Welsh Landscape
To live in Wales is to be conscious
At dusk of the spilled blood
That went into the making of the wild sky,
Dyeing the immaculate rivers
In all their courses.
It is to be aware,
Above the noisy tractor
And hum of the machine
Of strife in the strung woods,
Vibrant with sped arrows.
You cannot live in the present,
At least not in Wales.
There is the language for instance,
The soft consonants
Strange to the ear.
There are cries in the dark at night
As owls answer the moon,
And thick ambush of shadows,
Hushed at the fields' corners.
There is no present in Wales,
And no future;
There is only the past,
Brittle with relics,
Wind-bitten towers and castles
With sham ghosts;
Mouldering quarries and mines;
And an impotent people,
Sick with inbreeding,
Worrying the carcase of an old song. To live in Wales is to be conscious
At dusk of the spilled blood
That went into the making of the wild sky,
Dyeing the immaculate rivers
In all their courses.
It is to be aware,
Above the noisy tractor
And hum of the machine
Of strife in the strung woods,
Vibrant with sped arrows.
You cannot live in the present,
At least not in Wales.
There is the language for instance,
The soft consonants
Strange to the ear.
There are cries in the dark at night
As owls answer the moon,
And thick ambush of shadows,
Hushed at the fields' corners.
There is no present in Wales,
And no future;
There is only the past,
Brittle with relics,
Wind-bitten towers and castles
With sham ghosts;
Mouldering quarries and mines;
And an impotent people,
Sick with inbreeding,
Worrying the carcase of an old song.
poem by Ronald Stuart Thomas
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Related quotes
Welcome to the Prince of Wales
Lines written when the Prince of Wales
was about embarking for Canada, May, 1860.
In his long voyage o'er the sea,
To where doth grow the maple tree,
May he be blest with pleasant gales-
The coming man, the Prince of Wales.
The Maple grows but in good soil,
Where nature doth reward for toil.
The farmer, splitting his fence rails,
He welcome bids the Prince of Wales.
In the woods the axe is ringing,
And the yeoman merry singing ;
The song resounds o'er hills and dales -
Our future king, the Prince of Wales.
'Round the brow of our future chief
We'll weave a wreath of maple leaf,
For o'er broad Canada prevails
Kind feelings to the Prince of Wales.
When in this land the Prince arrives
May he have many pleasant drives,
And on our lakes have merry sails-
Great king of princes, Prince of Wales.
poem by James McIntyre
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Bonnie New South Wales
It surely cannot be too soon, and never is too late,
It tones with all Australia’s tune to praise one’s native State,
And so I bring an old refrain from days of posts and rails,
And lift the good old words again, for Sunny New South Wales.
She bore me on her tented fields, and wore my youth away,
And little gold of all she yields repays my toil to-day;
By track and camp and bushman’s hut—by streets where courage fails—
I’ve sung for all Australia, but my heart’s in New South Wales.
The waratah and wattle there in all their glory grow—
And if they bloom on hills elsewhere, I’m not supposed to know,
The tales that other States may tell—I never hear the tales!
For I, her son, have sinned as well as Bonnie New South Wales.
I only know her heart is good to sweetheart and to mate,
And pregnant with our nationhood from Sunset to the Gate;
I only know her sons sail home on every ship that sails,
Though round the world ten times they roam from dear old New South Wales.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Path Of Time
Whether of present or past
Or future if you please
The time that you portray
Moves only for yourself
Some choose to live in the past
Lost hopes and dreams they share
But time only last
Until they release the burden they bear
Some choose to live in the present
And behold the sights of each day
A balance of decisions for 10 second frames
And everything always seems fair
Some people look towards the future
To see long term effects unfold
However long it takes to get there
They keep persisting towards their goal
I chose to live in the present
Ignore the past and future presence
And live life like I will not see the next day
And still not have to care
But if I provide an example
For past, present, or future
My path is still my own
And moves only for myself
poem by Logan Fulk
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There was a Young Lady of Wales,
Who caught a large fish without scales;
When she lifted her hook
She exclaimed, 'Only look!'
