Umbra Kato. Military and police were continuing a manhunt in nearby Lanao del Norte province for commanders Abdullah Macapaar, also known as Bravo, and Aleem Sulaiman Pangalian.
The National Disaster Coordinating Council reported that at least 40 civilians have been killed and 240,000 displaced by the rebel attacks and the fighting.
'The number keeps growing, ' Social Welfare Secretary Esperanza Cabral told the AP. 'There is fighting that erupts in new places almost every day so more and more are being displaced. So we are hoping that there can be a peaceful resolution very quickly.'
Cabral said the World Food Program has increased its emergency rice supplies for refugees from 400 tons last week to 900 tons.
Murad said government troops were attacking the main rebel forces and not only pursuing the three commanders.
The rebels, who have been fighting for Muslim self-rule in the predominantly Roman Catholic nation's south for decades, said they regretted a recent upsurge in violence and that the commanders responsible had acted on their own. Murad said peace talks should resume, but refused to turn over the commanders to face the criminal justice system.
'We cannot subject our members to the laws of the government, ' Murad said. 'We are a revolutionary force.'
Just weeks ago, a peace deal to end the decades-long insurgency had seemed within reach after government and rebel negotiators initialed an agreement on an expanded Muslim autonomous region.
But Christian politicians in areas that would be affected challenged the deal in the Supreme Court, triggering the attacks by frustrated rebels.
By JIM GOMEZ/ AP)
Associated Press writer Oliver Teves contributed to this report.
MySinchew 2008.08.25
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Could Be The Moon
i could be the moon
where you can be a body and a
shadow
i could be a lake where
the moon may shine
and you can still be the body
and the shadow
and the voice
i could be a candle in the dark
where you may put
your hope and you can still be the
body and the shadow
and the scent
i could all be your moon
your lake and your candle
and you can still be the body and the shadow
and you shall walk
under me (if i were the moon)
and around me (if i were the lake)
and you may have the power
to put me off (if i were just a candle
in the dark
where you are the body
and the shadow and the voice
and by the mere sigh
of your whimper
i may die
so i still prefer to be your moon
or your lake so i can be your full light
so i can be your mirror
larger than your body
not helpless to your shadow
in silence, i still like to be myself
not a slave, not someone whom you can just
give away as easily as a flicker of a candle
as fickle as you are
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Eclipse
Looking like a divine sign
of Godly serenity
the shadow falling over me,
falling further and further
were turning the moon
copper red,
darkening the sky,
making stars visible near to it.
Dark goes the earth
as far as my eyes can see
while the moon hides the sun
turning black
in a full eclipse
and the sun’s photosphere
hangs in a blue white hue
around it.
It was almost as if God Himself
was holding His hand
and now making an arc
to shield the earth
from a flaming star.
What great events
was now awaiting humanity
in a world, torn by wars,
suffering and human misery?
poem by Gert Strydom
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