Spring Was Mauled
The crisis,
a distinctive nothing,
swaps the dignity with blood.
The world hogs around
your palatial words.
The throb drips from your temples.
Hate or love it,
the barren prelude looms large.
I am going for a drift.
It comes back again
and again the debris of dream
of circling wolves.
The crisp moon outlines the contours of hills.
I fight with a stiff translation
of a truth. Deep rituals will always hound.
I escape from my body,
unfreeze my ego.
The stars did not help.
The space widened between doors.
Illusions outlined the
shadows of dead years.
Must we praise the seeping
poision in our bones?
No God had been spared,
the spring was mauled
by prowling summer.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
Stars and the Moon
Stars and the Moon
Why do you come so soon?
I lay there unable to shut my eyes
This something I despise
Stars and the Moon
Behind my eyelids there is a dream that awaits
My head spins, but i am not elate
Stars and the Moon
It's a horrible dream
The one about that night just bursting at the seam
My eyes are heavy now
As if I'm forced to obey, at it's feet, I bow
Stars and the Moon
I can feel my body tense
Instantaneously pulled into a trance quite immense
Stars and the Moon
I hear the screams of that night
That abhorrent deed, I tried to put up a fight
Stars and the Moon
I hate when you come
day and sun is my time to feel numb
poem by Naomi Deluca
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Over The Hills
The old hound wags his shaggy tail,
And I know what he would say:
It's over the hills we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills, and away.
There's nought for us here save to count the clock,
And hang the head all day:
But over the hills we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
Here among men we're like the deer
That yonder is our prey:
So, over the hills we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
The hypocrite is master here,
But he's the cock of clay:
So, over the hills we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
The women, they shall sigh and smile,
And madden whom they may:
It's over the hills we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
Let silly lads in couples run
To pleasure, a wicked fay:
'Tis ours on the heather to bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
The torrent glints under the rowan red,
And shakes the bracken spray:
What joy on the heather to bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
The sun bursts broad, and the heathery bed
Is purple, and orange, and gray:
Away, and away, we'll bound, old hound,
Over the hills and away.
poem by George Meredith
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Rival Entreaties
climbing on the umblical hill
ahead of the contours,
a denier
alters the chemistry of hate in negative space;
fauna of the earth springs black stones,
man made, on the glistening sex of
lotuses, a forgetfulness ensures
the conceptual withdrawl of the red bull;
hand in hand a sea walks towards the tender beach
to dazzle the hidden sun,
light was inside his body, but he was still
groping for the sleeping lips of a virgin,
into her broken promises; the debris throws up
the severed limbs to negate the will
to live, words must betray a step down, maintaing
a clueless trauma, there was fearlessness,
but no dignity, you have drawn a horizontal
line hugging the boundaries of truth
and lies, I recall buddha to smile in the
eyes of death
poem by Satish Verma
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A Frozen Ocean
The earth begins to break
Our hearts fall down the hole between us
Standing on opposite sides
We stare at each other as we drift away
We used to laugh and play
But now we drift away
Your reflection has vanished from this frozen ocean
But the sun still shines across it
Until the moon rises, the hope is unsure
We dance in the sky, counting down the days
Waiting for the moon to set and the sun to return
Unfreeze the ocean, or I will risk walking across it for you
As much doubt swims across the ocean as space itself
Your eventual return will make the sun shine again
We used to laugh and play
But now we drift away
poem by Michael Robertson
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Back When.... (The World Was New)
we used to say 'i love you'...
rushing out doors we never locked.
leaving the fire untended,
and dishes in the sink.
summers came and died,
and neighbors seemed to follow.
as the footprints of small children,
became shadows that grew and left.
we who were forever young,
drinking dawn after dawn.
who are we now?
forever rusting in autumn....
the old spicket drips,
and dogs sleep as if they knew.
even the bricks begin to crumble,
the tin torn from the roof.
the setting sun names its own births,
and validates its deaths.
we who never speak,
words that seem strange to lips.
the flowers rest in peace,
the ashes cold and still.
as locks become the way,
the last winter looms in dread.
seems every house is vacant,
as the world drowns in transit.
we used to say 'i love you'...
back when the world was new!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Motion Sickness
I am tired of the heave and swell,
the deep lunge in the belly, the gut's
dumb show of dance and counterdance,
sway and pause, the pure jig of nausea
in the pit of a spinning world.
Where the body moves, the mind
often lags, clutching deck, anchor,
the gray strap that hangs like the beard
of death from the train's ceiling,
the mind lost in the slow bulge
of ocean under the moon's long pull
or the endless coil of some medieval
argument for the existence of God
or the dream of the giant maze
that turns constantly in and in
on itself and there is no way out . . .
