Stardust
Out of the cleft lip comes
a muffled voice
on the turn of events,
to interrupt a call.
Then the panic rises,
the blood was oozing from the larynx.
The winding mountain path goes to the end
of blessing where the prayer drowns.
What was happening to the golden land?
Did the green worry about the iced peaks,
from where the glaciers take a bend
to enter the valley?
Who was negotiating the winds?
The logic between the stars and moon?
Huge gods were speaking to the men
in black, wearing eye masks on the highest terrains,
not heading my grief.
The dust was crying.
poem by Satish Verma
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Dust Moon
How long have I been running far far away from you
As many miles as I've gone
Still the darkness comes on
There will be a crimson moon tonight
Dust moon rises...your face haunts me so
Dust moon rises...sanity leaving me soon
I still see your blood on the face of the moon
Your face haunts me, nothing clear now
Dust moon has risen
Bloody, mocking moon
Daylight seems lifetimes away, eternal midnight
Keep running away
Dust moon has risen...haunting me so
Dust moon rises...sanity, leaving me so soon?
I still see your face on the blood of the moon
And when the dust moon rests his weary head
And the sunshine begins to rise
Will I still be here or will I be dead
Is the dawn of a new day just a lie?
The Winding Ways Of Gried And Insecurities....
....that grief is, 'like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape.' (c.s. lewis)
...we have walked for quite a time
in this winding path,
we settled on plateaus
and then started again on those winding
paths of
mountains high
crossed rivers for the nth time
and rested on
grasses with our back
dirties sometimes
...the rains are heavy sometimes
and we feel the cold and some of us
get sick,
hard coughs that seem to take away all
inside our lungs,
pains that stay on our legs for days
the anxieties in our heads
as to where is this journey taking
all of us, , , ,
no one really knows,
but the hope is there,
somewhere is a rainbow
somewhere is a totally new landscape
we imagine what kind of happiness
awaits us there
they are not telling us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Overbird
O = Once upon the midnight enter hurry
V = Verily the hurry worry enter scurry
E = Eerily or early bird of enter Poe
R = Raven is only one huge enter Crow
B = Better to see them from the
distance of the hour glasses with
thick lenses enter Tommy use your eye
I = Intense discussion rules get broken
enter time to turn the worm over
enter into the night
R = Roman Judges rule nothing enter Rome
not one stone standing of the Jewish enter
temple now
D = Describe the Vulture in the Temple its
got wings of darkness its got red eye
with long black enter nose this time
this poem enter perfect prose
poem by Charles Hice
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Golden Age
All the screens are filled with heroes and losers
but the sky's still filled with stars
this junky palace might be on fire
til the winners lose desire
let it go let it go.
So tell me what you see
tell me what you hear
if it's the same as me it's the golden age.
Big brother tries to stitch and bend
but channel surfers find new friends
see freedom's silhouette increase
its time to claim that sweet release
let it go let it go.
I can see a purple patch of jacaranda
framed in eucalypt from this wooden floored verandah
heading past the watermark
heading for the hills
heading for the edge of time
heading for the thrills of the golden age.
Now tell me what you see
and tell me what you hear
if it's the same as me it's the golden age.
Now everybody's talking about the golden age.
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Makarora
Rocky peaks of Makarora in the summer wear their snow
And down the lush green grassy valley the clear mountain river flow
Songbirds piping in the beechwoods songthrush, bellbird and
redpoll
This a place of peace and beauty Makarora has a soul.
These great mountains look no different than to when the first man came
They have a wild rugged beauty for want of a better name
To the coming generations these high peaks will look the same
Man will not build houses on them man such wildness could not tame.
Summer's come to Makarora and along with her brought her green
Beauty to compare with any with the finest I have seen
This place would inspire an artist peaks in summer white
with snow
Beechwoods and through lush green valley sparkling mountain river flow.
Those high peaks of makarora will not change as years go by
Out there on those rugged mountains bones of Maori hunter lie
Still these mountains keep their secrets monarchs of the higher ground
Overlooking Makarora and the woodlands all around
Snow clad peaks of Makarora reaching upwards towards the sky
I am just a passing stranger and I'll be bidding you goodbye
But I will take with me the memories of beauty I have seen
today
Woodlands in a lush green valley by those mountains far away
poem by Francis Duggan
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The witch of Hex River
According to legend
a beautiful girl
Eliza Meiring stayed
on the farm Buffelskraal
at the foot
of the mountains
and so many suitors
were interested in her
that she would only
be the girlfriend of the man
that brought her a red disa flower.
