The White Goddess
All saints revile her, and all sober men
Ruled by the God Apollo's golden mean -
In scorn of which we sailed to find her
In distant regions likeliest to hold her
Whom we desired above all things to know,
Sister of the mirage and echo.
It was a virtue not to stay,
To go our headstrong and heroic way
Seeking her out at the volcano's head,
Among pack ice, or where the track had faded
Beyond the cavern of the seven sleepers:
Whose broad high brow was white as any leper's,
Whose eyes were blue, with rowan-berry lips,
With hair curled honey-coloured to white hips.
The sap of Spring in the young wood a-stir
Will celebrate with green the Mother,
And every song-bird shout awhile for her;
But we are gifted, even in November
Rawest of seasons, with so huge a sense
Of her nakedly worn magnificence
We forget cruelty and past betrayal,
Heedless of where the next bright bolt may fall.
poem by Robert Graves
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Related quotes
The Hope of the Streets
The still sweet meadows shimmered: and I stood
And cursed them, bloom of hedge and bird of tree,
And bright and high beyond the hunch-backed wood
The thunder and the splendour of the sea.
Give back the Babylon where I was born,
The lips that gape give back, the hands that grope,
And noise and blood and suffocating scorn
An eddy of fierce faces - and a hope
That 'mid those myriad heads one head find place,
With brown hair curled like breakers of the sea,
And two eyes set so strangely in the face
That all things else are nothing suddenly.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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White Sunshine
The sun's my fire.
Golden, from a magnificence of blue,
Should be its hue.
But woolly clouds,
Like boarding-house old ladies, come and sit
In front of it.
White sunshine, then,
That has the frosty glimmer of white hair,
Freezes the air.
They must forget,
So self-absorbed are they, so very old,
That I'll be cold.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Song Of Wandering Aengus
I WENT out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands.
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Characteristics of People
Long hair,
Short hair
Dark or light,
Black or white
Small or full lips,
Thin or wide hips
Blue eyes,
Brown eyes
Skinny or fat,
This or that
Everyone has one or another,
Wether it's from themselves
Or their father or mother.
poem by Jessica Goudreault
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The Seasons Are Like You
The seasons are like you
Flowers bloom humming birds come home everything
Changes but not you you stay the same they must
Leave and you will stay cause you are my winter
Spring summer and fall you stay with me through
The seasons cause you are my winter spring summer
And fall stay with me you have the eyes of winter
The face of spring the body of summer the hair of
Fall because you are like winter cool and calm you
Are like spring beautiful and blossoming you are
Like summer warm and caring you are like fall
Gentle and long lasting cause you are like winter spring
Summer and fall you are my seasons without you I
Am nothing do not leave me I need you careing stay
Please I need you
this is dedicated to savannah
poem by Tucker Lane
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Myriad Thoughts
I sit here in myriad thoughts
dancing around my head
too fed up to put them to bed.
Thoughts of the past,
thoughts of the future too,
thoughts of things this and that
and thoughts of what to do.
Memories invade at times
of pastures long gone by
as the myriad thoughts
fill my mind with anger and with love
and times; I wish I could have lingered with
when my years were young.
Things pass in phases,
hearts entwine then fall apart,
seasons readily appear,
stay awhile and then depart.
Here I sit in a lonely waste
thinking thoughts of what might have been
if the crystal ball I look into had only seen.
Now the myriad thoughts appear
to haunt me in quiet times
and carry me to distant places
the world has left behind.
Those little specks of moments
that still linger from the past
that lay waiting to capture me
before the quiet time has passed.
28 November 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blue flower [Floare albastră]
Have you plunged again in spheres
And in clouds you wanna flee?
How I wish you stayed with me,
You're the soul of all my years.
To no end the sunny rivers
You are piling in your head
Distant plains of which we read
And the sea that's dark and quivers.
The old pyramids are charming
Point directly to the sky
You don't need to search so high
For your happiness, my darling!
This is what the girlie said
Gently playing with my hair
Oh! she said a truth so rare;
And I laughed and shook my head.
– Come, the woods are full of peace
And the springs flow down the vale
While the rock's about to fail
In the stately precipice.
