Intimacy
The sunlight’s threshold is the east.
The room light’s threshold is windows.
Eyes are the threshold of the love
So are the lips for intimacy.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Dweller On The Threshold
Im a dweller on the threshold
And Im waiting at the door
And Im standing in the darkness
I dont want to wait no more
I have seen without perceiving
I have been another man
Let me pierce the realm of glamour
So I know just what I am
Im a dweller on the threshold
And Im waiting at the door
And Im standing in the darkness
I dont want to wait no more
Feel the angel of the present
In the mighty crystal fire
Lift me up consume my darkness
Let me travel even higher
Im a dweller on the threshold
As I cross the burning ground
Let me go down to the water
Watch the great illusion drown
Im a dweller on the threshold
And Im waiting at the door
And Im standing in the darkness
I dont want to wait no more
Im gonna turn and face the music
The music of the spheres
Lift me up consume my darkness
When the midnight disappears
I will walk out of the darkness
And Ill walk into the light
And Ill sing the song of ages
And the dawn will end the night
Im a dweller on the threshold
And Im waiting at the door
And Im standing in the darkness
I dont want to wait no more
Im a dweller on the threshold
And I cross some burning ground
And Ill go down to the water
Let the great illusion drown
Im a dweller on the threshold
And Im waiting at the door
And Im standing in the darkness
I dont want to wait no more
Im a dweller on the threshold
Dweller on the threshold
Im a dweller on the threshold
Im a dweller on the threshold
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Standing On The Threshold
Standing on the threshold
Of the growing responsibilities,
I stare and peep out of mirror,
Mirrror of shadowed soul,
I look and rejoice my childhood,
Standing on the threshold.
The innocent dreams behold,
Through imagination, the colorful world,
And try to seek some answers,
The answers may be right or wrong.
I look and rejoice my childhood,
Standing on the threshold.
When decency couldn’t be hold,
And being jealous was not off beam,
When there should be a crowd,
Crowd of plays & players around,
I look and rejoice my childhood,
Standing on the threshold.
There were fairies in stories, told
Which looked real & with soul,
And we used to build our own home,
Home exactly like of fairies land,
I look and rejoice my childhood,
Standing on the threshold.
The hands gradually gets fold,
With my fingers in it hold tightly,
For guiding me all the way,
The way that is now lost,
I look and rejoice my childhood,
Standing on the threshold.
The smile that was clear & bold,
Has now turned very wintry,
The unconditional loud laugh,
Now laughs loudly at me,
I look and rejoice my childhood,
Standing on the threshold.
poem by Sudha Pandey
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Forbidden, Not Forgotten
Under a roof we were,
growing to know each other;
I was right in her yard
that she nodded in concord;
Both were drawn in closely
and in perfect consonance.
We grew a little thicker
and felt for each other;
There came a Lakshmana Rekha
That she drew between us
From her guilt complex,
to keep herself away from
The test of fidelity,
I, not crossing her threshold,
And she, not abandoning the threshold,
yet, both reverberating.
Forbidden and hence still in born
is our love, but still with breath.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Two Nights In One Day
Black clouds descend the threshold of peace,
men hastened to sleep by irons of blood
as seraphic sheeps slaughtered
in a cascade of crimson-like drips.
Black clouds descend the threshold of peace,
soulless souls on the prowl
shrieking with cruel delight
amid feasts on maiden-heads.
Black clouds descend the threshold of peace,
black clouds everywhere,
the garlands of peace trodden by beastly souls,
leaving us two nights in one day.
poem by Azubuike Justin
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The Threshold Stone
WHEN I went to live in the little house,
That stands on the hilltop alone,
What touched me most of all
Was neither roof nor wall,
But the smooth, worn face of its old threshold stone.
For when I entered that little house,
With its four rooms cool in the heat,
And its windows clean and bright,
There it lay, new-washed and white,
With its tale of the coming and the going of feet.
Then I lost count of time in that little house,
And the world and its things all about,
And I hearkened there, alone,
To the footfalls on that stone,
Of the young coming in and the old going out.
