The Forefather
HERE at the country inn,
I lie in my quiet bed,
And the ardent onrush of armies
Throbs and throbs in my head.
Why, in this calm, sweet place,
Where only silence is heard,
Am I ware of the crash of conflict,—
Is my blood to battle stirred?
Without, the night is blessed
With the smell of pines, with stars;
Within, is the mood of slumber,
The healing of daytime scars.
’T is strange,—yet I am thrall
To epic agonies;
The tumult of myriads dying
Is borne to me on the breeze.
Mayhap in the long ago
My forefather grim and stark
Stood in some hell of carnage,
Faced forward, fell in the dark;
And I, who have always known
Peace with her dove-like ways,
Am gripped by his martial spirit
Here in the after days.
I cannot rightly tell:
I lie, from all stress apart,
And the ardent onrush of armies
Surges hot through my heart.
poem by Richard Francis Burton
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Related quotes
Eurydice: Listening: A Picture By Burne Jones
I
As sentient as a wedding-bell,
The vibrant air throbs calling her
Whose eager body, earwise curved,
Leans listening at the heart of hell.
She is one nerve of hearing, strained
To love and suffer, hope and fear-
Thus, hearkening for her Love, she waits,
Whom no man's daring heart has gained.
II
Oh, to be sound to such an ear!
Song, carol, vesper, comfort near,
Sweet words, at sweetest, whispered low,
Or dearer silence, happiest so.
By little languages of love
Her finer audience to prove;
A tenderness untried, to fit
To soul and sense so exquisite;
The blessed Orpheus to be
At last, to such Eurydice!
III
I listened in hell! I listened in hell!
Down in the dark I heard your soul
Singing mine out to the holy sun.
Deep in the dark I heard your feet
Ringing the way of Love in hell.
Into the flame you strode and stood.
Out of the flame you bore me well,
As I listened in hell.
IV
I listen in hell! I listen in hell!
Who trod the fire? Where was the scorch?
Clutched, clasped, and saved, what a tale was to tell
-Heaven come down to hell!
Oh, like a spirit you strove for my sake!
Oh, like a man you looked back for your own!
Back, though you loved me heavenly well,
Back, though you lost me. The gods did decree,
And I listen in hell.
poem by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward
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Leftover
In the silence of the night
My ears buzz, my heart throbs
A billion bulbs blaze my head
The day comes rushing back.
My thoughts, they madly hound
The waves crash with thunderous sound
I am chased, tormented, hammered
It's hell of a deafening silence.
My bed swings in a traumatic toss
The fallen hopes, the shattering loss
My pillow gnashes me with a thousand thorns
The darkness fangs open my soul.
While the world sleeps oblivious
My fragments are carried into a new day
Stitched together for another fight…
Till the next silence of the night!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Starry Night
Night fills the valley.
swarming armies rise to crest
to fiery west.
The battle is done.
tumbling stars overturning
pale winter's stark sun.
poem by Steven Federle
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Starry Night (Vacaville)
Night fills the valley.
swarming armies rise to crest
to fiery west.
The battle is done.
tumbling stars overturning
pale winter's stark sun.
poem by Steven Federle
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When The Calm Comes Back Again
WHEN THE CALM COMES BACK AGAIN
When the calm comes back again
After days of anxiety and stress-
When things at last seem going the right way
After a long time of disorder-
When one is simply quiet and happy inside again
And looking forward to whatever is to come-
When the calm comes back again
How blessed and happy and easy life is-
And what a tremendous relief also.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I Know
She's out there
Heart beating
Like the wings of a bird.
For me.
Sent by Aphrodite
I heard
Her symphony
- Winging through the ether
As her fragrance lingers long.
A million stars beneath her
She pours out our secret song.
Truly
Only in moonlight glow
Do I feel.
I know
It's real.
Her kiss
Would heal the scars where I bled
When bells rang in my head.
Would cut the thread where I hung
Above abyss.
To drown in bliss
In her arms.
Where all hope had clung.
Her smile
That lights a butterscotch sky
Ignites
Dark stars that drift by.
Healing me from afar
Her promise I keep in a jar.
Her touch
An electric breeze
So softly, I sink to my knees.
And smell the jasmine of her hair.
