Long Time I Lay In Little Ease
LONG TIME I LAY IN LITTLE EASE
LONG time I lay in little ease
Where, placed by the Turanian,
Marseilles, the many-masted, sees
The blue Mediterranean.
Now songful in the hour of sport,
Now riotous for wages,
She camps around her ancient port,
As ancient of the ages.
Algerian airs through all the place
Unconquerably sally;
Incomparable women pace
The shadows of the alley.
And high o'er dark and graving yard
And where the sky is paler,
The golden virgin of the guard
Shines, beckoning the sailor.
She hears the city roar on high,
Thief, prostitute, and banker;
She sees the masted vessels lie
Immovably at anchor.
She sees the snowy islets dot
The sea's immortal azure,
And If, that castellated spot,
Tower, turret, and embrasure.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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The Tower
One, from his high bright window in a tower,
Leans out, as evening falls,
And sees the advancing curtain of the shower
Splashing its silver on roofs and walls:
Sees how, swift as a shadow, it crosses the city,
And murmurs beyond far walls to the sea,
Leaving a glimmer of water in the dark canyons,
And silver falling from eave and tree.
One, from his high bright window, looking down,
Peers like a dreamer over the rain-bright town,
And thinks its towers are like a dream.
The western windows flame in the sun's last flare,
Pale roofs begin to gleam.
Looking down from a window high in a wall
He sees us all;
Lifting our pallid faces towards the rain,
Searching the sky, and going our ways again,
Standing in doorways, waiting under the trees . . .
There, in the high bright window he dreams, and sees
What we are blind to,-we who mass and crowd
From wall to wall in the darkening of a cloud.
The gulls drift slowly above the city of towers,
Over the roofs to the darkening sea they fly;
Night falls swiftly on an evening of rain.
The yellow lamps wink one by one again.
The towers reach higher and blacker against the sky.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The House Of Dust: Part 01: 02: One, from his high bright window in a tower
One, from his high bright window in a tower,
Leans out, as evening falls,
And sees the advancing curtain of the shower
Splashing its silver on roofs and walls:
Sees how, swift as a shadow, it crosses the city,
And murmurs beyond far walls to the sea,
Leaving a glimmer of water in the dark canyons,
And silver falling from eave and tree.
One, from his high bright window, looking down,
Peers like a dreamer over the rain-bright town,
And thinks its towers are like a dream.
The western windows flame in the sun's last flare,
Pale roofs begin to gleam.
Looking down from a window high in a wall
He sees us all;
Lifting our pallid faces towards the rain,
Searching the sky, and going our ways again,
Standing in doorways, waiting under the trees . . .
There, in the high bright window he dreams, and sees
What we are blind to,—we who mass and crowd
From wall to wall in the darkening of a cloud.
The gulls drift slowly above the city of towers,
Over the roofs to the darkening sea they fly;
Night falls swiftly on an evening of rain.
The yellow lamps wink one by one again.
The towers reach higher and blacker against the sky.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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I Keep The Head High
An eye sees everything
But the other does not…
An ear hears everything
But the other does not…
What an honest combination!
A mind sees your virtues
But the same mind sees your vices…
A heart longs for you dear,
But the same heart rejects your love near…
What a dishonest mindset it is you think!
But among the blind around,
Then among many a deaf
And the heartless beasts that surround
You have to know my dear,
I ever keep my head high.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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The City With Eyes
The city with eyes
Sees everything,
City with eyes
Hears everything
Feels everything
The city with eyes
Sees people living on the rough side of the streets
Sees people eating crumbs from the floor
Sees people with ripped clothes and no shoes
Watching other people wearing lubatones walking past
It cries not one but millions of tears
For them
Tears which touch every one
Which soaks everything
Rain, they call it.
The city with eyes
Watching
What has happened to my city?
It cries with sorrow
The city with eyes
Feels the sadness
Of those in need, sad, hurt, …
Watching what was happy
To what is sad know
Time Re Written
Time goes fast
Time goes slow
Time sees love ones pass
Time sees the living grow
Time finds it hard to forget
Time can store up treasures and sorrows, and very hard to let go...
Time rushes fast
Time stops and starts
Time is shown by nights turn into days
Time makes all the seasons change
Time is going slowly at times but
Time can race you across the line
Time awaits for you to have peace but
Time can also hide sadness deep
Time is sometimes patient
Time can be kind
Time often cruel and
Time can be so so unkind
Time is a second
Time is minute, hour, even days and months
Time is not possible for us to keep
But right now...I wish time will not pass me by
Nor it slip back into yesterday day...
For i have much to look forward
In Time...and much more afar
I am certain now that
Time is a precious thing and will bring along amazing things...
Time...more time...and much much time
And somehow i feel a bit lost at this...
Time
Perhaps only when the dark night comes at long last
I will stop thinking about
Time
For time will no longer matter then
And only then... until then
Each second, Every minute...Even hour and all these Endless days
Bientôt mon chéri, venez à moi
poem by AngelLucianna Vesna
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The Woodsman In The Foundry
WHERE the trolley's rumble
Jars the bones,
He hears waves that tumble
Green-linked weed along the golden stones.