I am sick and tired of every rise and fall
of the sun, the moon's tedious cycle
that sucks blood from the thighs of women
and turns teenage boys into wolves
prowling the streets, hungry for motion.
Let me be still, let me rest
in some hollow of space and time
far from the seasons and that boring,
ponderous drama of day and night.
Let me sleep in the heart of calm
and dream placidly of birds frozen
in the unmoving air of eternity
and the earth grown immobile
in its centrifugal spin, and God
motionless as Lazarus in his tomb
before he is raised dizzily
to fall again, to rise, to fall.
poem by B.H. Fairchild
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Queen Of The Air
There is a dream I used to have
My dream swallowed me whole
There is a bridge where I hate to go
That is where I first saw her
High on the bridge
I seen her red hair shining
There is a girl- I never knew
She was my aunt virginia
They said that she-
She just disappeared
They said I look just like her
High on the bridge I seen her
Dancing, waving to me there
She smiled and raised her head
Then she took to the air
There is a dream I cant escape
My memories come back to me
There is a hell I cant escape
My memories come back to me
I heard the truth about it
Pictures and headlines hidden away
I heard the truth about my real mom
Jumping from the bridge that day
Now I know why ever since
I was 3 years old
Been having the same nightmare
Now I know the truth about virginia
Why she took to the air
song performed by by Everclear
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Grieve Elusively Solo In The Company Of Rocks
I grieve elusively solo in the company of rocks
whose skulls have been glacially removed
as a chipper breeze intrigues the trees
with the rumours of distinguished extinctions to come.
O my prophetic heads, my exilic deaths,
is the moon an ally or not as she adds
her waterlily to the swamp like a nautical poem
that agitates the ricocheting shadows of the bats.
Witch broth looking for human body parts.
The night broods over the death of a wren
like someone just getting into the arts
hangs on the hook of the muse with bookish allure,
but nothing bites. The fish are wide-eyed and wary.
The wonder of stars applies a poultice to my heart.
We reciprocally heal for a moment. Dark woods
and the wolves are howling over the corpse of the hills.
Snapping turtles sleep in my starmud like the helmets
of World War One, and I dream of wild swans
passing overhead like Albireo and Deneb
in the Summer Triangle wedging its way west.
My life inches toward its setting like an astrolabe of bones.
Mortal arcs of dubious exaltations. No constellation
marks the spot like a seeing eye dog in the dark,
and love dies cowering in sighs of lyrical bewilderment.
poem by Patrick White
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XVIII
HE LAMENTS THAT HIS LOVE IS DEAD
My love is dead, dead and in spite of me,--
Dead while I lived,--while yet my blood was rife
With hope and pleasure and the pride of life.
For my love ended unexpectedly
During the Winter, stricken like a tree
By a night's cold, and frozen to the blood,
Whose leaves fell off and never were renewed
By any promise of the years to be.
And, when the Spring came, and the birds, to mate
Among its branches, lo! they found it bare,
Though all around was Summer in the wood.
Yet they took heart awhile, incredulous
That such a tree should be for ever dead.
``'Tis early yet,'' they cried. ``The Spring is late.
It shall still be as in the days that were.''
But Summer came and went while the tree stood
Bare in the sun like a deserted house.
--Then the birds suddenly despaired and fled.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Time
Another Winter gone and bleak
In contrast to your skin, warm and sleek
Spring is dawning
Leaving me lonely, another year, a warning
Summer soon to come
Sun warming, body is done.
Another Autumn on the run
Love not waning like the sun.
Without your love!
On the wings of a dove,
my heart has fled.
The real me almost dead
My soul dark as sinter
Come Spring, Summer, Autumn or the deepest of Winter.
Your name is beauty
Your orders, my duty.
Stay away I hear you sigh
Wipe my eyes, a tear I cry
Of the words we spoke
I read and choke
So tense they were
My mind does stir
Of passions we evoke
In these words we spoke
From books I read
In my mind, a seed
To music I listen
Until my eyes do glisten
In films I see
A lovers look, a plea
But a heart so broken
A lovers life, just a token
Your back you turned
And this I learned
But for your Lord
I would have taken up a sword.
To fight back the horde
My back not as broad
My pen not as strong
I did you much wrong
The words that I write
Now cut down and smite
My silence is my fight
To give you what's right
Silent words in my mail
On a boat that's set sail
In your land of freedom
I need to redeem them
RG/NB
poem by Robert Green
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Grey Wolves Grey
The Russian march is soft and slow,
Through dust and heat, or slush and snow,
When the Russian skies hang grey and low
To the frontiers far where the Russians go;
And they march to-night and they march to-day
Like the grey wolves grey, like the grey wolves grey.
Nor song nor sound their track reveals,
Save the ceaseless “clock” of the waggon wheels;
But a rift in the mist shows a glint of sun
On the long, dark shape of a toiling gun;
And they strain by night and they drag by day
To a distant goal, like the grey wolves grey.
