Granite And Cypress
White-maned, wide-throated, the heavy-shouldered children of
the wind leap at the sea-cliff.
The invisible falcon
Brooded on water and bred them in wide waste places, in a bridechamber
wide to the stars' eyes
In the center of the ocean,
Where no prows pass nor island is lifted ... the sea beyond
Lobos is whitened with the falcon's
Passage, he is here now,
The sky is one cloud, his wing-feathers hiss in the white grass,
my sapling cypresses writhing
In the fury of his passage
Dare not dream of their centuries of future endurance of tempest.
(I have granite and cypress,
Both long-lasting,
Planted in the earth; but the granite sea-boulders are prey to no
hawk's wing, they have taken worse pounding,
Like me they remember
Old wars and are quiet; for we think that the future is one piece
with the past, we wonder why tree-tops
And people are so shaken.)
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Related quotes
To The Rock That Will Be A Cornerstone Of The House
Old garden of grayish and ochre lichen,
How long a rime since the brown people who have vanished from
here
Built fires beside you and nestled by you
Out of the ranging sea-wind? A hundred years, two hundred,
You have been dissevered from humanity
And only known the stubble squirrels and the headland rabbits,
Or the long-fetlocked plowhorses
Breaking the hilltop in December, sea-gulls following,
Screaming in the black furrow; no one
Touched you with love, the gray hawk and the red hawk touched
you
Where now my hand lies. So I have brought you
Wine and white milk and honey for the hundred years of famine
And the hundred cold ages of sea-wind.
I did not dream the taste of wine could bind with granite,
Nor honey and milk please you; but sweetly
They mingle down the storm-worn cracks among the mosses,
Interpenetrating the silent
Wing-prints of ancient weathers long at peace, and the older
Scars of primal fire, and the stone
Endurance that is waiting millions of years to carry
A corner of the house, this also destined.
Lend me the stone strength of the past and I will lend you
The wings of the future, for I have them.
How dear you will be to me when I too grow old, old comrade.
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Sexy Woman
white clouds
blue sea
green long island
on the shallow waters
a woman faces me
white bra
white panty
(two piece)
at the middle
the water touches
the center of her
being
the grass of her earth
is wet
she walks away
dripping
her hair is long and curly
black
she does not own me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wide To Receive
Download something
Useful, or useless
Because Im lying here
Wide to receive
Almost anything
Youd care to give
And I dont
Get along with myself
And Im not too keen
On anyone else
Turn on, plug in
Then just walk away
Unlock, process
And then just go
And Ive never felt quite so alone
As I do right now
Im lying here
Wide to receive
Almost anything
Youd care to leave
Wide, wide, wide
Wide, wide, wide
Wide, wide
Wide, wide
Wide, wide, wide, wide
Wide, wide, wide, wide
Wide, wide, wide, wide
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Besides
When I look inside the lines
When I look beside the black and white
You put my world in color
You’ve painted me a picture of my life
With laughs, and love, and you
When I look inside your eyes
I feel your pain
I feel your love
I see my future with you
When I look beyond the sea
When I look inside the dunes
You make me fly, high above the water
You’ve opened up a passage of my life
With tears, and pain, and you
When I look inside the sea
I see how deep you are
I see the waves of your past
I see my future with you
When I look up in the skies
When I see through the clouds
I soar beyond all belief into the heavens and above
You’ve given me faith and hope for all the world
When I look to the stars
I see your faith
I see your dreams
I see my future with you
When I look at you
When I see your soul
We become one
You’ve given my life the colors, the passage, and the faith and hope I need
When I look to you
I have no more fears
I have no more troubles
And I see my future with you for now and forever
poem by Isabella Epona
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Tor House
If you should look for this place after a handful
of lifetimes:
Perhaps of my planted forest a few
May stand yet, dark-leaved Australians or the coast
cypress, haggard
With storm-drift; but fire and the axe are devils.
Look for foundations of sea-worn granite, my fingers
had the art
To make stone love stone, you will find some remnant.
But if you should look in your idleness after ten
thousand years:
It is the granite knoll on the granite
And lava tongue in the midst of the bay, by the mouth
of the Carmel
River-valley, these four will remain
In the change of names. You will know it by the wild
sea-fragrance of wind
Though the ocean may have climbed or retired a little;
You will know it by the valley inland that our sun
and our moon were born from
Before the poles changed; and Orion in December
Evenings was strung in the throat of the valley like
a lamp-lighted bridge.
