Related quotes: It hurts, the abstract isolation...

Face Of Truth

It hurts, the abstract isolation of life
emptying of self.
The infection
of water in the sun.
A nameless pain annihilates
the ascending desires.
I want no more
traffic of dreams.
Only discovery of Being.

Where the city had gone from the mirror
of my poems?
Streets had the color
of a wrinkled maid.
And new dictionary had new words
of an obscene vernacular.
I wanted my stack, my lake.

Surface exploded into nothingness.
The lake boiled in the heat of eternity.
A part of the evening was cool,
participating in the festivities
of homing birds.
It took a whole night
to see the face of truth!

poem by Satish Verma
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A Soul Dies

Sky overcast, moon was sad.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

Who killed the bird in morning rain?
Ashes were sent to the lake.

A hidden slaughterman did not die.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

The good old name now spells the doom.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

I will call you in pitch-dark night.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

Ascending gods have ruined my life.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

A child was stolen from a mother’s bed.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

poem by Satish Verma
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Life is There Where The Moment is Mine And His

It's a sultry summer day and here is a lake,
All around lies a forest with tall oaks,
We could feel the freshness of the trees,
We enjoy the green of nature and the happy birds.

Sun is setting slowly, its last shine is kissing the waves,
You are keeping my hand into yours and we are walking around the lake,
I have a great feeling, something i cant describe in words,
If exists a meaning of life, you are the meaning of everything.

He is rowing a boat crossing the lake,
Looking at each other our eyes meet,
Words are not enough to express our happiness and love,
Our silence is a romance in moonlight.

Phosphorescence of the moon in lake water,
Was reflecting in his eyes such brightness,
I can see the joy of his face, his magnetic smile,
We'll seal this love with a tender hug and a kiss.

We'll float on the lake took by the wind,
His arms wrapping me meanwhile we gaze to each other,
He is mine and i belong to him to eternity,
Life is there where the moment is mine and his.

poem by Cristina Teodor
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Landscape 28 Meniscus

The molecules of water are held together
By weak electrical forces
That extend in all directions.
At the water surface, the upward forces,
Having nowhere watery to go,
Lie along the surface
To form a thin skin, called a meniscus.
This is the skin that holds water drops,
Supports water striders,
Even skips stones.

I came once to an Adirondack Lake
On a still moonlit night.
The lake seemed full of fireflies,
Flashes of light in the water
As far as the eye could see.
I finally discovered the source of the light,
The sudden movements of water striders
Riding the meniscus
Bent the water surface
Into a curved mirror
That reflected glimmers of moonlight.

The Japanese make a flower arrangement
In a vessel with a perfectly level rim.
The vessel is filled with water
To a level above the rim
The water is held from overflowing
By a curved meniscus
That bends light like a lens.
In the center of the water
Floats a single perfect flower
That sends tiny ripples across the water surface
And crinkles the meniscus
When the vessel is vibrated.

poem by Stewart McKenzie
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Salt Lake City

Down in utah
The guys and I dig a city called salt lake
Its got the grooviest kids
Thats why we never get tired of salt lake
And the way the kids talk so cool
Is an out of sight thing
And the number one radio station
Makes the town really swing yeah
Salt lake city well be coming soon
Theres a park near the city, yeah
All the kids dig the lagoon now
Its full of all kinds of girls
And rides and well be flyin there soon now
And girl for girl
Theyve got the cutest of the western states
They got the sun in the summer
And winter time the skiing is great yeah
Salt lake city well be coming soon
Salt lake city well be coming soon
Well be coming soon
Well be coming soon
Well be coming soon

song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Like the lake a Chinese poet sits beside in a painting

Who cares about
the weight of a lake?
Who would care to weigh it?

Who cares about
the colour of a lake
without the light of the sky
to reflect in it?

Who notices its modesty,
reflecting all, but silent of itself?

Who observes that the lake
remains unaffected,
not pained by loss,
not pleased by gain?

Who notices its wisdom,
obeying every law?

Who names its generosity,
among the fish, the birds,
the animals who drink?

Who knows whether the tree
leaning over it, sees its own reflection?

Who notices its love?
It bonds with earth,
It flows when needed,
as love does.

Who asks where the lake came from,
seeing it there?

Who wonders how old that lake is?
It is without age today.

Who wonders whether the lake
knows itself water,
or if water knows itself lake?

Who does not go to seek it,
for its stillness, for its silence,
as if it understands the mind’s needs,
the heart’s nourishment?

He is like that.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Qinghai Lake

Qinghai, Qinghai Lake,
Largest salt lake in China

Blue colour water
Blue clear skies.

Birds fly near the Birds island
During spring times.