As the horses toil at the ends of trains,
And the ends of roads on the Blacksoil Plains.
And Ivan digs in the frozen clay,
And he rolls the logs a bed to lay
For a gun that’s five hundred miles away,
But as sure to come as the grey wolves grey.
He is marching on with a purpose grand,
For brother Slav in another land;
Whose tongue, perchance, he cannot understand.—
But he knows the cry from the far-away,
And he smells the blood like the grey wolves grey.
And Ivan’s wife in her den at home,
While hunger looms and his lean wolves come—
With her grey-black bread like the Darling mud,
And her tea-bricks bound with the bullock’s blood—
She shields her cubs by night and day
Like the crouching sluts of the grey wolves grey.
And I march with Ivan where’er he be,
With the foreign blood that is strong in me,
And the love and the hate that is fantasy,
Like the ghosts of a father’s memory.
With the blood that is strange to us to-day
As the strange wild blood of the grey wolves grey.
Grey wolves,
Grey wolves—
The strange wild blood of the grey wolves grey.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Shadows Of The Hills
the shadows of the hills
cast themselves upon the body of the running rivers
they hope to run with them
they wish to escape to the boundless sea
the hills are unmoved
they are all silent and numb
the sun comes angrily at noon and
then decides to annihilate the unwanted
someone so fat and ugly under the tree shows
with all glee about the death of the hills' shadows
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In Praise Of The Moon
I will not sing you a song of praise
O gentle moon
there are too many modern people around
too many enlightened minds tonight
they reckon they don't need your light;
there are too many elect
and too many going to Heaven
and if I sang in praise of you
they will throw their Blessed Books at me
and they will say
'You moon-worshiper, you go to hell! '
(they fancy words like idolator)
O so most divine moon
O godly moon
O most sacred moon
I shall not sing in praise of you;
there are too many bloodthirsty wolves around
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Always Dream
We escape into sapphire love
Music from the censors
Fire from golden times
Caress fauve forests of fire
Pearl seas rogue in the moon
Descend into pools of change
Harmony has ancient magic
No burned villages
No charred flesh
No plans of conquest
Everything barren in eternal birth
The candle glows
The sea shall give up its dead
Time will fold like woven lambs
Blue fire with fingers from stars
Parades in moors of silver fog
Islands melting into beryl love
Let mantra symbols drive the sun
Shimmering moonlight of halos
Your chants on beads of tides
Visions of vast plains of Buffalo
Dream of rivers and spring flowers
Play like doves in the new garden
Dream children always dream
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Beddgelert - (pron. Beth-gelert)
‘There once was a Prince called Llywelyn, Dai bach,
The Lord of this Snowdon Wales,
Back in the mists of the mountain, when times
Saw wolves leave their blood-stained trails.'
(I sat by the Church of St. Mary out there,
The vicar stared out on his fold,
His rheumy old eyes held the myth and the lies
That the Welsh told the people of old!)
I listened, he spoke, and I doubted him then,
The story he told so bizarre,
But when he had finished, I baited my breath,
Walked musingly back to my car.
Llywelyn, the hunter, was given a hound,
A present from England's King John,
A mighty wolf hound that he treasured and took
On his hunting trips, loping along.
The Prince had an heir that was merely a babe,
Still swaddled in linens and veils,
The child was his joy, he'd been blessed with a boy,
He was one of the Princes of Wales.
Llywelyn went hunting abroad with his pack,
The hounds were all baying the way,
The buglers followed, their blasts on the horn
Drove the hogs that were leading the fray!
The hunt brought them venison, gammon and fowl,
The hunt brought them mutton and game,
But Gelert, the hound, was nowhere to be found
Though the Prince called, and bellowed his name.
Llywelyn rode back to the palace at dusk,
Dismounted and looked for his son,
The cot was all bloodstained, the covers were torn
And a sign of the child, there was none!
Then Gelert leapt up, and he greeted the Prince
With a loud joyous cry in the dark,
His fur was all bloodied, his teeth dripped with gore,
And Llywelyn shrank back at his bark.
In thinking his son had been slaughtered, the Prince
Cried out as he lifted his sword,
And ran through the hound as he fell to the ground
And he cursed and he cried, the good lord!
But then came an answering, pitiful cry
From the child that lay under a bed,
The boy was uncut, but was smeared with the blood
Of the wolf that lay next to him, dead!
The throat had been torn from the wolf by the hound,
Brave Gelert defended the son,
And now that the Prince held the child in his arms
He reflected on what he had done!
He cradled the body of Gelert and wept,
And buried in honour his hound,
He set up a stone with the tale that it told
And it stands there today, on its ground.