In the glade, with our dreams
Near the lake, like a blue screen,
And beneath the reed so green
We shall lie on berry leaves.
There you'll tell me many stories
And a lot of lies I feel
I shall snatch a chamomile
Trying to dismiss my worries.
And the sun will be so violent
And I'll be so red and fair
I shall loose my golden hair
For a while to make you silent.
If you want to kiss my lips
No one in the world will know
Cause we're lying here below
And who cares you've touched my hips?
When we see while looking back
The big moon with all its charm
You will hold me by the arm
I will jump around your neck.
And beneath the trees like towers
To the village we shall go
Our kisses then will flow
As sweet as the hidden flowers.
And arriving at the gate
In the darkness we shall chatter
This is not something to matter
Who cares that my love is great?
One last kiss and left me sour
Didn't know what I was feeling
How insane and how appealling
Was my sweet and blue, blue flower!
* * *
Off you went and my eyes burned
And our love died in an hour
Blue, blue flower, blue, blue flower!...
There is sadness in the world!
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by Octavian Cocoş
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PARTY AT THE LEPER COLONY
Finger food and an ice cold keg
It won't cost you an arm and a leg
Dance all night to a rotten band
Come on, people, let's give 'em a hand
Saturday night it's the place to be
Everybody cut footloose with me
At the party at the leper colony
Oh, there's a party at the leper colony
Met a little lady so pretty and young
She was quite a talker till the cat got her tongue
She oozed up beside me, I turned on my charm
Well, pretty soon she was completely disarmed
I said, "Girl, now don't fall to pieces on me"
But she cried her eyes out . literally
At the party at the leper colony
Oh, there's a party at the leper colony
Hey! Hey!
Hey now, buddy, don't you give me no lip
Sorry I was using your head for a dip
There's a guy in the hot tub, I don't know who
Wait a minute, it looks like Stu
Well, hold the phone now, what do I see?
Another pretty mama got her eye on me
At the party at the leper colony
Oh, there's a party at the leper colony
There's a party at the leper colony
(Party at the leper colony)
There's a party at the leper colony
(Party at the leper colony)
Oh, there's a party at the leper colony, yeah, party at the leper colony
Well, there's a party at the lepr colony
(Party at the leper colony)
Hey!
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Vision of Youth
A horseman on a hilltop green
Drew rein, and wound his horn;
So bright he looked he might have been
The Herald of the Morn.
His steed was of the sovran strain
In Fancy’s meadows bred—
And pride was in his tossing mane,
And triumph in his tread.
The rider’s eyes like jewels glowed—
The World was in his hand—
As down the woodland way he rode
When Spring was in the land.
From golden hour to golden hour
For him the woodland sang.
And from the heart of every flower
A singing fairy sprang.
He rode along with rein so free,
And, as he rode, the Blue
Mysterious Bird of Fantasy
Ever before him flew.
He rode by cot and castle dim
Through all the greenland gay;
Bright eyes through casements glanced at him:
He laughed—and rode away.
The world with sunshine was aflood,
And glad were maid and man,
And through his throbbing veins the blood
In keen, sweet shudders ran.
His steed tossed head with fiery scorn,
And stamped, and snuffed the air—
As though he heard a sudden horn
Of far-off battle blare.
Erect the rider sat awhile
With flashing eyes, and then
Turned slowly, sighing, with a smile,
“0 weary world of men!”
For aye the Bird of Fantasy
Sang magic songs to him,
And deeper and deeper still rode he
Into the Forest Dim.
That rider with his face aglow
With joy of life I see
In dreams. Ah, years and years ago
He parted ways with me!
Yet, sometimes, when the days are drear
And all the world forlorn,
From out the dim wood’s heart I hear
The echo of his horn.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Early one afternoon
Early one afternoon
I walked through the streets
of a small village
and it had to be in Italy
and was probably in Corona
or Tuscany.
a Baker with a white overcoat
and white hat on his head
rang on his bike’s bell for me
and pedalled pass,
with an old green bike
at the Pizza Palour.