Where the crane goes clanging
Chains and bars,
He sees branches hanging
Little leaves against the laughing stars.
Where the molten metals
Curdle bright,
He sees cherry petals
Fallen on blue violets in the night.
When the glow is leaping
Redly hurled,
He sees roses sleeping,
Forest-roses in a windy world.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Long Black Veil
Ten years ago on a cold dark night
Someone was killed beneath the townhall light
There were few at the scene, but they all agreed
That the slayer who ran looked a lot like me
She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me
The judge said son, what is your aliby?
If you were somewhere else, then you wont have to die.
I said not a word, though it meant my life,
For Id been in the arms of my best friends wife.
Oh, she walks these hills in a long black veil.
She visits my grave when the night winds wail.
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.
Oh, now the scaffold is high, eternity is near
She stood in the crowd and shed not a tear
And sometimes at night when the cold winds blow
In a long black veil she cries over my bones.
She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.
Oh, she walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.
Nobody knows. nobody knows, but me.
Nobody knows but me.
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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High In The City
I got the time, I got my feet
Lets go hit the street
High in the city
High in the city
I got my mace and you got your knife
You gotta protect your own life
High in the city
High in the city
I wanna get high in the city
I wanna stay alive here in the city
I wanna stay high in the city
High in the city
High in the city
Lets not walk down sutton place
You know everybody there got an akitas
High in the city
High in the city
Dont wanna talk politics today
I feel too good let me have my way
High in the city
High in the city
Watch out for that guy on your right
Seen him on the news last saturday night
He was high in the city
High in the city
Hey, look theyre setting fire to that jeep
Theres not much you can keep
High in the city
High in the city
I wanna get high in the city
I wanna stay alive in the city
I wanna stay high in the city
High in the city
High in the city
So many people feeling low
And theres only one way to go to
Get high in the city
High in the city
Lets grap a pie, lets hit the park
Ill kiss and hug you till it gets dark
Here in the city
Getting high in the city
(high in the city)
(high in the city and youre looking so pretty)
(feelin pretty witty, gettin high off of the city)
(hi-ai-ai-ai, high in the city)
(high in the city)
(high in the city and youre looking so pretty)
(feelin pretty witty, gettin high off of the city)
(hi-ai-ai-ai, high in the city)
(high in the city)
(high in the city and youre looking so pretty)
(feelin pretty witty, gettin high off of the city)
(hi-ai-ai-ai, high in the city)
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The artist should not only paint what he sees before him, but also what he sees in himself. If, however, he sees nothing within him, then he should also refrain from painting what he sees before him. Otherwise his pictures will be like those folding screens behind which one expects to find only the sick or the dead.
quote by Caspar David Friedrich
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Faith vs Doubt.......
Faith vs. Doubt.........
Doubt sees the obstacles.
Faith sees the way.
Doubt sees the darkest night.
Faith sees the day.
Doubt dreads to take a step.
Faith soars on high.
Doubt questions ' who believes '?
Faith answers ' I '.
(april 2009)
poem by Fawzia Zie
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Doubt vs. Faith Doubt sees the obstacles. Faith sees the way. Doubt sees the darkest night. Faith sees the day. Doubt dreads to take a step. Faith soars on high. Doubt questions,'Who believes' Faith answers,'I'.
Unfortunate Soul
The girl at the window
clears the glass.
Looks out and sees
the warm sweet grass.
She sees a butterfly
on the pane.
Wishes to touch it
but it doesn't remain.
It's off somewhere
and in its place
arrives the image
of her face.
She sees the tears.
Wipes her eyes,
looks out again
and sees some flies.
Knocks on the window
to shoo them away.
Returns to her gazing
for most the day.
Strapped in a chair
for many long years.
Takes pleasure daily
when nature appears.
Without the window,
nothing to see.
No flies, no grass,
no butterfly free.
Must keep it clean
or she will die.
Nothing to see
not even the sky.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Red Red Sun
Theres a red red sun
And Im thinking of you
I tell it a story
And it sinks out of view
One sun apart
One heart within
Red sun shines on
Sees no tomorrow
Sees no tomorrow
Theres a girl far away
And shes calling my name
With a tower of love
And a shadow of pain
Theres a red red sun
And its coming for you
To waken your heart
Like you know I always will do
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tar Pit
I'm sinking, I'm sinking,
Deeper and deeper.
Hell is reaching out to me.
I'm clawing. I'm struggling.
I'm screaming nobody hears me.
Nobody sees me.
I'm sinking deeper in to depression.
Hell is calling out to me.
Voices swirl, I hear my name, .
I'm caught in a tar pit.
Sinking to my knees.
Nobody sees. Faces mock me,
I close my eyes;
I hear the devil's roar.
I'm sinking. I'm sinking.
In to depression
I'm sinking fast.
My time has come.
Hell beckons, Hell's calling.
I can see flames.I can feel the fire.
My Body is trapped.
There's no escape,
The tar laps at my knees.
I'm sinking just sinking.
He's dragging me away.
I'm clawing. I'm struggling.
I'm screaming.
Nobody hears me.