Stand high and tall at 3,600 m
Weather according to season

Sunrise at dawn
Sunset at dusk near Qinghai Lake

beautiful colourful lake
seen from hill top

Many cattle of yaks and sheep at the hills top
with the nomadic Tibetans and their tent

The lake full of beauty and colour
beyond compare

Qinghai Hu,
Many fishes and plants.

poem by Lawrence Hiung
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Chicago Sestina

I am surprised by the streets of Chicago
when the palm of winter grips them with snow
as if to forgive the city’s mistakes
and give it a canvas that’s new, white, and clean–
its fingers, the branches on all of the trees
kneading the air that blows in from the lake.

I’ve never lived next to the pulse of the lake
(until I set foot down the side of Chicago)
breathing in through the streets and out through the trees
welcoming the cool of the wet, numbing snow.
It lets my mind slip into thinking it’s clean
as if to personally forgive my mistakes.

“But what have you done to forgive your mistakes? ”
Did I ask this? Or is that the voice of the lake?
Some days, not even does it appear clean,
worn down from its tall standing neighbor, Chicago.
It scrapes at the sky, asking it for more snow
to stick to and freeze the trunks of the trees.

If I were a branch on one of these trees
incapable of making a single mistake,
I’d grab at the sky as it shook out the snow
and grow my roots thick till they tasted the lake.
But I wouldn’t bend to the force of Chicago
that’s constantly keeping me from being clean.

And what does it mean to try to be clean?
I don’t understand the stillness of the trees
when they’re being attacked by the size of Chicago
as if to glorify the city’s mistakes
that glisten like stars at night on the lake
before it all froze and was covered with snow.

Ah! To imagine how long there’s been snow.
How can something this old still feel so clean
and dance through the wind that swoops in from the lake?
Is it the kneading by the spiny branches on trees
trusting that there will be no more mistakes
that leaves these the only pure thing in Chicago?

Here comes the snow that seeks out the trees
Am I now clean? Where are my mistakes?
Chicago belongs where it lay with the lake.

poem by Brian Maloney
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Don't Seek the Truth, Just Giveup untruth!

Why you go round and round,
May it be around earth,
Or may be around universe,
You will not find the Truth,
It is neither in earth or in sky,
It is neither in ocean,
nor in mountains,
wherever you go Truth follows you,
Yet you are unable to follow Truth!

If you see your shadow,
You are walking away from light,
But others only can see your shadow, when you are towards light!

Truth can not be found anywhere,
Learn from the still lake,
When water is pure and clear,
When ripples are waves subside,
One can see both reflection of world,
And bottom of the lake in which your own face glow!

Only its image can be found in mirror of your heart,
Only path to the Pathless land is to cleanse the mirror,
cleanse the vision,
clear all senses, Giveup untruth!
Mind and action,
Make them free of memories and expectations,
Leave behind corpse of past burnt,
Not look at the future,
Then only you see the image of Truth,
And find truth shine everywhere!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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The Price Of Water

The little lake, not far from the houses, has been
dry for years and is full of thistles and rubbish.
By, what was its shore, the sad rest of a rowboat
I remember it was blue, and someone had nicked
its oars; for firewood I take it. I used to row in
this lake in the evening catching trout.

When the moon made the lake into shimmering
silver my heart got quite wobbly by the beauty.
Last week I crossed the lake on my scooter, it was
not easy I lost my balance and was badly stung,
gasped for air, felt as drowning in a dry lagoon.
In the future the new commodity will be water.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Isolation

In fear every day, every evening,
He calls her aloud from above,
Carefully watched for a reason,
Painstaking devotion and love,
Surrendered to self preservation,
From others who care for themselves.
A blindness that touches perfection,
But hurts just like anything else.
Isolation, isolation, isolation.
Mother I tried please believe me,
I'm doing the best that I can.
I'm ashamed of the things I've been put through,
I'm ashamed of the person I am.
Isolation, isolation, isolation.
But if you could just see the beauty,
These things I could never describe,
These pleasures a wayward distraction,
This is my one lucky prize
Isolation, isolation, Isolation, isolation, isolation.

song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Country Wife

She makes her way through the dark trees
Down to the lake to be alone.
Following their voices on the breeze,
She makes her way. Through the dark trees
The distant stars are all she sees.
They cannot light the way she's gone.
She make her way through the dark trees
Down to the lake to be alone.