And the folk that had dwelt in that little house,
They were mute, spectre-mute, at my side —
The young man, strong and bold,
And the grey man, wise and old,
And the little, pinched woman and the new-made bride.
Oh, often in haste to that little house
Came love in the night-time alone,
And dallied there a while,
With a little, wistful smile,
And with feather-weight feet on the old threshold stone.
And men hurried home to that little house
When the round of the daytime was o'er
With its worry, heat and noise,
And kissed their girls and boys,
And the patient little mothers that waited at the door.
Though I dwell now no more in that little house
That stands on the hilltop alone,
Yet this I got from it —
This human story writ
On the smooth, worn face of its old threshold stone.
Though they take stone from stone in that little house,
Making litter of all it has been.
Yet they shall not destroy
All the grief, all the joy,
All the youth, all the love that its threshold has seen.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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The Witch
I HAVE walked a great while over the snow,
And I am not tall nor strong.
My clothes are wet, and my teeth are set,
And the way was hard and long.
I have wandered over the fruitful earth,
But I never came here before.
Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door!
The cutting wind is a cruel foe.
I dare not stand in the blast.
My hands are stone, and my voice a groan,
And the worst of death is past.
I am but a little maiden still,
My little white feet are sore.
Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door!
Her voice was the voice that women have,
Who plead for their heart's desire.
She came--she came--and the quivering flame
Sunk and died in the fire.
It never was lit again on my hearth
Since I hurried across the floor,
To lift her over the threshold, and let her in at the door.
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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Escorted to the Threshold of Fame
Many have more than been escorted,
To the threshold of fame.
Some visualized this at their births.
Knowing within them,
Fame was the name of the game to claim.
Others want notoriety.
And don't know why they want it.
Not realizing it's much more of a risk...
To have a life flaunted,
With little time to rest.
Or just quietly be alone to reflect and sit.
Many have more than been escorted,
To the threshold of fame.
Some will admit they enjoy the attention.
Others signed to contracts,
Wish they could end them quick.
Knowing it is more than posing for photos.
When so many would rather,
Eat biscuits with syrup.
And lick their lips clean...
Of the bacon fat that drips.
'This is so delicious!
May I have more of it? '
~What about your physique and figure,
To please with 'mystique'...
For your fans? ~
'Please pass me another biscuit.
I will diet when I can.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Keep This In Your Mind And Soul All The Time
You can not sit on your wishes and dreams,
Expecting to be given a change of scene.
Get up and make it real what it is you wish.
Get up and make it real what it is you dream.
No boat is going to float over your threshold.
Keep this in your mind and soul all the time,
No boat is going to float over your threshold.
To allow you to wine and dine.
If you've got the melody and the rhythm with rhyme,
You've got to move this from your mind to your feet.
No one but you can make real whatever it is,
You want to chew with your teeth.
If you have a need to eat...
You are the one that has to cook.
You alone have to supply and stir up the heat!
Keep this in your mind and soul all the time,
No boat is going to float over your threshold.
To allow you to wine and dine.
You can not sit on your wishes and dreams,
Expecting to be given a change of scene.
Get up and make it real what it is you wish.
Get up and make it real what it is you dream.
No boat is going to float over your threshold,
Anytime soon.
If you're not prepared to row or energize that boat...
You might as well float off and go back to sleep.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Dive
Please dont be afraid
Believe what you see
Whisper it a hundred times
A lesson soon to be forgotten
If you feel that life has passed you by
(dive) come with me well flow into tomorrow
(dive) we can close our eyes and disappear
(dive) just below the threshold of detection
Is something you cant touch, taste, see or...
Here it is - the great escape
Slip with me into the shadows
What would life be without me ?
Master of your fate between two worlds
Dont you see that time is slipping by ?