There were long white breads
and green wine bottles,
in the baskets of his bicycle
and he had a big bush
of red blue lanvender flowers in one hand.
Across from me there were three small tables
with white table-covers,
at the Villa Toscana
and I could read some dishes
from the menu on the wall.
At the wall a young woman
with dark hair and an indigo dress
laughed sharp and bright,
while she waited
that a well built waitress
pour some more wine.
The image of the beautiful waitress
with black hair and deep dark eyes,
that bends forward
still stays with me.
In front of me at Le Art
there were a row of paintings,
depicting nudes to the finest detail
on painter’s easels.
I walked nearer
and I could see rows of violet lavender bushes
against the ridge in the distance
and Villa’s, that stand yellow gold
up on the hill
and looked impressive
against the deep blue sky.
When I got back to myself
I was at the fountain
in front of the mural
in our garden
and the golden Persian cat,
watched me from the top of the wall
with a woolly tail that curled down
and it looked with golden eyes at me.
[Reference: Tuscan mural by Mandi. See the painting at my webpage: http: //www.mabooki.com/poems/display/1417_Early_one_af ternoon.htm]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Snowpowder
Snowpowder sprinkled in my hair
I reach for her, but she’s not there.
Her soft golden hair, no longer by my side,
her emerald eyes, that for me were blind.
Deep pools of green, I can’t deny.
Her skis are gone, the track is fresh,
the first ripples of pain, stir beneath my breast.
From this moment forth, I’ll know no rest.
A single tear lies upon my cheek
A silver pear; a glistening streak
My heart is broken, I cannot speak.
I can see her face within the mist
still see her smile
that from enjoyment grew
still see the pleasure
within her eyes, that I once knew.
I can see the movement of her lips
those tender lips when she spoke to me
the feel of them that set me free.
I hear her laughter on the wind
a honey sweet voice like morning dew.
So clear and still hanging on the breeze
it stirs my heart, sucks forth my breath.
Snowpowder sprinkled in my hair
Desperation, Grief, Despair.
A silent cry an inward tear
a choked-up so bursting from within
a heart-reaching moan
that split the air.
My hand she took in a last embrace
with a parting kiss she sealed my fate
my body rocks, now convulsively shakes.
The sun is bright now, sky cream white blue
but my heart is cold still, dead through you.
Our love was strong once wild and free.
Like a flower growing in scorching desert sands
the fragrance of it, captivated me.
The beauty withers
Its time is past.
The seeds are sown
Some may last.
Alone in the snow
This life I part.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Satyr
When the flowery hands of spring
Forth their woodland riches fling,
Through the meadows, through the valleys
Goes the satyr carolling.
From the mountain and the moor,
Forest green and ocean shore
All the faerie kin he rallies
Making music evermore.
See! the shaggy pelt doth grow
On his twisted shanks below,
And his dreadful feet are cloven
Though his brow be white as snow-
Though his brow be clear and white
And beneath it fancies bright,
Wisdom and high thoughts are woven
And the musics of delight,
Though his temples too be fair
Yet two horns are growing there
Bursting forth to part asunder
All the riches of his hair.
Faerie maidens he may meet
Fly the horns and cloven feet,
But, his sad brown eyes with wonder
Seeing-stay from their retreat.
poem by Clive Staples Lewis
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Shout It
Not on this stage to take up space I'm here to communicate face to face
I'll hold my head up high and shout it look you in the eye and shout it
hold my head up high shout it look you in the eye and shout it
criticized for speaking out I guess you don't know what we're about
so I'll hold my head up high and shout its look you in the eye shout it
hold my head up high shout it look you in the eye and shout it
we're just some friends who want to be heard through out music we'll spread our word
trying our best to figure what life is about seeing the good makes me want to shout
shout it there's nothing wrong with saying my part the message I cry is from the heart
won't change my ideas just to please you you've built the walls we're breaking through
song performed by by Youth Of Today
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Remember the Snows in the Summer's Light
I remember the snows in the summer's light
Thinking of winter in summer;
When I see the blue, I see white;
I see the fume over roofs so bright,
Feel the warm air caressed by azure,
I remember the snows in the summer's light.