The place is Beddgelert, in Gwynedd, look you,
And hundreds of years have gone by,
But history tells us, Llewelyn the Great,
Was never again seen to smile!
David Lewis Paget
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Circling Around The Moon
There may come a day when you grow weary
Troubled waters stain the paper cup
From other venues other voices carry
Slipped dreams soaking into thirsty dust
Maybe then and there youll find another
Lover with a blank and empty heart
Filled with breath and old cells to discover
Strenght to push the seas apart
Chorus:
On the day we met
I began to want you
On the day we met
I began to lose you too
Both of us circling around the moon
Both of us circling around the moon
There may come a day when you feel anger
China cracked and glued by clumsy hand
Veins of memory touching only hunger
The heart devours what it cannot understand
Chorus:
On the day we met
I began to want you
On the day we met
I began to lose you too
Both of us circling around the moon
Both of us circling around the moon
Maybe it whas then I saw my future
Saw it as a shadow on the ground
Beneath the earth old nails to discover
Strenght to hold my body down
Chorus:
On the day we met
I began to want you
On the day we met
I began to lose you too
Both of us circling around the moon
Both of us circling around the moon
On the day we met
I began to want you, want you
On the day we met
I began to lose you too
Both of us circling around the moon
Both of us circling around the moon
Both of us circling around the moon
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As Sorrow Leads
You walk in the door no one does anything
Your walk to your room without a word
They say nothing
Their silence is the wound, it is the sword
You take the knife from your table
You slit you wrists and watch the blood drip
They wouldn't help even if they were able
They would just smurk and curve their lip
The blood slowly drips to your bed
This is where sorrow has led
For tomorrow you will be dead
Your eyes search for answers, they look deep
The knife shines red, as you turn it
Tonight you will forever sleep
The room is lightly lit
Tomorrow will never come
This you know
A distant horror for most yet a dream for some
Some say it's black as night others as white as snow
The blood slowly drips to your bed
This is where sorrow has led
For tomorrow you will be dead
Your mind is filled with pain
Waiting, waiting for a sign
The lamb will rest with the lion head on his maine
You think as you watch 'I know no future, but this is mine.'
Your heart beats it's last beats
Your eye lids close and your head falls
It is the creator you will meet
When you think this you smiles and then your heart stalls
The blood slowly drips to the bed
This is where sorrow has led
For now you are dead.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Loony Balloon
The worlds spinning round like a looney balloon
Heading for a collision with saturn and mars
And were narrowly missing the man in the moon,
Spinning out of control crashing into the stars.
Have we all lost our gravity, reason and sanity?
Is this the price that we pay?
Have we now lost our way on this looney balloon?
Drift away, just drift away.
Its so easy to just drift away.
Drift away, just drift away.
Drifting away on this looney balloon.
The air is running out, the computers gone down.
The mechanic just panicked, hes nowhere to be found.
So automatic control is just spinning us round
No point screaming in space, you just cant hear a sound.
Now the pilots gone mad, he just jumped overboard
With a lunatic smile on his face
And he laughed as he cut the umbilical chord
Now hes drifting forever in space.
Drift away, just drift away.
Its so easy to just drift away.
Drift away, just drift away
Drifting away on this looney balloon.
Were out of control on this looney balloon
Narrowly missing the planets and stars.
Even optimists say that its all gloom and doom.
Weve got to get somewhere or hit something soon.
First class and economy, we all played the game
For selfish profit and gain.
So together well all go insane on this looney balloon.
Drift away, hey, just drift away,
Drifting away on this looney balloon.
Drift away, hey, just drift away.
Drifting away on this looney balloon.
Drift away, hey,
Drift away. drift away.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Blood Seeping Through the New Blood Flow
The razor is the one that cuts the wrists
Drawing blood with every slit
The razor is the one that makes anger let go
Your blood seeping through the new blood flow
The gun is the one that takes your pain
Leaving loved ones and some shame
The gun is the one that lets life go
Your blood seeping through the new blood flow
The pills are the ones that cause endings
Swallowing twenty without pretending
No life left leaking when you swallow
Your blood seeping through the new blood flow
Suicide is your way of giving up
Because you think your life's bankrupt
Suicide your way of letting go
Your blood seeping through the new blood flow
poem by Free Faller
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Swan, Lake, Leaf, Moon....
Your hands are leaves
Leaves that float on the water
The water is the body
I am the body
Where your dead leaves
Float
I cannot in this
Be the sun
And you cannot be the green
Comforting Grass
of the Hills
Those lonely hills that stay awake
at Night
The moon shines on the lake
Waiting for the Swan
She is the Swan
and He is the Moon
You are a dead Leaf
and I am the Body of Water
We are somehow
Nothing but
Spectators to the Swan
Moon Affair
But sad is this game of Irony
Again some love
more Love have remained
Unrequited....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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