Nobody sees me.
Im stuck in the tar pitt.
Please pull me out
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Kingdom of the Sea
The flower of the sea,
How wonderful to be.
This ancient rose why oceans cease,
The majesty is supreme due to ease.
The seas ebb and flow
Due to the moon below.
My beauty is seen as god sees its own,
And crowns of the queens shine and bemoan.
Each sea is resolute, mighty
As seeds are blown across happily.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Window
She looks out in the blue morning
and sees a whole wonderful world
she looks out in the morning
and sees a whole world
she leans out of the window
and this is what she sees
a wet rose singing to the sun
with a chorus of red bees
she leans out of the window
and laughs for the window is high
she is in it like a bird on a perch
and they scoop the blue sky
she and the window scooping
the morning as if it were air
scooping a green wave of leaves
above a stone stair
and an urn hung with leaden garlands
and girls holding hands in a ring
and raindrops on an iron railing
shining like a harp string
an old man draws with his ferrule
in wet sand a map of Spain
the marble soldier on his pedestal
draws a stiff diagram of pain
but the walls around her tremble
with the speed of the earth the floor
curves to the terrestrial center
and behind her the door
opens darkly down to the beginning
far down to the first simple cry
and the animal waking in water
and the opening of the eye
she looks out in the blue morning
and sees a whole wonderful world
she looks out in the morning
and sees a whole world.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Ch 08 On Rules For Conduct In Life - Maxim 71
The Most High sees a fault and conceals it, and a neighbour sees it not, but shouts.
Let us take refuge with Allah.
If people knew our faults
No one could have rest from interference by others.
Scenes In London III - The Savoyard In Grosvenor Square
HE stands within the silent square,
That square of state, of gloom;
A heavy weight is on the air,
Which hangs as o'er a tomb.
It is a tomb which wealth and rank
Have built themselves around—
The general sympathies have shrank
Like flowers on high dry ground.
None heed the wandering boy who sings,
An orphan though so young;
None think how far the singer brings
The songs which he has sung.
None cheer him with a kindly look,
None with a kindly word;
The singer's little pride must brook
To be unpraised, unheard.
At home their sweet bird he was styled,
And oft, when days were long,
His mother called her favourite child
To sing her favourite song.
He wanders now through weary streets,
Till cheek and eye are dim;
How little sympathy he meets,
Sudden his dark brown cheek grows bright
His dark eyes fill with glee,
Covered with blossoms snowy-white,
He sees an orange tree.
No more the toil-worn face is pale,
Nor faltering step is sad;
He sees his distant native vale,
He sees it, and is glad.
He sees the squirrel climb the pine,
The doves fly through the dell,
The purple clusters of the vine;
He hears the vesper-bell.
His heart is full of hope and home,
Toil, travel, are no more;
And he has happy hours to come
Beside his father's door.
Oh, charm of natural influence!
But for thy lovely ties,
Never might the world-wearied sense
Above the present rise.
Blessed be thy magic every where,
Oh Nature, gentle mother;
How kindlier is for us thy care,
Than ours is for each other.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Two Pump Texaco
(michael dulaney/neil thrasher)
(track 1 - time 3:55)
He was wipin motor oil off her dipstick
She was pullin on the hair that got caught in her lipstick
And with the smell of her perfume he forgot the smell of gasoline
As he was toppin off her tank she said, how far to abilene?
He sees em come
He sees em go
From the island of his
Two pump texaco
Theres a rusted out rambler up on the rack
And a pile of bald goodyears out in the back
He meets families on vacation, bikers and businessmen
He calls em friend but hell probably never see em again
No he wont
He sees em come
He sees em go
From the island of his
Two pump texaco
He keeps em moving
On down the road
Come back real soon
To his two pump texaco
Hes heard about those big city shop-n-go stations
With twenty automated self-service machines
He just feels sorry for them big city people
They must not know what service really means
Hes got a sign that says
Last chance stop for at least two hundred miles
Maps, gas, soda pop,
Lucky strikes and moon pies
Yeah, hes a third generation filler-up, full service man
He thanks the lord for that star in the sky and the grease on his hands
Yeah he does
He sees em come
He sees em go
From the island of his
Two pump texaco
Its like a place we used to know
Come back real soon
To his two pump texaco
song performed by by Diamond Rio
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Young Letter Writer
Dear Sir, Dear Madam, or Dear Friend,
With ease are written at the top;
When those two happy words are penned,
A youthful writer oft will stop,
And bite his pen, and lift his eyes
As if he thinks to find in air
The wished-for following words, or tries
To fix his thoughts by fixëd stare.
But haply all in vain-the next
Two words may be so long before
They'll come, the writer, sore perplext,
Gives in despair the matter o'er;
And when maturer age he sees
With ready pen so swift inditing,
With envy he beholds the ease
Of long-accustomed letter-writing.
Courage, young friend; the time may be
When you attain maturer age,
Some young as you are now may see
You with like ease glide down a page.
Even then when you, to years a debtor,
In varied phrase your meanings wrap,
The welcomest words in all your letter
May be those two kind words at top.
poem by Charles Lamb
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