Come in the morning you will see white gulls
Weaving a dance over blue water, the wane of the moon
Their dance-companion, a ghost walking
By daylight, but wider and whiter than any bird in
the world.
My ghost you needn't look for; it is probably
Here, but a dark one, deep in the granite, not
dancing on wind
With the mad wings and the day moon.
Submitted by Holt
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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I Remember, I Remember
I Remember, I Remember
I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon
Nor brought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.
I remember, I remember
The roses red and white,
The violets and the lily cups--
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,--
The tree is living yet!
I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,
The summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.
I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy.
poem by Thomas Hood
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Past and Present
I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon
Nor bought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.
I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups--
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,--
The tree is living yet!
I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And throught the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.
I remember, I remember
The fir frees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy.
poem by Thomas Hood
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Dillard Sissman
The buzzards wheel slowly
In wide circles, in a sky
Faintly hazed as from dust from the road.
And a wind sweeps through the pasture where I lie
Beating the grass into long waves.
My kite is above the wind,
Though now and then it wobbles,
Like a man shaking his shoulders;
And the tail streams out momentarily,
Then sinks to rest.
And the buzzards wheel and wheel,
Sweeping the zenith with wide circles
Above my kite. And the hills sleep.
And a farm house, white as snow,
Peeps from green trees -- far away.
And I watch my kite,
For the thin moon will kindle herself ere long,
Then she will swing like a pendulum dial
To the tail of my kite.
A spurt of flame like a water-dragon
Dazzles my eyes --
I am shaken as a banner!
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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On Angel's Wings Fly Moonlight Midnight Causes
we take wing upon siren wind
calling freedom fly throughout eternity
come fly with me spread wings wide
embrace love all races of humanity
upon cliff edge faith leap into shadow night
fighting wrongs with right in beauty purity
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Past Unlocks Future
Past Unlocks Future
Past unlocks Future
The birds fly in the sky
the water flows down the valley
The mountains open wide
Nature feels free
the trees are green
The ocean is clear and blue
Nature feels free
I have no fear for my pass will be free
Love and faith is what it takes
Through the caring and touch of God I'll make my way
nature becomes free
in Jesus name my future is free
thanks to God past is gone and forgotten
poem by Gregory PierreJerome
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The Pond
Night covers the pond with its wing.
Under the ringed moon I can make out
your face swimming among minnows and the small
echoing stars. In the night air
the surface of the pond is metal.
Within, your eyes are open. They contain
a memory I recognize, as though
we had been children together. Our ponies
grazed on the hill, they were gray
with white markings. Now they graze
with the dead who wait
like children under their granite breastplates,
lucid and helpless:
The hills are far away. They rise up
blacker than childhood.
What do you think of, lying so quietly
by the water? When you look that way I want
to touch you, but do not, seeing
as in another life we were of the same blood.
poem by Louise Gluck
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Hooded Night
At night, toward dawn, all the lights of the shore have died,
And the wind moves. Moves in the dark
The sleeping power of the ocean, no more beastlike than manlike,
Not to be compared; itself and itself.
Its breath blown shoreward huddles the world with a fog; no stars
Dance in heaven; no ship's light glances.
I see the heavy granite bodies of the rocks of the headland,
That were ancient here before Egypt had pyramids,
Bulk on the gray of the sky, and beyond them the jets of young trees
I planted the year of the Versailles peace.
But here is the final unridiculous peace. Before the first man
Here were the stones, the ocean, the cypresses,
And the pallid region in the stone-rough dome of fog where the moon
Falls on the west. Here is reality.
The other is a spectral episode: after the inquisitive animal's
Amusements are quiet: the dark glory.