Sounds of our love
Echo somewhere
I know.
poem by Kevin East
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The Two Armies
Two armies stand enrolled beneath
The banner with the starry wreath;
One, facing battle, blight and blast,
Through twice a hundred fields has passed;
Its deeds against a ruffian foe,
Stream, valley, hill, and mountain know,
Till every wind that sweeps the land
Goes, glory laden, from the strand.
The other, with a narrower scope,
Yet led by not less grand a hope,
Hath won, perhaps, as proud a place,
And wears its fame with meeker grace.
Wives march beneath its glittering sign,
Fond mothers swell the lovely line,
And many a sweetheart hides her blush
In the young patriot's generous flush.
No breeze of battle ever fanned
The colors of that tender band;
Its office is beside the bed,
Where throbs some sick or wounded head.
It does not court the soldier's tomb,
But plies the needle and the loom;
And, by a thousand peaceful deeds,
Supplies a struggling nation's needs.
Nor is that army's gentle might
Unfelt amid the deadly fight;
It nerves the son's, the husband's hand,
It points the lover's fearless brand;
It thrills the languid, warms the cold,
Gives even new courage to the bold;
And sometimes lifts the veriest clod
To its own lofty trust in God.
When Heaven shall blow the trump of peace,
And bid this weary warfare cease,
Their several missions nobly done,
The triumph grasped, and freedom won,
Both armies, from their toils at rest,
Alike may claim the victor's crest,
But each shall see its dearest prize
Gleam softly from the other's eyes.
poem by Henry Timrod
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On My Songs
Though unseen Poets, many and many a time,
Have answered me as if they knew my woe,
And it might seem have fashioned so their rime
To be my own soul's cry; easing the flow
Of my dumb tears with language sweet as sobs,
Yet are there days when all these hoards of thought
Hold nothing for me. Not one verse that throbs
Throbs with my heart, or as my brain is fraught.
'Tis then I voice mine own weird reveries:
Low croonings of a motherless child, in gloom
Singing his frightened self to sleep, are these.
One night, if thou shouldst lie in this Sick Room,
Dreading the Dark thou darest not illume,
Listen; my voice may haply lend thee ease.
poem by Wilfred Owen
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The Aisne
We first saw fire on the tragic slopes
Where the flood-tide of France's early gain,
Big with wrecked promise and abandoned hopes,
Broke in a surf of blood along the Aisne.
The charge her heroes left us, we assumed,
What, dying, they reconquered, we preserved,
In the chill trenches, harried, shelled, entombed,
Winter came down on us, but no man swerved.
Winter came down on us. The low clouds, torn
In the stark branches of the riven pines,
Blurred the white rockets that from dusk till morn
Traced the wide curve of the close-grappling lines.
In rain, and fog that on the withered hill
Froze before dawn, the lurking foe drew down;
Or light snows fell that made forlorner still
The ravaged country and the ruined town;
Or the long clouds would end. Intensely fair,
The winter constellations blazing forth --
Perseus, the Twins, Orion, the Great Bear --
Gleamed on our bayonets pointing to the north.
And the lone sentinel would start and soar
On wings of strong emotion as he knew
That kinship with the stars that only War
Is great enough to lift man's spirit to.
And ever down the curving front, aglow
With the pale rockets' intermittent light,
He heard, like distant thunder, growl and grow
The rumble of far battles in the night, --
Rumors, reverberant, indistinct, remote,
Borne from red fields whose martial names have won
The power to thrill like a far trumpet-note, --
Vic, Vailly, Soupir, Hurtelise, Craonne . . .
Craonne, before thy cannon-swept plateau,
Where like sere leaves lay strewn September's dead,
I found for all dear things I forfeited
A recompense I would not now forego.
For that high fellowship was ours then
With those who, championing another's good,
More than dull Peace or its poor votaries could,
Taught us the dignity of being men.
There we drained deeper the deep cup of life,
And on sublimer summits came to learn,
After soft things, the terrible and stern,
After sweet Love, the majesty of Strife;
There where we faced under those frowning heights
The blast that maims, the hurricane that kills;
There where the watchlights on the winter hills
Flickered like balefire through inclement nights;
There where, firm links in the unyielding chain,
Where fell the long-planned blow and fell in vain --
Hearts worthy of the honor and the trial,
We helped to hold the lines along the Aisne.
poem by Alan Seeger
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In Hilly-Wood
How sweet to be thus nestling deep in boughs,
Upon an ashen stoven pillowing me;
Faintly are heard the ploughmen at their ploughs,
But not an eye can find its way to see.