These ground orchids
only grow on the highest peaks
and it was extremely difficult
to get the flower.
The few guys that tried
quickly got discouraged
but Frans whom she really loved
climbed up Groothoek ravine
against a wet moss covered cliff
and there fell to his death.
Eliza was deranged
when she heard the news
and was kept by her parents
in the loft of their house
where she notched Eliza Meiring 1868
onto the wooden windowsill
and one night
she got the top window open,
went down to the ground,
wearing her long white night gown
and climbed the foot hills
and sat down crying on a rock
which suddenly crumbled beneath her
and she also fell to her death.
It is said
that when the first winter snow
falls on that mountains
and the moon rises
glittering on them
her spirit dwells
on the mountain peaks
and that she still mourns
the death of her lover.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sestina: Here in Katmandu
We have climbed the mountain.
There's nothing more to do.
It is terrible to come down
To the valley
Where, amidst many flowers,
One thinks of snow,
As formerly, amidst snow,
Climbing the mountain,
One thought of flowers,
Tremulous, ruddy with dew,
In the valley.
One caught their scent coming down.
It is difficult to adjust, once down,
To the absense of snow.
Clear days, from the valley,
One looks up at the mountain.
What else is there to do?
Prayer wheels, flowers!
Let the flowers
Fade, the prayer wheels run down.
What have they to do
With us who have stood atop the snow
Atop the mountain,
Flags seen from the valley?
It might be possible to live in the valley,
To bury oneself among flowers,
If one could forget the mountain,
How, never once looking down,
Stiff, blinded with snow,
One knew what to do.
Meanwhile it is not easy here in Katmandu,
Especially when to the valley
That wind which means snow
Elsewhere, but here means flowers,
Comes down,
As soon it must, from the mountain.
poem by Donald Justice
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Paint It
I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore, I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes
I see a line of cars and they are painted black
With flowers and my love both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away
Like a new born baby it just happens every day
I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and its heading into black
Maybe then Ill fade away and not have to face the facts
Its not easy facing up when your whole world is black
I wanna see it painted painted, painted black, oh baby
I wanna see it painted painted, painted black, oh baby
No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
I could not foresee this thing happening to you
If I look hard enough into the setting sun
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes
I wanna see it painted, painted black, oh
Black as night, black as coal
I wanna see the sun blotted from the sky
Painted, painted, painted black oh baby
Painted painted, painted black
song performed by by Vanessa Carlton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ain't No Mountain High Enough
Listen, baby
Ain't no mountain high
Ain't no vally low
Ain't no river wide enough, baby
If you need me, call me
No matter where you are
No matter how far
Just call my name
I'll be there in a hurry
You don't have to worry
'Cause baby,
There ain't no mountain high enough
Ain't no valley low enough
Ain't no river wide enough
To keep me from getting to you
Remember the day
I set you free
I told you
You could always count on me
From that day on I made a vow
I'll be there when you want me
Some way,some how
'Cause baby,
There ain't no mountain high enough
Ain't no valley low enough
Ain't no river wide enough
To keep me from getting to you
No wind, no rain
My love is alive
Way down in my heart
Although we are miles apart
If you ever need a helping hand
I'll be there on the double
As fast as I can
Don't you know that
There ain't no mountain high enough
Ain't no valley low enough
Ain't no river wide enough
To keep me from getting to you
Don't you know that
There ain't no mountain high enough
Ain't no valley low enough
Ain't no river wide enough
song performed by by Michael Mcdonald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Moon Flower
I know a valley- through its solitude
A brown road winds towards a mountain crest;
There gnarly ti-trees dripping sweetness rest,
And grasses bend, too heavily bedowed.
In that still valley by the still lagoon,
A ruined homestead for her secret shrine,
Dwells Beauty's self, half-earthly, half-devine-
Thrilling, I saw her waken to the moon.
In peaks of emerald the cactus crept,
And there o'er rafters falling to decay,
A miracle of flowers, spray on spray,
Burst into perfect life while nature slept.
First a slim silver riband from the sky
Uncurled green fronds from each imprisoned bud,
Then, one by one, bathed in the beaming flood,
Like ghost-notes in a spirit litany.
