Sea-ward, white gleaming thro' the busy scud (fragment)
Sea-ward, white gleaming thro' the busy scud
With arching Wings, the sea-mew o'er my head
Posts on, as bent on speed, now passaging
Edges the stiffer Breeze, now, yielding, drifts,
Now floats upon the air, and sends from far
A wildly-wailing Note.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Related quotes
Rough Around The Edges
Chorus:
I'm a little rough around the edges
I didn't come out of no GQ magazine
I don't use a lot of big words
But I'm bent on love if you know what I mean.
I ain't in'trested in bein' politically correct
I stand right up and say what I believe
I'm a little rough around the edges,
But I think I'm exactly what you need.
As you can see I ain't all spit and polish
And every hair on my head ain't in its place
I ain't got no big degree from college
And I guess to tell the truth I need a shave.
Chorus:
I'm a little rough around the edges
I didn't come out of no GQ magazine
I don't use a lot of big words
But I'm bent on love if you know what I mean.
Whoa!
Well, you may think I'm just a KC plowboy
Well, just give me a chance to strut my stuff
I don't shine like some pin-up poster cowboy
But neither does a diamond when you pick it up.
Chorus:
I'm a little rough around the edges
I didn't come out of no GQ magazine
I don't use a lot of big words
But I'm bent on love if you know what I mean.
I'm a little rough around the edges,
But I think I'm exactly what you need.
Yeah, Yeah!, Whoa!...
song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So what are you doing with your life now?
She says
She stares blankly on the wall
She is busy
Counting the lamp posts on the streets
She is so busy
She thinks God is preparing something
Grand for her and she is so busy
Too preparing something for God
Who prepares for her.
I am amazed
I ask her
“So, did you stare long enough on that blank wall
Was it really blank? Did you really stare?
What made the wall so blank? Is the stare really
Worth making on a blank wall?
And how many lamp posts have you counted?
Is the street filled with lamp posts?
How is God? When will the preparation last?
How are you doing with God? Is God busy too? ”
She is a little bit understanding to my way of thinking.
“There you are making a poem again. You have never changed.”
She said.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Faithless Knight
THE lady she sate in her bower alone,
And she gaz'd from the lattice window high,
Where a white steed's hoofs were ringing on,
With a beating heart, and a smother'd sigh.
Why doth she gaze thro' the sunset rays--
Why doth she watch that white steed's track--
While a quivering smile on her red lip plays?
'Tis her own dear knight--will he not look back?
The steed flew fast--and the rider past--
Nor paus'd he to gaze at the lady's bower;
The smile from her lip is gone at last--
There are tears on her cheek--like the dew on a flower!
And 'plague on these foolish tears,' she said,
'Which have dimm'd the view of my young love's track;
For oh! I am sure, while I bent my head,
It was then--it was then that my knight look'd back.'
On flew that steed with an arrow's speed;
He is gone--and the green boughs wave between:
And she sighs, as the sweet breeze sighs through a reed,
As she watches the spot where he last has been.
Oh! many a sun shall rise and set,
And many an hour may she watch in vain,
And many a tear shall that soft cheek wet,
Ere that steed and its rider return again!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Out Of The Silence
Here in the silence cometh unto me
A song that is not mine,
With wash of waves along the cold shore line,
And sob of wind, and rain upon the sea.
It is the song and message of the dead!
Around my soul to-night
I feel the kinship of the Infinite,
I hear the sound of voices that are fled.
And as beneath the viewless angel’s wing
Bethesda’s pool was stirred,
My heart is troubled by the mystic word
Of one who through my soul and lips would sing.
There is no note of wailing in the strain,
But resonant and deep,
Out of the vastness, doth the music sweep,
Into the silence dieth it again.
To breaking hearts it saith, “Be comforted.
With secret pain and tears
And night-long penance thro’ the torturing years
Vex not the spirits of the mighty dead.”
“Weep not thine error done, thy thought untold
Shall not their vision be
Subtler than ours, more delicate to see
All that the fulness of the heart can hold?”
“Make not by grief an evil of their good!
Where the Immortal look
Life’s hidden secrets are an open book,
All thou hast felt is known and understood.”
Out of the silence thro’ my soul to thine,
From realms unknown,
A breath of tenderness from far lips blown
Floats, with the promise of a Peace Divine.
And soaring thro’ the shadows where we grope
A mighty cadence rings,
A spirit moves with morning on its wings—
The Voice and Vision of Eternal Hope!
poem by George Essex Evans
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Descent and Defeat
To Karl Borromaus Heinrich
Over the white fishpond
The wild birds have blown away.
An icy wind drifts from our stars at evening.
Over our graves
The broken forehead of the night is bending.
Under the oaks we veer in a silver skiff.
The white walls of the city are always giving off
sound.