That ecstatic Young Lady of Wales.
quote by by Edward Lear
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Constant Time
Time past and the future give way to this present picture,
But can somebody tell me how to recognize that gate that leads to the bed of roses,
We speak about the future like the past is a grain of sand on the shore,
Washed away by the ocean tide,
Giving way to new grains to make a portrait of the present,
These past memories stay deep in our heart like the depths of the ocean,
Though it gets washed back to shore ones in a blue moon,
Reminding us that our past is a standard measurement of our strength,
Time moves so fast making the past to fade away,
this makes us seem so secured about the present,
Forgetting the fact that our present becomes our past that was once a present from nature as a new day,
Some take the future to be a dream and a wish,
But I take my future to be what I see when I stand from the bottom of the mountain to look at the top,
And my past to be the depth of the ocean that can always be washed ashore …
The only thing I can control is my present,
Yes cos my mind controls my hands to give you a flash of what goes on in my head
Like this words i write to you was once my future and will become my past, making my future my past and my past my future..So ironical isn’t it?
Standing here I sure know 1 thing,
I will reach the top by that foot path,
Yes of course it’s not to mean that I wouldn’t fall,
But I have to break myself off my present past and walk with grace to stand where I belong,
There where I am the king of my destiny,
The past is just going to be a page of memories,
And my future will become my present making time constant in my head,
Because I stand on my past which was once my present and my present which was once my future, making time equal and constant
As I flip thru this page of life,
By: ade
poem by Adeniran Oluokun
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Nor do I think that any other nation than this of Wales, nor any other language, whatever may hereafter come to pass, shall on the day of severe examination before the Supreme Judge, answer for this corner of the earth.
quote by Giraldus Cambrensis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To me, living in the present means being aware of your conscious choice to focus on the past, present or future - it is not necessarily having to focus on the present.
quote by Bo Bennett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cloud Confines
The day is dark and the night
To him that would search their heart;
No lips of cloud that will part
Nor morning song in the light:
Only, gazing alone,
To him wild shadows are shown,
Deep under deep unknown
And height above unknown height.
Still we say as we go,--
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."
The Past is over and fled;
Nam'd new, we name it the old;
Thereof some tale hath been told,
But no word comes from the dead;
Whether at all they be,
Or whether as bond or free,
Or whether they too were we,
Or by what spell they have sped.
Still we say as we go,--
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."
What of the heart of hate
That beats in thy breast, O Time?--
Red strife from the furthest prime,
And anguish of fierce debate;
War that shatters her slain,
And peace that grinds them as grain,
And eyes fix'd ever in vain
On the pitiless eyes of Fate.
Still we say as we go,--
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."
What of the heart of love
That bleeds in thy breast, O Man?--
Thy kisses snatch'd 'neath the ban
Of fangs that mock them above;
Thy bells prolong'd unto knells,
Thy hope that a breath dispels,
Thy bitter forlorn farewells
And the empty echoes thereof?
Still we say as we go,--
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."
The sky leans dumb on the sea,
Aweary with all its wings;
And oh! the song the sea sings
Is dark everlastingly.
Our past is clean forgot,
Our present is and is not,
Our future's a seal'd seedplot,
And what betwixt them are we?--
We who say as we go,--
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Last night I had a dream
Last night i had a dream
a dream about a future
a future that i had buried
deep within
A dream that made me wonder
how deep is that burial place
within me
Last night i had a dream
a dream about a past
a past that my memory
refuses to name.
Dug up by another name from
that very past
Last night i had a dream
a dream about the present
a present that i choose to
live in oblivion off.
a present with hurt, betrayal
pain and sadness
A present that however hard
i run away from shackles
me to my past and my future
chains, which i am unable to
break free from
which tie me down and make me who and what i am
Last night i had a dream
do i wish to wake up and
face reality.
are not the dream and the reality
one and the same.
Last night i had a dream
a dream or was i awake
finally.
poem by Jasveen Ahluwalia
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Today Is Yesterday's Future
Today is yesterday’s future
Future always becomes present
If I live in the past, I live not
For that which was no longer is
I cannot live in the future
For it is not yet
I live in the present -
In the eternal now.
9/13/2009
Dedicated to ASK
poem by Claude H Oliver II
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Dimension Merge
For us the past has gone and the present moves on
into the yesterday of a future’s present time.
Despite living in the future’s past this will not last,
present and future will very soon combine.
Future or dimension, to some a misapprehension,
but they are one in the same.
If there’s more than one, they will follow on
to leave one, with it’s present name.