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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The Passage Of Time
The passage of time
Speeds up, slows down
With emotions interwoven
And meanings profound
It lies beneath
The memories found
Tucked away in sacred places
Then sneaks away
Without warning or sound
Taking pieces of you
That your heart never replaces
The passage of time
Rob's you blind
So when you look back
All you can find
Is the glaring truth
And pain divine
Of loved one's lost
And those you've left behind
Oblivious to your regrets
It doesn't stop or pause
If you forget
To do or say what must be said
Before the future
Rears its head
So when the nostalgia
Washes over you
You curse yourself instead
The passage of time
Leaps out at you
Suddenly
When you least expect it to
You look around
Children are grown
People have passed away
You begin to feel
With every day
You're more alone
Than you've ever been before
Fear and dread uncoil inside
Right at the center
Where your soul is stored
The passage of time
Speeds up, slows down
Then is gone once more
poem by Erika Wingo
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A Dream In A Picture Frame
Everyone has a dream
A dream for tomorrow
A dream for the future
A dream that makes
A life worth living
Sometimes we write
Our dreams to the water
Together with our heart
To be carried away
To the deep wide ocean
Sometimes we bind
Our dreams to the wind
Like a child’s balloon
Striking to the sky above –
Free and gone
Sometimes a dream
Is placed in a box
Locked by another dream
Like a dream in a picture frame…
poem by Alvin Magsino
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Into The Great Wide Open
Eddie waited till he finished high school
He went to hollywood, got a tattoo
He met a girl out there with a tattoo too
The future was wide open
They moved into a place they both could afford
He found a nightclub he could work at the door
She had a guitar and she taught him some chords
The sky was the limit
Into the great wide open,
Under them skies of blue
Out in the great wide open,
A rebel without a clue
The papers said ed always played from the heart
He got an agent and a roadie named bart
They made a record and it went in the charts
T he sky was the limit
His leather jacket had chains that would jingle
They both met movie stars, partied and mingled
Their a&r man said I dont hear a single
The future was wide open
Into the great wide open,
Under them skies of blue
Out in the great wide open,
A rebel without a clue
Into the great wide open,
Under them skies of blue
Into the great wide open,
A rebel without a clue
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cupid's Arrows
Pit where the buffalo cooled his hide,
By the hot sun emptied, and blistered and dried;
Log in the plume-grass, hidden and lone;
Bund where the earth-rat's mounds are strown;
Cave in the bank where the sly stream steals;
Aloe that stabs at the belly and heels,
Jump if you dare on a steed untried--
Safer it is to go wide-go wide!
Hark, from in front where the best men ride;--
"Pull to the off, boys! Wide! Go wide!"
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Ballad Of The Old Cypress
In front of the temple of Chu-ko Liang there is an old cypress. Its branches
are like green bronze; its roots like rocks; around its great girth of forty
spans its rimy bark withstands the washing of the rain. Its jet-colored top
rises two thousand feet to greet the sky. Prince and statesman have long since
paid their debt to time; but the tree continues to be cherished among men. When
the clouds come, continuous vapors link it with the mists of the long Wu
Gorge; and when the moon appears, the cypress tree shares the chill of the
Snowy Mountains' whiteness.
I remember a year or so ago, where the road wound east round my Brocade
River pavilion, the First Ruler and Chu-ko Liang shared the same shrine. There,
too, were towering cypresses, on the ancient plain outside the city. The paint-
work of the temple's dark interior gleamed dully through derelict doors and
windows. But this cypress here, though it holds its ground well, clinging with
wide-encompassing, snake-like hold, yet, because of its lonely height rising
into the gloom of the sky, meets much of the wind's fierce blast. Nothing but
the power of Divine Providence could have kept it standing for so long; its
straightness must be the work of the Creator himself! If a great hall had
collapsed and beams for it were needed, ten thousand oxen might turn their
heads inquiringly to look at such a mountain of a load. But it is already
marvel enough to astonish the world, without any need to undergo a craftsman's
embellishing. It has never refused the axe: there is simply no one who could
carry it away if it were felled. Its bitter heart has not escaped the ants; but
there are always phoenixes roosting in its scented leaves. Men of ambition, and
you who dwell unseen, do not cry out in despair! From of old the really great
has never been found a use for.
Another Translation:
In front of K'ung-ming Shrine
stands an old cypress,
With branches like green bronze
and roots like granite;
Its hoary bark, far round,
glistens with raindrops,
And blueblack hues, high up,
blend in with Heaven's:
Long ago Statesman, King
kept Time's appointment,
But still this standing tree has men's devotion;
United with the mists
of ghostly gorges,
Through which the moon brings cold
from snowy mountains.
(I recall near my hut
on Brocade River
Another Shrine is shared by
King and Statesman
On civil, ancient plains
with stately cypress:
The paint there now is dim,
windows shutterless. . .)
Wide, wide though writhing roots
maintain its station,
Far, far in lonely heights,
many's the tempest
When its hold is the strength
of Divine Wisdom
And straightness by the work of the Creator. . .
Yet if a crumbling Hall
needed a rooftree, Yoked herds would, turning heads,
balk at this mountain:
By art still unexposed all have admired it;
But axe though not refused,
who could transport it?