Under arching thorns
O my brother blind minute-hands we are climbing
toward midnight
poem by Georg Trakl
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Wings Of A Dove
When troubles surround us, when evils come
The body grows weak
The spirit grows numb
When these things beset us, God doesnt forget us
He sends us his love
Chorus:
On the wings of a snow-white dove
He sends his pure sweet love
A sign from above
On the wings of a dove
When jesus went down through the river that day
Well, he was baptised in the usual way
And when it was done
God blessed his son
He sent him his love
On the wings of a dove
Repeat chorus twice
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Butterfly
Butterfly, the wind blows sea-ward,
strong beyond the garden-wall!
Butterfly, why do you settle on my
shoe, and sip the dirt on my shoe,
Lifting your veined wings, lifting them?
big white butterfly!
Already it is October, and the wind
blows strong to the sea
from the hills where snow must have
fallen, the wind is polished with
snow.
Here in the garden, with red
geraniums, it is warm, it is warm
but the wind blows strong to sea-ward,
white butterfly, content on my shoe!
Will you go, will you go from my warm
house?
Will you climb on your big soft wings,
black-dotted,
as up an invisible rainbow, an arch
till the wind slides you sheer from the
arch-crest
and in a strange level fluttering you go
out to sea-ward, white speck!
Anonymous submission.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Busy
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy
but the old woman needs help
to find her way home.
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy
but the dove is too slow
to fly out of the way.
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy
but the children crossing the street
are too many.
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy....
I am busy
you are busy
we are...
busy.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Preparation
THE little bird sits in the nest and sings
A shy, soft song to the morning light;
And it flutters a little and prunes its wings.
The song is halting and poor and brief,
And the fluttering wings scarce stir a leaf;
But the note is a prelude to sweeter things,
And the busy bill and the flutter slight
Are proving the wings for a bolder flight!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Passing
The swirling clouds,
Floats like cotton candy.
In the evening skies,
ending the day,
on a rainbow note.
Passing,
memories remaining,
in the corn fields swaying,
gently in the breeze,
your uncle waving.
Envoi
Fly, white butterflies, out to sea,
Frail pale wings for the winds to try,
Small white wings that we scarce can see
Fly.
Here and there may a chance-caught eye
Note in a score of you twain or three
Brighter or darker of tinge or dye.
Some fly light as a laugh of glee,
Some fly soft as a low long sigh:
All to the haven where each would be
Fly.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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On A Ruined house In A Romantic Country
And this reft house is that the which he built,
Lamented Jack ! And here his malt he pil'd,
Cautious in vain ! These rats that squeak so wild,
Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt.
Did ye not see her gleaming thro' the glade ?
Belike, 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.
What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn,
Yet aye she haunts the dale where erst she stray'd ;
And aye beside her stalks her amorous knight !
Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,
And thro' those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn,
His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white ;
As when thro' broken clouds at night's high noon
Peeps in fair fragments forth the full-orb'd harvest-moon !
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Leda
Where the slow river
meets the tide,
a red swan lifts red wings
and darker beak,
and underneath the purple down
of his soft breast
uncurls his coral feet.
Through the deep purple
of the dying heat
of sun and mist,
the level ray of sun-beam
has caressed
the lily with dark breast,
and flecked with richer gold
its golden crest.
Where the slow lifting
of the tide,
floats into the river
and slowly drifts
among the reeds,
and lifts the yellow flags,
he floats
where tide and river meet.
Ah kingly kiss --
no more regret
nor old deep memories
to mar the bliss;
where the low sedge is thick,
the gold day-lily
outspreads and rests
beneath soft fluttering
of red swan wings
and the warm quivering
of the red swan's breast.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
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She Floats
[intro: whale sounds]
Watching puddles gather rain
Theres no better place to lay
Shes as fine as dandelions blowing in the wind
Shes not thinkin' about anything...
She floats
Floats...
Wearing black patent mary janes
She steps out in to the rain
She's as dry as clear blue skies
Swallowing you whole
Got not secrets though I'm told
She floats
Ahhh... ahhh...
She's as fine as dandelions blowing in the wind
Shes not thinkin she's listening
She floats... She floats... Floats...
Floats...
She floats... She floats... Floats...
Floats...
song performed by by Vanessa Carlton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Evening Breeze
Often, I lie solus,
On white sand-banks
Of the large pond
In my ancestral land,
When the evening breeze
Gently touches the divinity,
Hidden somewhere in mortal body:
I feel I cannot normally feel.
Oh! I wish the evening breeze,
Too heavenly and wondrous,
Brought out my grandmother
Sleeping just under,
With whom I used to enjoy the breeze,
On these sands white,
In green days, later became defoliate!
Indeed, it can if it willed.
The evening breeze brings
Smell of soap suds,
Which forms on mind-board
The damsel in the nude;
Soon, the breeze brings
Holiest odour
Of frankincense and incense smoulder:
So in the breeze I sin and purge.
Often, I lay tired on sands;
All sweat drops dried in the evening breeze;
All my spirit revived;
And fresh morrow waited.
Evening chants of diverse creeds:
All in breeze united.