The sunbeams scarce molest me with a smile,
So thick the leafy armies gather round;
And where they do, the breeze blows cool the while,
Their leafy shadows dancing on the ground.
Full many a flower, too, wishing to be seen,
Perks up its head the hiding grass between.-
In mid-wood silence, thus, how sweet to be;
Where all the noises, that on peace intrude,
Come from the chittering cricket, bird, and bee,
Whose songs have charms to sweeten solitude.
poem by John Clare
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Battleground
Ah
Finally the curtains are here
Dark dusty coffee shade
To blot out the searing summer sun
To blend with the moss green
Abstract walls
In a room
Where our bed stands
A centre piece
A stage
For the battles we fight
You always win
And I the meek
Retreat into the dusk and the dawn
Where shadows hide the bruises
Till the silence heals the battle scars
And I come out with renewed vengeance
To fight again
Fr what I think is mine
A trophy I thought I deserved
in an epic I had pre written
to fight till death
for losing is beyond comprehension
but you always win
and stand proud
amidst the carnage
of a heart that only knew to love you
but now I grow tired
with every wave of fight
from one confusing day
to long drawn out sleepless night
and amidst the glint of swords
in a moment of surreal silence
I see that this might all be in vain
That you can’t fight a war for peace
I can’t claim a prize without my name
And maybe it’s time to let go
To realize
In a moment of desolation
That love
Is not for everyone
poem by Dinesh Perera
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After Drafting
NIGHT has fallen, night and darkness,
Night with star and planet splendid;
And the earth lies like a giant
Wrapt in sleep, with limbs extended.
Rest has stolen on the homestead,
On the long day's rush and riot,
And no sound of horse or rider
Breaks the soft and dewy quiet.
Yet, like heart-cries
After battle,
Comes the calling, ceaseless calling,
Of the dun and dappled cattle.
Sleep is sweet, and sweet is silence,
When the long day's work is over,
For the toiler and the moiler,
And the rider and the rover.
Not a breeze abroad at night-time
Sets the barley-grass aquiver,
And from dewfall on to sunrise
Sleeps the curlew by the river.
Yet no slumber
Anguish smothers;
Hark the calling, plaintive calling,
Of the robbed and stricken mothers!
Oh, how still are plain and river —
How all-sweet, how all-amazing!
By the stars' march night is numbered —
Rising, setting, zenith-blazing.
Peace has come upon the homestead;
Passed the long day's rush and riot;
Only from the drafted cattle
Comes a note of sad disquiet:
Dun and dappled,
Horned and poley —
They are lowing, lowly lowing,
With a helpless melancholy.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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The Secret Pool
I KNOW a pool unknown to men,
Whose green and shadowed secrecy
I share alone with bird and tree,
And there, when I am sick at heart
And ill at ease, I draw apart
To bathe, and live, and love again.
All Summertide and all Spring through,
In its charmed neighbourhood, the thrush
And magpie, in the dying blush
Of sunset and the green of dawn —
Now nigh, and now in aisles withdrawn —
Make melody, each day anew.
And all night long the curious stars
Through peepholes in its dome of leaves
Peer down on it, while Silence weaves
A lovely spell, a magic calm
That soothes the soul like healing balm,
And breathes a peace that nothing mars.
Ah, sweet, indeed, it is to lave
And lose oneself within the cool,
Soft presence of that forest-pool,
Whose sacramental peace is such
That flesh and spirit, at its touch,
The sleep of little children have.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Christmas Spirit
Everyone gather near
And Ill tell you a story that youll love
Ooh its christmas time
The seasons right
The seasons right
And all around the world we celebrate the birth of christ
He came to bring us peace
He came to bring us everything that we need
To set us free
Oh I long to feel that christmas spirit in my heart
Oh I long to feel that christmas spirit in my heart
As a child I still recall
Well christmas was my favorite season of them all
Oh my heart was filled with child night praise
And I hope there is you know it
Why the savior came
He came to bring us peace
He came to bring us everything that we need
To set us free
Now I long to feel that christmas spirit in my heart
Yes I long to feel that christmas spirit in my heart
So turn your heart throbs in
And let God grow within
Not to destroy
The greatest gift Ive known
He came to earth to bring love
To show us love
He came to bring us peace
He came to bring us joy
He came to bring us everything
Have faith if we believe
The gift that we receive
Is like that love and everything
The greatest gift Ive known
He came to earth to bring love
He came to bring us everything
Still l long to feel that christmas spirit in my heart
Yes I long to feel that christmas spirit in my heart
Now I long to feel that christmas spirit in my heart
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mary and Gabriel
Young Mary, loitering once her garden way,
Felt a warm splendour grow in the April day,
As wine that blushes water through. And soon,
Out of the gold air of the afternoon,
One knelt before her: hair he had, or fire,
Bound back above his ears with golden wire,
Baring the eager marble of his face.