On merging we’ll realise we’ve no future to recognise,
and the past and present is all we’ll know.
The past will still be renewed, with each day used,
but the future will mean only tomorrow.
poem by Orlando Belo
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I also want to draw attention to the responsibilities that people have to live up to their election promises and to live up to the votes that were cast by the people of Wales, in the General Election, in the expectation that we would deliver this promise.
quote by Ron Davies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When The Welsh Of Wales Go Home
There’s a distant drift of tides
That pitch at your troubled stare
And songs of a deep Welsh valley
Howl out from your wild, grey hair;
Then you sit, bright-eyed at the moonlight,
And you cry, bright-eyed at dawn,
There is no rest for the weary
When the Welsh of Wales go home.
You ride that distant country
While your eyes are mad with grief,
And you search for the things you lost there
Or you search for a long dead thief;
I speak, but get no answer
I question, cajole, implore,
You nod with an ancient wisdom,
And wake at a cottage door.
You knock, but find it empty
The thatch lies thick on the floor,
The shutters are hanging open
The latch, long torn from the door,
The sounds of distant children
You sense in the wind and weeds;
All gone, as if in an instant,
All scattered, like burdock seeds.
All gone, the lives you left there
Were storms that passed in the trees,
A light on the far horizon
Is all you have left of these,
For soon, you’ll go to my father,
Where he went, so bitter, so far,
And the Wales of the Welsh will claim you
At the last ‘Nos da.’
2 May 1994
poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Birthplace Of My Poetry
Unknown to me this event was to be
the beginning of God working in me.
For in Wales a seed was sown you see
that would help me find the victory.
There we three contented ourselves to dine
talking and sharing some cheese and wine.
We even spoke about the three types of love
eros, phile and agape from God above.
And then when browsing in the village shop
a small ceramic pot caused me to look and stop.
'To the one I love, ' was inscribed in blue
'If I could choose again, I'd still choose you.'
Yes, I thought, I would still choose my Dot
So I bought it there and then on the spot.
That's what I did as a present my love for you
the irony of it all is that Suki bought one too!
The week came to an end with no grave consequence
I packed my bags to come home to my lovely wench.
I was conscious of what could have been done
and was so glad to get off the coach and run
But I am who I am and the flesh still fails
I only partially learned the lesson from Wales.
Satan did not give up and sought to have his way
just a few months down the line to my dismay.
But God was determined to complete His plan.
Much more was in store for this wretched man.
He cut so deep in my soul causing me to write
a graphic poem that kept me awake all night.
This poem brought such sobs and tears of sorrow
and true repentance in its wake would follow.
And now I'm determined by grace from above
to love you as God intends me too my love.
0984..... LIVE in the PRESENT
Past and Future Are Mental Constructs
LIVING in the NOW is MEDITATION
THE POWER is always in THE “NOW”
MOST DIFFICULT is to LIVE IN THE PRESENT
Mind likes illusions for Living in Past and Future is Illusion
TVs, Cinemas, Day Dreaming push you out of NOW
Boozing, Drugging, Philandering kick you out of NOW
Learn to live in THE NOW, For NOW only is REAL.
Our Mind is Always Caught up in PAST or FUTURE
Living in the PRESENT is CONQUERING the SELF
“Now” is only REAL for 'Now' only EXISTS
Alas! Many Poets always Live in PAST or FUTURE!
(25-April-2010, Chennai)
poem by Gan Chennai
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I don't know how you get dressed if you live in Wales, because it's pouring rain and then it's hot sunshine, and then it might hail. It's just so confusing.
quote by Piper Perabo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How one Winter Came in the Lake Region