Seraphic breeze pats on every head,
Still nobody sees it.
poem by Fabiyas M V
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Speed
Running from the nightmare
In the middle of the road
Hells no place for sleeping
In a world beyond control
Caught in the headlights
Coming after you
When I woke up this morning
I had to do what I gotta do
Blast me to heaven for loving you
Blast me to heaven for loving you
Speed
Give me what I need
Yeah
White lightning
Lets speed, on speed
On wheels, on wheels
Speed
Oh, let it bleed
Yeah
Greased lightning
Lets speed, on speed
On wheels, on wheels
Ive seen a train full of pain
On the edge of overload
Were in heaven, baby
You are gonna implode
Ive got these crazy feelings
That I cant explain
Ive gotta save you baby
Or Ill die in vain
Blast me to heaven for loving you
I said blast me to heaven just for loving you
I said speed
Give me what I need
Yeah
White lightning
Lets speed, on speed
On wheels, on wheels
Speed
Oh, let it bleed
Yeah
Greased lightning
Lets speed, on speed
On wheels, on wheels
Blast me to heaven for loving you
I said blast me to heaven for loving you
Now Im rushing on the run, yeah
I wanna have me some fun
Ill speed
Give me what I need
Oh, set me free
Lets speed
On wheels, on wheels, on wheels
Said speed
Oh, let it bleed
Yeah
White lightning
Lets speed, on speed
On wheels, on wheels
Comon
I said speed, speed
Give me what I need
I said speed, speed
Give me what I need
Alright
song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We can also fly
A winter afternoon
Just snowed and
Everything white everywhere
I was waiting in one of the busy
Airports of United States of America
To board a flight to New York
Delayed flights
I was wandering in the lounge
Afternoon turning to twilight
So soon, was my wonder
Checking in,
Security checks
Announcements
Calling people by name to board
All were busy
And I was waiting for
The announcement for
Boarding my flight
Overlooking the aircrafts
And people boarding thereon
Through the tall glass panel
And I happened to see
Two sparrows
Chasing one another
And perching on cables
And wires those were running along
The walls of the lounge
Did I hear them talking
It looked like that
One sparrow telling
'Why they are so busy'
The other answering
'They have rescheduled
Most of the flights and
They are trying to accommodate
Everything within a particular time'
'Oh, I see.
But how come they are not taking
A note of us'
'Why should they take a note of us'
'Because, we can also fly'
'You only can fly
But they make others too fly'
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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A Hymn of Praise
The keys and staves demark strait paths
The restless note must travel on;
The note's the beast that carries
The burden of the sound.
Music evokes a sympathy
In willing heart, the symbol of
A presence, constantly descending,
White wings of endless love.
2006
To Sandra
poem by Will Barber
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Hope Floats
Even as things go downhill
And life becomes hell
Hope floats
Even as the world deserts you
And friends are few
Hope floats
Even as the only thing you have
Is a loneliness that is scary
Hope floats
Even as all seems lost and
Time remains a few grains of sand
Hope floats
Even as life seems beyond complaint
And strains of joy become faint
Hope floats
There may be nothing else to do
Than survive
And yet…as the self becomes distant
From the soul
There’s a voice that says
Hope floats...
poem by Akshaya Shah
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Teatro Bambino. Dublin, N. H.
How still it is! Sunshine itself here falls
In quiet shafts of light through the high trees
Which, arching, make a roof above the walls
Changing from sun to shadow as each breeze
Lingers a moment, charmed by the strange sight
Of an Italian theatre, storied, seer
Of vague romance, and time's long history;
Where tiers of grass-grown seats sprinkled with white,
Sweet-scented clover, form a broken sphere
Grouped round the stage in hushed expectancy.
What sound is that which echoes through the wood?
Is it the reedy note of an oaten pipe?
Perchance a minute more will see the brood
Of the shaggy forest god, and on his lip
Will rest the rushes he is wont to play.
His train in woven baskets bear ripe fruit
And weave a dance with ropes of gray acorns,
So light their touch the grasses scarcely sway
As they the measure tread to the lilting flute.
Alas! 't is only Fancy thus adorns.
A cloud drifts idly over the shining sun.
How damp it seems, how silent, still, and strange!
Surely 't was here some tragedy was done,
And here the chorus sang each coming change?
Sure this is deep in some sweet, southern wood,
These are not pines, but cypress tall and dark;
That is no thrush which sings so rapturously,
But the nightingale in his most passionate mood
Bursting his little heart with anguish. Hark!
The tread of sandalled feet comes noiselessly.
The silence almost is a sound, and dreams
Take on the semblances of finite things;
So potent is the spell that what but seems
Elsewhere, is lifted here on Fancy's wings.
The little woodland theatre seems to wait,
All tremulous with hope and wistful joy,
For something that is sure to come at last,
Some deep emotion, satisfying, great.
It grows a living presence, bold and shy,
Cradling the future in a glorious past.
poem by Amy Lowell
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