They blossomed out before my eyes,
Great chalices of snow filled up with light;
Set in the mystic radiance of night
They seemed a vision from immortal skies.
Hidden in shadow near the still lagoon
Nightly I worship at a secret shrine,
There on a ruin- lily-white, devine,
Is beauty lying naked to the moon!
poem by Lala Fisher
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A Sheet Of Shroud
A vast amphitheatre
Of snow extends beyond the sight,
Peaks behind peaks stretch
To the skyline, only unsullied
Whiteness is visible, as if
Bodies of mountains and hills,
Have swathed themselves,
Into a huge sheet of shroud.
Silences overflow in the region,
The birds and animals
Of the summer, have migrated
To the warmer side of the globe,
Before the chilly winds
Have wrapped the valley.
No song of a nightingale
Or a cuckoo is heard;
Except swish of the wind,
When it passes through
A narrow gorge or rumbles
Of the tumbling icebergs,
When they break and go
Tumbling down and crash
With muffled grumbles
In the bottom, or seldom
Bilateral tut-tut, tut-tut
Of machine guns,
Pointed at the rival troops
By the soldiers in icy trenches,
Or a shriek when someone
Is killed on either side.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Black Moon
Oh the devil is rising with the moon
He cries and my blood runs cold.
Oh no never was the darkness so black,
No light and nowhere to go.
My spirit is crying for a love
So tired of being alone.
I remember he came here to steal,
And you are his stealer of souls.
I see a black moon rising,
And its calling out my name.
Oh its calling my name.
Ive been blinded, lost and confused,
Darkness will call me no more.
Heaven is no friend of mine,
No God ever knocked on my door.
I see a black moon rising,
And its calling out my name.
Oh its calling my name.
Im standing on the dark side of time
Reaching for the power of her hand.
Shes weaving an unholy light
And calls from lucifers land.
I see a black moon rising,
And its calling out my name.
An angel of hell is rising,
Heavens no friend of mine.
I see a black moon rising,
And its calling out my name,
I see a black moon rising,
And it causes so much pain.
An angel of hell is rising,
Heavens no friend of mine.
I see a black moon rising,
And its calling out my name.
Its calling my name,
This spirits crying for love.
Heavens no friend of mine.
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Afterimages
A whisperer with its begging bowl
wants a moon in alms.
A candle burns in panic.
The serpent was sitting in a prayer.
The golden teeth will find the apples
leafless, pleading for a fall.
Stoking the fire, you step on a ghost.
It was a fake, I scream.
Do not tamper the ruins of the tower.
They are going to find the death masks.
poem by Satish Verma
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The Valley Of Fear
In the journey of life, as we travel along
To the mystical goal that is hidden from sight,
You may stumble at times into Roadways of Wrong,
Not seeing the sign-board that points to the right.
Through caverns of sorrow your feet may be led,
Where the noon of the day will like midnight appear.
But no matter whither you wander or tread,
Keep out of the Valley of Fear.
The Roadways of Wrong will wind out into light
If you sit in the silence and ask for a Guide;
In the caverns of sorrow your soul gains its sight
Of beautiful vistas, ascending and wide.
In by-paths of worry and trouble and strife
Full many a bloom grows bedewed by a tear,
But wretched and arid and void of all life
Is the desolate Valley of Fear.
The Valley of Fear is a maddening maze
Of paths that wind on without exit or end,
From nowhere to nowhere lead all of its ways,
And shadows with shadows in more shadows blend.
Each guide-post is lettered, 'This way to Despair,'
And the River of Death in the darkness flows near,
But there is a beautiful Roadway of Prayer
This side of the Valley of Fear.
This beautiful Roadway is narrow and steep,
And it runs up the side of the Mountain of Faith.
You may not perceive it at first if you weep,
But it rises high over the River of Death.
Though the Roadway is narrow and dark at the base,
It widens ascending, and ever grows clear,
Till it shines at the top with the Light of God's face,
Far, far from the Valley of Fear.
When close to that Valley your footsteps shall fare,
Turn, turn to the Roadway of Prayer-
The beautiful Roadway of Prayer.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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No Explanations To Extend
I am 'where' I am,
With no explanations to extend.
On a path that has led me,
To twist and turn and often bend.
And in the middle of events,
Opening my eyes wide to them.
I am,
Who I am.
And this I have no intention to defend.