How can its bitter core deny ants lodging,
All the while scented boughs
give Phoenix housing?
Oh, ambitious unknowns,
sigh no more sadly:
Using timber as big
was never easy!
Woodspurge
The wind flapped loose, the wind was still,
Shaken out dead from tree and hill:
I had walk’d on at the wind’s will,—
I sat now, for the wind was still.
Between my knees my forehead was,—
My lips, drawn in, said not Alas!
My hair was over in the grass,
My naked ears heard the day pass.
My eyes, wide open, had the run
Of some ten weeds to fix upon;
Among those few, out of the sun,
The woodspurge flower’d, three cups in one.
From perfect grief there need not be
Wisdom or even memory:
One thing learnt remains to me,—
The woodspurge has a cup of three.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Woodspurge
The wind flapp'd loose, the wind was still,
Shaken out dead from tree and hill:
I had walk'd on at the wind's will,--
I sat now, for the wind was still.
Between my knees my forehead was,--
My lips, drawn in, said not Alas!
My hair was over in the grass,
My naked ears heard the day pass.
My eyes, wide open, had the run
Of some ten weeds to fix upon;
Among those few, out of the sun,
The woodspurge flower'd, three cups in one.
From perfect grief there need not be
Wisdom or even memory:
One thing then learnt remains to me,--
The woodspurge has a cup of three.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Island Hawk
Hushed are the whimpering winds on the hill,
Dumb is the shrinking plain,
And the songs that enchanted the woods are still
As I shoot to the skies again!
Does the blood grow black on my fierce bent beak,
Does the down still cling to my claw?
Who brightened these eyes for the prey they seek?
Life, I follow thy law!
For I am the hawk, the hawk, the hawk!
Who knoweth my pitiless breast?
Who watcheth me sway in the wild wind's way?
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.
As I glide and glide with my peering head,
Or swerve at a puff of smoke,
Who watcheth my wings on the wind outspread,
Here – gone – with an instant stroke?
Who toucheth the glory of life I feel
As I buffet this great glad gale,
Spire and spire to the cloud-world, wheel,
Loosen my wings and sail?
For I am the hawk, the island hawk,
Who knoweth my pitiless breast?
Who watcheth me sway in the sun's bright way?
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.
My mate in the nest on the high bright tree
Blazing with dawn and dew,
She knoweth the gleam of the world and the glee
As I drop like a bolt from the blue.
She knoweth the fire of the level flight
As I skim, close, close to the ground,
With the long grass lashing my breast and the bright
Dew-drops flashing around.
She watcheth the hawk, the hawk, the hawk
(Oh, the red-blotched eggs in the nest!)
Watcheth him sway in the sun's bright way.
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.
She builded her nest on the high bright wold,
She was taught in a world afar
The lore that is only an April old
Yet old as the evening star.
Life of a far off ancient day
In an hour unhooded her eyes.
In the time of the budding of one green spray
She was wise as the stars are wise.
An eyas in eyry, a yellow-eyed hawk,
On the old elm's burgeoning breast,
She watcheth me sway in the wild wind's way.
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.
She hath ridden on white Arabian steeds
Thro' the ringing English dells,
For the joy of a great queen, hunting in state,
To the music of golden bells.
A queen's fair fingers have drawn the hood
And tossed her aloft in the blue,
A white hand eager for needless blood.
I hunt for the needs of two.
A haggard in yarak, a hawk, a hawk!
Who knoweth my pitiless breast?
Who watcheth me sway in the sun's bright way?
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.
Who fashioned her wide and splendid eyes
That have stared in the eyes of kings?
With a silken twist she was looped to their wrist:
She has clawed at their jewelled rings!
Who flung her first thro' the crimson dawn
To pluck him a prey from the skies,
When the love-light shone upon lake and lawn
In the valleys of Paradise?
Who fashioned the hawk, the hawk, the hawk,
Bent beak and pitiless breast?
Who watcheth him sway in the wild wind's way?
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.
Is there ever a song in all the world
Shall say how the quest began
With the beak and the wings that have made us kings
And cruel – almost – as man?
The wild wind whimpers across the heath
Where the sad little tufts of blue
And the red-stained grey little feathers of death
Flutter! Who fashioned us? Who?
Who fashioned the scimitar wings of the hawk,
Bent beak and arrowy breast?
Who watcheth him sway in the sun's bright way?
Flee – flee – for I quest, I quest.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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