Not man's nor woman's was the immortal grace
Rounding the limbs beneath that robe of white,
And lighting the proud eyes with changeless light,
Incurious. Calm as his wings, and fair,
That presence filled the garden.
She stood there,
Saying, 'What would you, Sir?'
He told his word,
'Blessed art thou of women!' Half she heard,
Hands folded and face bowed, half long had known,
The message of that clear and holy tone,
That fluttered hot sweet sobs about her heart;
Such serene tidings moved such human smart.
Her breath came quick as little flakes of snow.
Her hands crept up her breast. She did but know
It was not hers. She felt a trembling stir
Within her body, a will too strong for her
That held and filled and mastered all. With eyes
Closed, and a thousand soft short broken sighs,
She gave submission; fearful, meek, and glad. . . .
She wished to speak. Under her breasts she had
Such multitudinous burnings, to and fro,
And throbs not understood; she did not know
If they were hurt or joy for her; but only
That she was grown strange to herself, half lonely,
All wonderful, filled full of pains to come
And thoughts she dare not think, swift thoughts and dumb,
Human, and quaint, her own, yet very far,
Divine, dear, terrible, familiar . . .
Her heart was faint for telling; to relate
Her limbs' sweet treachery, her strange high estate,
Over and over, whispering, half revealing,
Weeping; and so find kindness to her healing.
'Twixt tears and laughter, panic hurrying her,
She raised her eyes to that fair messenger.
He knelt unmoved, immortal; with his eyes
Gazing beyond her, calm to the calm skies;
Radiant, untroubled in his wisdom, kind.
His sheaf of lilies stirred not in the wind.
How should she, pitiful with mortality,
Try the wide peace of that felicity
With ripples of her perplexed shaken heart,
And hints of human ecstasy, human smart,
And whispers of the lonely weight she bore,
And how her womb within was hers no more
And at length hers?
Being tired, she bowed her head;
And said, "So be it!"
The great wings were spread
Showering glory on the fields, and fire.
The whole air, singing, bore him up, and higher,
Unswerving, unreluctant. Soon he shone
A gold speck in the gold skies; then was gone.
The air was colder, and grey. She stood alone.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1912)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Goddess~
She comes to you in the ether-
With a come hither look light as the breeze
Awakening you from blessed slumber
She, the Goddess, brings you to your knees;
Oh so helpless you cry..
Your tears as rain drops fall
In utter worship you sing her praises
Utterly taken in by her siren call;
She comes to you as but a gentle whisper
Upon the nights darkened wings
Is she, indeed, a real Goddess?
Or the result of what sweet destiny brings?
'Hark, my beloved, my lady'
'Comest thou from ethers afar'
To dream of you again in sweet slumber
'Tis my ardent hope, my Venus, my star;
By, Theodora Onken
November 15,2012
poem by Theodora Onken
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Those Who Are Less Fortunate Then You
Consolidation.
The gathering of a nation.
Make us one.
Make us whole.
Destroy this void.
With armies sent to destroy.
Under political control.
Creating a martial law.
Protesters are silenced with the sounds gun fire.
Lethal force has been authorized.
And blood pours and pools right under our feet.
Their is no going back.
Their is no retreat.
That flag marks the day of defeat.
Consolidation.
The gathering of a nation.
Make us one.
Make us whole.
Destroy this void.
With armies sent to destroy.
Under political control.
Consolidation.
The gathering of a nation.
Make us one.
Make us whole.
Destroy this void.
With armies sent to destroy.
Under political control.
Monsters with innocent faces.
The poison in this water has become so tasteless.
Does this mean it won't kill?
The fight for the freedom of the defenseless.
Let our crys be heard.