Summers are lazy in my inner sight,
Winters, lazy on the outside, are sure to secure
The blue when I sense the cold of white.
Winter takes me on a summer's flight
To visit the summer and endure
Snows and remember the light.
Perhaps I like spring and fall best,
But winter is spring in summer to allure
Me to feel the fall and see blue in white.
I keep remembering, seeing the bright;
Everything is just a thought you conjure;
I always remember the snows hiding in the light;
When I see the blue, I also see the white.
poem by Dejan Stojanovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song
YOU are as gold
as the half-ripe grain
that merges to gold again,
as white as the white rain
that beats through
the half-opened flowers
of the great flower tufts
thick on the black limbs
of an Illyrian apple bough.
Can honey distill such fragrance
as your bright hair-
for your face is as fair as rain,
yet as rain that lies clear
on white honey-comb,
lends radiance to the white wax,
so your hair on your brow
casts light for a shadow.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unforgiving Love
one day a blue bird fell in love with a white rose..the rose was envious of everybod falling in love and was afraid that she will get hurt..the blue bird told her that he had loved her from afar but was too scared to tell the white rose how much he actaully did...the white rose told the bird when my petals turn from white to red i will fall in love with you back....the blue bird came by and by everyday and told the white rose how much he loved her...until one day the blue bird cut his wings and soaked the white rose with his blood...the white rose's petals turned from white to a luscious red and she realized how much the blue bird loved her..but it was too late the blue bird fell in front of the rose and the rose was red forever..that's why roses are giving to the ones we loved
poem by Ariff Khan
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A Portrait
LIKE the sway of the silver birch in the breeze of dawn
Is her dainty way;
Like the gray of a twilight sky or a starlit lawn
Are her eyes of gray;
Like the clouds in their moving white
Is her breast's soft stir;
And white as the moon and bright
Is the soul of her.
Like murmur of woods in spring ere the leaves be green,
Like the voice of a bird
That sings by a stream that sings through the night unseen,
So her voice is heard.
And the secret her eyes withhold
In my soul abides,
For white as the moon and cold
Is the heart she hides.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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In Sanctuary
THE young Spring air was strong like wine,
The sky reflected in your eyes
Was of a blue as deep-divine
As ever glowed in southern skies.
We passed from out the sunny lane
Into the green wood's shadowing;
And, sudden, all Love's words seemed vain
In that calm temple of the Spring.
Our god hears fair and tuneful words,
And splendid flowers his altars bear;
With choric song of leaves and birds,
Another god was worshipped there.
Silent, we passed the woodland, through
The coloured maze that Springtime weaves--
The light leaves dancing to the blue,
The sunlight dancing to the leaves;
I could not speak. I touched your hand
At the green arch that ends the wood:
'Ah--if she should not understand!'
Ah--if you had not understood!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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White Queen
so sad her eyes
smiling dark eyes
so sad her eyes
as it began
on such a breathless night as this
upon my brow the lightest kiss
i walked alone
and all around the air did say
my lady soon will stir this way
in sorrow known
the white queen walks and
the night grows pale
stars of lovingmess in her hair
needing - unheard
pleading - one word
so sad my eyes
she cannot see
how did thee fare, what have thee seen
the mother of the willow green
i call her name
and 'neath her window have i stayed
i loved the footsteps that she made
and when she came
white queen how my heart did ache
and dry my lips no word would make
so still i wait
my goddess hear my darkest fear
i speak too late
it's for evermore that i wait
dear friend goodbye
no tear in my eyes
so sad it ends
as it began
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Zebra Child
I’m not black
I’m not white
I’m a Zebra Child.
My father skin is fare like a pinkish cloud.
My mother skin is dark like coco.
My skin is both swirled into a light caramel color.
I’m not black
I’m not white
I’m a Zebra Child.
My eyes are hazel with a hint of blue.
My hair is kinky yet manageable.
While I have African hips
I also have European lips.
I’m not black
I’m not white
I’m a Zebra Child.
I relish my difference
Although some times
I envy others similarity.
But I am what I am.
I’m not black
I’m not white
I’m a Zebra Child.