1 For weeks and weeks the autumn world stood still,
2 Clothed in the shadow of a smoky haze;
3 The fields were dead, the wind had lost its will,
4 And all the lands were hushed by wood and hill,
5 In those grey, withered days.
6 Behind a mist the blear sun rose and set,
7 At night the moon would nestle in a cloud;
8 The fisherman, a ghost, did cast his net;
9 The lake its shores forgot to chafe and fret,
10 And hushed its caverns loud.
11 Far in the smoky woods the birds were mute,
12 Save that from blackened tree a jay would scream,
13 Or far in swamps the lizard's lonesome lute
14 Would pipe in thirst, or by some gnarlèd root
15 The tree-toad trilled his dream.
16 From day to day still hushed the season's mood,
17 The streams stayed in their runnels shrunk and dry;
18 Suns rose aghast by wave and shore and wood,
19 And all the world, with ominous silence, stood
20 In weird expectancy:
21 When one strange night the sun like blood went down,
22 Flooding the heavens in a ruddy hue;
23 Red grew the lake, the sere fields parched and brown,
24 Red grew the marshes where the creeks stole down,
25 But never a wind-breath blew.
26 That night I felt the winter in my veins,
27 A joyous tremor of the icy glow;
28 And woke to hear the north's wild vibrant strains,
29 While far and wide, by withered woods and plains,
30 Fast fell the driving snow.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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Sunny New South Wales
We often hear men boast about the land which gave them birth,
And each one thinks his native land the fairest spot on earth;
In beauty, riches, power, no land can his surpass;
To his, all other lands on earth cannot even hold a glass.
Now, if other people have their boasts, then, say, why should not we,
For we can drink our jovial toast and sing with three times three;
For there's not a country in the world where all that's fair prevails
As here it does in this our land, our sunny New South Wales.
Chorus
Then toast with me our happy land,
Where all that's fair prevails,
Our colour's blue and our hearts are true,
In sunny New South Wales.
Now let us take a passing glance at all that we possess.
That ours is such a wealthy land no stranger e'er would guess.
Why, we've land in store, indeed far more than ever we shall require,
And trees grow thick on every side in spite of axe and fire.
Our sheep and cattle millions count, our wool is classed A1;
In beef and mutton our fair land is not to be outdone.
Why, we've lately seen old England, who boasts her stock ne'er fails,
Has had to send for wholsome meat preserved in New South Wales.
Chorus: Then toast with me, &c.
In childhood California was to us a land of gold,
And people said its riches were so vast, immense, untold.
But time has proved that mineral wealth exists not there alone,
For New South Wales possesses gold in many, many a stone.
And when the gold is taken from out its quartzy veins
A heap of silver, copper, tin, as a residue remains.
In fact we are a mass of wealth in all our hills and dales.
There's not a country half as rich as sunny New South Wales.
Chorus: Then toast with me, &c.
Our climate's good, that all admit, our flowers are sweet and rare;
And scenes abound on every hand so marvellously fair.
Shame on the men who went away and of us wrote such lies.
Why, when Anthony Trollope came out here he nearly lost his eyes.
Our native girls are fair and good, their hearts are pure and true;
And to their colour stick like bricks, the bright Australian blue.
Some never loved a roving life, nor blest the ocean's gales;
But they bless the breeze that blew them to a life in New South Wales.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Time and Experience
I found the past in my present
I built the future on my past
I found the gift of today
When I thought about what
The future has to offer
Where is the wisdom in experience
If there is no folly in wisdom
What's the real meaning of death
If our spirits live forever
Times never change
But circumstances do
I'll let mystery play with the future
Surprises couple with the present
And experience mourn the past
Because sun always rises from the east
And each day always comes to an end
Experience is not chained to wisdom
Nor is folly tied to bad results
But to the circumstances that burden
Our past, present and future because
Time is always anxious for the future
Experience loves the present
And wisdom never divorces the past
poem by Benaiah Sondashi
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Putting the past behind
would anyone believed that all have gone
into the limbo of the past, where the flame of fire
lives in the light of memories
what a trust that shakes the wound that
never failed, a realistic of the present of
the past struggle to the blindness of everything
of pain and suffering have gone
tie me into the day where i could hide my
emotional depression hold me where every
stings of fang sweeten my thirst, push my
being of every sweat flows from my half
naked body, where you can feel the sweetness
of my tears of blood
what a wonderful genre, where every past,
healed in your shadowing day, what then is the
prize where i say to myself that you come to
capture my pain; of nowhere i can stand my own
stay as you could for this is not the twilight zone of
what is the future to live, have the dawn brings
it’s light for in every future there is always the spark
a remembrance of may
need not only your love that heals the would, rather
fix it up with the solemnity of your life breaking touch
that within you is the answer of this happing mode
of freedom to live
the past have lend us to believe and thwarting us the
fulfillment that we almost reach what the present joy
of living with you forever
please live the past for everything........my Love
poem by Antonio Liao
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