Let them hear us all over the world.
Consolidation.
The gathering of a nation.
Make us one.
Make us whole.
Destroy this void.
With armies sent to destroy.
Under political control.
Divide us into groups of races, religions, classes and other discrimination's.
It doesn't change that we are all made of this flesh.
With hearts that all beat the same.
We all bleed the same.
No matter the cage we're imprisoned in.
This won't change.
Consolidation.
The gathering of a nation.
Make us one.
Make us whole.
Destroy this void.
With armies sent to destroy.
Under political control.
Consolidation.
The gathering of a nation.
Make us one.
Make us whole.
Destroy this void.
With armies sent to destroy.
Under political control.
All we ask for, all we want, all we seek is the right to be as we are.
Is our very existence so wrong?
That no haven or shelter shall be given to those who less fortunate then you, then you, then you?
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The Perfect Poem!
I wrote it last night while sleeping,
The dream unfolding all!
I penned the poem while weeping,
Repenting like Saint Paul!
Yes, so moved was I while writing
God sent an angel down...
I saw two armies while fighting
To gain some worldly crown!
God's army fought well while praying!
Yet Satan merely sneered!
God's army fought Hell while saying
That evil must be cleared!
I saw the Devil while smiling
At all his works of death!
He grinned each second while piling
More agonies each breath!
I saw the Saviour while searching
The world for volunteers!
I saw the Saviour while urging
Lost souls to fight their fears!
I saw the Father while sighing,
Grim-faced at all the pain!
I saw the Father while trying
Ten billion souls to gain!
I saw the Spirit while brooding,
Still hovering above...
I saw this planet while feuding -
Man's choices: hate or love!
I lay in my bed while waking,
Finding paper and pen,
Then read this poem while taking
Some time to pray again...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Flight
Voices out of the shade that cried,
And long noon in the hot calm places,
And children's play by the wayside,
And country eyes, and quiet faces -
All these were round my steady paces.
Those that I could have loved went by me;
Cool gardened homes slept in the sun;
I heard the whisper of water nigh me,
Saw hands that beckoned, shone, were gone
In the green and gold. And I went on.
For if my echoing footfall slept,
Soon a far whispering there'd be
Of a little lonely wind that crept
From tree to tree, and distantly
Followed me, followed me. . . .
But the blue vaporous end of day
Brought peace, and pursuit baffled quite,
Where between pine-woods dipped the way.
I turned, slipped in and out of sight.
I trod as quiet as the night.
The pine-boles kept perpetual hush;
And in the boughs wind never swirled.
I found a flowering lowly bush,
And bowed, slid in, and sighed and curled,
Hidden at rest from all the world.
Safe! I was safe, and glad, I knew!
Yet - with cold heart and cold wet brows
I lay. And the dark fell. . . . There grew
Meward a sound of shaken boughs;
And ceased, above my intricate house;
And silence, silence, silence found me. . . .
I felt the unfaltering movement creep
Among the leaves. They shed around me
Calm clouds of scent, that I did weep;
And stroked my face. I fell asleep.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1919)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Flight
Voices out of the shade that cried,
And long noon in the hot calm places,
And children's play by the wayside,
And country eyes, and quiet faces -
All these were round my steady paces.
Those that I could have loved went by me;
Cool gardened homes slept in the sun;
I heard the whisper of water nigh me,
Saw hands that beckoned, shone, were gone
In the green and gold. And I went on.
For if my echoing footfall slept,
Soon a far whispering there'd be
Of a little lonely wind that crept
From tree to tree, and distantly
Followed me, followed me. . . .
But the blue vaporous end of day
Brought peace, and pursuit baffled quite,
Where between pine-woods dipped the way.
I turned, slipped in and out of sight.
I trod as quiet as the night.
The pine-boles kept perpetual hush;
And in the boughs wind never swirled.
I found a flowering lowly bush,
And bowed, slid in, and sighed and curled,
Hidden at rest from all the world.
Safe! I was safe, and glad, I knew!
Yet - with cold heart and cold wet brows
I lay. And the dark fell. . . . There grew
Meward a sound of shaken boughs;
And ceased, above my intricate house;
And silence, silence, silence found me. . . .
I felt the unfaltering movement creep
Among the leaves. They shed around me
Calm clouds of scent, that I did weep;
And stroked my face. I fell asleep.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1910)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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