(dive) come with me well flow into tomorrow
(dive) we can close our eyes and disappear
(dive) just below the threshold of detection
Is something you cant touch, taste, see or hear
Come to me be my inspiration
Weve got to rise above
Youve got to dive for love
Youve got to dive for love
Come to me and we can touch the sky
(dive) come with me well flow into tomorrow
(dive) we can close our eyes and disappear
(dive) just below the threshold of detection
Is something you cant touch, taste, see or hear
(dive) you know that love all pull you under
(dive) they say the time for miracles is past
(dive) hold my hand and dive into the future
The time for us to rise is here at last
Rise
Dive
song performed by by Heaven 17
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Im-Ho-Tep
Time is the bond of mortal life
Isis with the scroll of life
Raised her love Osiris from the dead
Live can transcend the mortal coil
With this script, the high priest of
The Pharaoh commits his sacrilege
Death is but a threshold
To another life, you will arrive
With this power
You shall live again, there is no end
You'll live again...
Love was the curse upon my soul
For it I would risk salvation
And utilize the scroll to save this one
Time is the sentence for my sin
Three thousand years my angry soul's
Been trapped inside this tomb of my condemn.
Death is but a threshold
To another life, I will arrive
With this power
I shall live again, there is no end.
I'll live again
Dawn shines a light on pain untold
Scarred from the millennia
The heart that beats inside my chest is cold
Rise, I'm rising from these sands of time
By the scarab's power I am given strength
With hate in hand, this misery I drink
Death is but a threshold
To another life, I will arrive
And with this power
I shall live again, there is no end
This pain won't end
song performed by by Iced Earth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Emptiness Again?
this emptiness moves upon its hands
on the carpeted floors of the hallways
upon an old catholic church
the pillars as you see are taller
than the rugby players
the windows are as wide as the shoulders
of african men
i stand on the threshold of this door
the sun gets in
and i must choose which way to be
outside is the wind full of uncertain origins
inside there is this light that fears dissolution
the moment the wide window closes upon itself
there are two windows inside myself
i open them soon and then i will fly away
inside there is too much feasting
outside there is only your silence
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ch 01 Manner of Kings Story 25
One of the Arab kings ordered his officials to double the allowance of a certain attendant because he was always at the palace expecting orders while the other servants were engaged in amusements and sports, neglecting their duties. A pious man who heard this remarked that high degrees at the court of heaven are similarly bestowed upon servants:
If a man comes two mornings to serve the shah
He will on the third certainly look benevolently on him.
Sincere worshippers entertain the hope
That they will not be disappointed at the threshold of God.
Superiority consists in attending to commands.
The neglect of commands leads to exclusion.
Who possesses the criterion of righteousness
Places the head upon the threshold.
From The Biography Of An Unknown Woman: Xxxii
in her sob-weary
eyes is seen the quiescent sky
after a gushing rain
a solitary flower
on an infinite sheet of ice
she dreams dreams of
a loving heart
what color are her dreams?
brief episodes of love
she treasures within
and discards
her bruised skin
she stood there
at the threshold
her lips breaking into
a confident smile
18jul2010
03.23hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Addiction
I miss the intimacy.
But I do not miss the secrecy,
You use to keep your thoughts from me.
I miss your touch.
But not the distance I encounter so much,
When I catch you deep and aloof in thought!
I find I'm standing on a threshold...
Invited to come in.
Feeling I am welcomed,
As long as I pretend...
You are inside a space to share,
Even though I am without you completely there!
Until your reach beseeches me.
And I obey and come unquestioned.
To be taught lessons only you can teach!
My weakness is captured,
And you sense my defeat!
I miss the intimacy.
And I wish it wasn't an addiction!
But with you it is!
We each need this 'fix'.
Knowing it will be supplied...
Stripped and naked and embraced with sighs.
Thrusting with a love only two like us can share,
Bared...
Without complications to interfere or deny!
Yet kept climaxing,
In fulfilled unanswered wonder.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Do not torment me with the blue
at the threshold of the colours
when you paint the morning
with the white frozen little bough
bitterly breaking my windows
in a red spilled cell
when you count my blood
in a happy yellow light
that even more witnesses the pain
in a night black left ajar
when you open my tear
in all the colours
when you tell me
the rainbow has been made for someone else
do not torment me with the blue
there's nothing royal in me
I can't take it anymore
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Song IV: Draw Near and Behold Me
Love is enough: draw near and behold me
Ye who pass by the way to your rest and your laughter,
And are full of the hope of the dawn coming after;
For the strong of the world have bought me and sold me
And my house is all wasted from threshold to rafter.