The night reflected on the lake,
The fire of stars changed into water.
She cannot see the winds that break
The night reflected on the lake
But knows they motion for her sake.
These are the choices they have brought her:
The night reflected on the lake,
The fire of stars changed into water.

poem by Dana Gioia
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Moments At The Beach

flowing water, cool breeze
waves washing a shore
birds drifting in the wind
boats sailing on the water
people strolling along the beach
children playing in the sand
sun bathers laying a shore
swimmers playing in the water
volleyball in the sand
family picnics under the trees
The lake so beautiful
The beach so free
people being friendly
the life so simple for a day at the beach
Strangers, friends and family enjoying the lake
the simple things in life is enjoy nature and ourselves

poem by Michael Peterson
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City Streets

The gaudy glow of neon lights
dispels the darkness of the nights
on city streets.

They pop and fizzle noisily
creating a cacophony
on city streets.

The sober folks walk warily
and drunks stagger uncaringly
on city streets.

The ladies of the night parade
for there is money to be made
on city streets.

Drug dealers ready to retreat
if they should hear a coppers feet
on city streets.

The night shift workers wend their way
towards their work to start their day
on city streets.

The noisy revellers thin out
as one by one the signs go out
on city streets.

The gradually noises abate
and ghostly shadow congregate
on city streets.

For some few hours peace will reign
before the noise will start again
on city streets.

The early morning traffic sounds
start with the milkmen on their rounds
on city streets.

This builds up to an angry roar
as cars and lorries inward pour
on city streets

then when at last rush hour has passed
noise levels will subside at last
on city streets

I thank the lord that I am free
to leave this noise far behind me
on city streets.

I walked my beat the whole night
through exactly as I’m paid to do
on city streets.

I choose to live outside the town
where constant noise won’t get me down
on city streets.

My village is a quiet place
A haven where I need not face
the noisy streets.

8-Jun-07
poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Call Of Untainted Waters

She is like
a mountain spring
bubbling fresh clear
from unseen cool depths
of substrata earth
through fracture of rock.

I rejoice
in such beauty
on a hot
windless day.

And would
cool
my face
hands
in her
presence,
quench my
thirst,
rest a while.

But you are still
depths
of nature's lake.

There is beauty
about you
on these
your shimmering
waters
vibrant life within.

I would swim
in mysteries
of a cool lake.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Gomper

By the lake with lilly flowers
Wallow away the evening hours
To and fro she's gently gliding
On the glassy lake she's riding

She swims to the side
The sun sees her dried
The birds hover high
I'd stifle a cry

The birds hover high
She moans with a sigh

song performed by by Rolling Stones from Their Satanic Majesties Request
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Eastern Swamphen

Invertebrates and slugs and such they eat
The water birds with big and ugly feet
You know them by their wild and distinct cry
And their legs are always dangling as they fly.

Related to but larger than moorhen
And with coots, rails and crakes they too share common kin
In or near water they are known to stay
And from lake or pond they won't be far away.

Midst water reeds they build their nests of reeds and grass
No work of art just an untidy mass
And three up to five eggs the female lay
With brown spots through the lightish buff to gray.

With purple under black and red on face
And flicking tails familiar to their race
Birds when once seen you never could mistake
They roost in ponds or reedy swamp or lake.

If danger threaten to water they retreat
The water birds with big and ugly feet
And you know them by their wild and distinct cry
And their legs are always dangling as they fly.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The Mist

The mist on the water that forms over night
gives an eerie sight to my eyes.
It lingers sometimes for an hour or two
and as it lifts to the skies
I see the lake that's been hidden from view
and all seems right to my sight.
Its rippling movement on breezy days
mirror like imagery at night.

It's home to frogs and ducks at play
and the fish that jump catching flies.
And sometimes when I am lucky enough
much to my surprise
herons and egrets of snowy white
come and land on the banks.
They stalk their prey in stately manner
hoping to pull off their pranks.

So when the mist returns to my lake
I do not get forlorn.
For underneath the mist that's there
is my lake in later morn.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Lonely brothers

Across the lake I stare
Across through the morning fog
I hear the lonely call of my brother

His black white body
breaches the surface of the calm lake
His red eyes meet the green of mine

The call of our loneliness ring out across the water
To be swallowed by the fog

As my lonely brother dives ounce again
Never again to rise
Across the lake I stare
Across through the morning fog
Now I am truly alone.

poem by Matthew Ladin
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The Atlantic

Thought I was over it now, the call that is my destiny;
twice I have tried to be a part of the sea,
but I failed swam to the surface inhaling life giving air.
I have moved inland, far from the sea,
where there is a puny lake and it dries up in June.
I have no son or daughter that will visit me
at the old people’s home.
No one to fuzz over me tell me not to smoke or waiting for me to go.
The sea is my friend.
My youth was spent there, alone at night standing on the deck,
of a ship, talking to the ocean, listening to its warm hum;
I resisted wanted more of life I think.
I have been wrong now that I’m old and have lost my dignity,
holding on to life when every
stab of pain tells me I’m there.
The sea has retreated I know it waits for me to know when it
is time to go home.