A growth imposed owes to no one,
Reason or rhyme that can be imagined.
Or definitions of it in ever changing times.
I am 'where' I am,
With no explanations to extend.
On a path that has led me,
To twist and turn and often bend.
And going through those experiences,
As this has happened the way it has...
Is only to myself comprehended.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In High Noon's Heat
In high noon's heat in a Caucasian valley
I lay quite still, a bullet in my breast;
The smoke still rose from my deep wound,
As drop by drop my blood flowed out.
I lay alone upon the valley's sand;
The mountain ledges closed in all around,
Sun burned their yellow peaks
It burned me, too-but deep as death I slept.
I dreamt I saw the shining lights
Of evening feasting in my homeland.
Young maids with flowers in their hair
Spoke gaily of me 'mongst themselves.
But one maid sat apart in thought
And did not enter gaily in,
Her youthful soul was caught it seemed,
Lord God knows how, in some sad dream:
She dreamt about a valley in the Caucasus;
She knew the corpse that lay upon the ground;
His breast was blackened by a smoking wound,
His cooling blood was flowing in a stream.
poem by Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov
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The Peaks
In the night
Grey heavy clouds muffled the valleys,
And the peaks looked toward God alone.
'O Master that movest the wind with a finger,
Humble, idle, futile peaks are we.
Grant that we may run swiftly across the world
To huddle in worship at Thy feet.'
In the morning
A noise of men at work came the clear blue miles,
And the little black cities were apparent.
'O Master that knowest the meaning of raindrops,
Humble, idle, futile peaks are we.
Give voice to us, we pray, O Lord,
That we may sing Thy goodness to the sun.'
In the evening
The far valleys were sprinkled with tiny lights.
'O Master,
Thou that knowest the value of kings and birds,
Thou hast made us humble, idle futile peaks.
Thou only needest eternal patience;
We bow to Thy wisdom, O Lord -
Humble, idle, futile peaks.'
In the night
Grey heavy clouds muffled the valleys,
And the peaks looked toward God alone.
poem by Stephen Crane
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Ancient Dust Of My Homeland
Spirit of Mystic Aoteaora, enter into me
Land of Long White Cloud, enter into me
Spirit of My Forebears Ancestors, enter into me
Spirit you called Legendary Fairy Folk, enter into me
Spirit of ice capped southern mountains,
rivers forests glaciers, enter into me
Spirit of this old mystic majestic land,
encapsulating my birthright, enter into me
Dark majestic nights descend
upon wild west coast beaches,
Moonlight lapping serene wave tops
sparkling with ephemeral magic
Spirit of multitudinal diverse natures
Blowing in spray blown sea breezes,
Spirit of ancient dust of my homeland
Spirit of ancient Aotearoa, enter into me
Aotearoa (pronounced [aoˌ teaˈ roa]) is the most widely known and accepted Mā ori name for New Zealand.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Blue Stone
Someday, when you are twenty-four and walking through
The street of a foreign city...
Let me go with you a little way,
Let me be that stranger you won't notice.
And when you turn and enter a bar full of young men
and women, and your laughter rises,
Like the stones of a path up a mountain,
To say that no one has died,
I promise I will not follow.
poem by Larry Levis
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Mountain Woman
They lived together in a dirty old shack
At the edge of the black rocky mountain
And they drank mountain dew and they lived on the food
That they grew at the side of the mountain
Shes a mountain woman, hes her mountain man
They [? ] down the valley
Shes a mountain woman, hes her mountain man
Uneducated but theyre happy
Mountain woman couldnt read nor write
But she knew good from evil, she know wrong from right
When the government tried to buy her water rights
Her intuition was her only guide
Shes a mountain woman, hes her mountain man
They [? ] by the valley
Shes a mountain woman, hes her mountain man
Uneducated but theyre happy
Spend my life with my mountain woman
Were uneducated by were happy
The civil servant used compulsory purchase
To acquire the [? ] for the nation
Theyll dig up the land, theyre gonna make a dam
And build a hydroelectric power station
And now she lives on the 33rd floor
Of a man-made concrete mountain
She got an elevator and refrigerator
And an automobile to run around in
Fast talkin lawyers from the government
Went and beat proud mountain woman down
Hey mountain woman, take your mountain man
They took your land and flood your valley
Spend my life with my mountain woman
Theyre uneducated by theyre happy
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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