--Pass by me, and hearken, and think of me not!
Cry out and come near; for my ears may not hearken,
And my eyes are grown dim as the eyes of the dying.
Is this the grey rack o'er the sun's face a-flying?
Or is it your faces his brightness that darken?
Comes a wind from the sea, or is it your sighing?
--Pass by me and hearken, and pity me not!
Ye know not how void is your hope and your living:
Depart with your helping lest yet ye undo me!
Ye know not that at nightfall she draweth near to me,
There is soft speech between us and words of forgiving
Till in dead of the midnight her kisses thrill through me.
--Pass by me and harken, and waken me not!
Wherewith will ye buy it, ye rich who behold me?
Draw out from your coffers your rest and your laughter,
And the fair gilded hope of the dawn coming after!
Nay this I sell not,--though ye bought me and sold me,--
For your house stored with such things from threshold to rafter.
--Pass by me, I hearken, and think of you not!
poem by William Morris
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The Threshold
The threat or danger of a downfall is looming before us
though we now seem poised and safe above all the fuss.
Considering the sacrifice and effort made to reach the threshold
how can we now afford the luxury of distraction and be so bold?
Until the threshold is attained and one has safely passed through
it would be wise not to become complacent with the passing view.
The choice is ours and so much depends on our integrity of purpose
if we’re to arrive safely and overcome the temptations on the surface.
There can be no satisfaction with things that are constantly changing
especially where the effect of change itself is also very wide ranging.
In fact it seems such a shame to have to admit that all of this attraction
keeps us away from the place that will ensure our complete satisfaction.
When we spend such a large part of our lives to achieve harmony and balance
those who don’t make the most of the opportunity are victims of nonchalance.
And it’s only after missing the chance to get something we’ve badly wanted
we feel a sense of greater loss than losing it after the thing had been granted.
Sometimes the fear of failure is not as great as the fear of success
which may place demands upon us that cause unwelcome stress.
Though rarely one will argue the point of not trying to succeed
there are the factors of determination and those based on need.
There seems to be some point beyond which no one ever really goes
unless one has the help and guidance of someone greater that knows.
They stand poised and ready for anyone to acknowledge their position
and is able to take one through the threshold by grace of their decision.
----------------------
poem by George Krokos
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Pieces And Peace
if everyone
has his or her own
piece,
shelter,
food,
and every piece of drive
is
satisfied,
sleeping,
napping,
or dormant;
bingo!
a classical
peace,
an
oracle
that does not last.
but,
peace
is not only
a simple
drive,
a hormone,
a piece of chemistry,
a piece of history or geography, or
a piece of culture or a nano-culture.
piece is simply
moving from
threshold
to threshold
without awaken
the sleeping giant
of an ugly war.
war!
I mean
fight,
clashes,
fire,
words,
and all stirred in one boll.
so, choose
or gather
your piece,
pieces, and
peace,
for a beautiful
or an ugly war.
I still have my peace
in one piece,
in one word, and
in one hand,
no matter
how ugly or beautiful
your theatrical piece of war.
this is
poem by Atef Ayadi
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Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 02
I saw a dervish who placed his head upon the threshold of the Ka’bah, groaned, and said: ‘O forgiving, 0 merciful one, thou knowest what an unrighteous, ignorant man can offer to thee.’
I have craved pardon for the deficiency of my service
Because I can implore no reward for my obedience.
Sinners repent of their transgressions.
Arifs ask forgiveness for their imperfect worship.
Devotees desire a reward for their obedience and merchants the price of their wares but I, who am a worshipper, have brought hope and not obedience. I have come to beg and not to trade. Deal with me as thou deemest fit.
Whether thou killest me or forgivest my crime,
my face and head are on thy threshold.
A slave has nothing to command; whatever thou commandest I obey.
I saw a mendicant at the door of the Ka’bah Who said this and wept abundantly:
‘I ask not for the acceptance of my service
But for drawing the pen of pardon over my sins.’