The Swan - Song
Inadequately the clouds covered the moon
the wind was soft and silky.
The death of shadow was not complete.
Stars had fled from groans of night.
In the still room poor sentences could not compete
with the innocence of emptiness
which was in throes of giving
birth to a new meaning.
Weeping flowers were weaving a song.
Memory, my pain, returns again and again
I would never go ever to my old house
just one for me, it gave me choking
sadness.
The wanderer me, moves again, to switch
the lights on. You are not watching me.
I don’t put claim on my words. They
came to me from dangerous mistakes.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
Watching
this is plain watching
two souls
two bodies making what they
are supposed to
do inside a room
beside them the white silky curtain
caressed by the wind
from the sea
salty and soft and sapphire like
in feeling
there is the bursting of stars
inside your heads
there is the celebration of what
you have become
so intimate
discovering
what long seeped
between your arms
and legs
slowly, love is reborn
the moon
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Watching the Clouds
Watching the clouds go by
Finally understanding that I don't need to
Everything that makes sense
Doesn't
Anything that is wrong
Is right
With every death
Their is birth
With responsibility
Their is blame
In this world is pain
The one who doesn't know pain
Does not know true love
Happiness
Joy
Sadness
Birth
D eath
Greatness
poem by Sarah matthews
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Death' is when 'You' milk 'It
'Death' is when 'You' milk 'It' and milk it, milked
and you drive it, forever and ever,
upward and upward and never down ward, insane.
Death is two silky hands covered in hot burning oil,
that start at the base and death loves to covers each lamp.
While the flame burns inside the brown paper bag exposed.
Pushing death deep without compassion through the pale
full moon, as death walks around, ignoring your cries.
Heaven for death and coming so close to death you find.
Death makes you come over to your friends house once
again, in your mind while those pearls in the bag,
are laid up on the shelf that you share, with deaths pink pig.
Death moves both horns closer, driven unforgiving together,
one here and one there, ever closer, untiring you are laid out as art.
Death knows when the sky is on fire, say it again and again.
Death and truth, death is like an epileptic seizure,
when more than those silky soft hands,
never moved all the way down,
and a river of hot molten 'death' sprays,
in your hair each black day.
Death is as proud..and as proud of you, Death is,
as you splash it around, all about town,
Death and 'Death's' protein mask so tight, you peel it off.
Death was just the tip of the ice burg and death melted it,
with death's thick and full, red buried, unyielding lips.
'You' love to have your fun with death, as you milk it over
and over, the milk never expires, death never tires,
and many,
many are deaths executions from death's weepy milked eye.
poem by Is It Poetry
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The Dead Church
On dark benches they sit packed
And lift extinguished looks
To the cross. The lights gleam as if covered,
And cloudy and as if covered the head of wounds.
The incense rises from a golden vessel
To the height, dying songs
Exhale, and as if afflicted the room dusks
Uncertainly and sweet. The priest strides
Before the altar; but, he practices the pious rites
With tired spirit - a miserable player
Before bad prayers with numb hearts,
In soulless play with bread and wine.
The bell sounds! The lights flicker more cloudily -
And paler, as if covered the head of wounds!
The organ hisses! In dead hearts memory
shudders on! A bleeding countenance of pain
Wraps itself in darkness and the despair
Stares after him in the emptiness from many eyes.
And one who sounded like all voices,
Sobs - meanwhile the horror grew in the room,
The death-horror grew: Have mercy on us -
Lord!
poem by Georg Trakl
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Its My Shadow
Who is that upon the stairs
Acting like he dont know where
And who is laying down all the cards
And giving me the wrong things to say
And like a wheel on the table
Hes a cain to my abel: oh.....its my shadow
A confessor to my dreams casting ribbons round my feet oh.....into my day
Its my shadow
Making eyes until the sun lights the daytime as she comes oh..... into my day
Happy in the time when I would have been there to see you
Happy in the time when I would have been there at all
Happy when the night is gone and I believe you
Happy when the night is gone and I need a call.
Who is chasing in the wind all the letters never sent
And who is dusting down the stars and giving me the wrong moves to make.
And like a wheel on the table, hes a cain to my abel
Dancing upon the floor, its my shadow
Making eyes until the sun blinds the daytime as she comes oh.....into my day
Its my shadow
Like a willow to my stream casting heaven round my feet oh.....into my day.
When you find that things are getting wild is that
The hardest smile that you can ever feel.
Paralysed until the sun lights the daytime as she comes.
And if my shadow comes a creeping
Then Ill always find me sleeping in the sun.
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Aches
Have you ever craved the waves of flowers perfume
That float in the garden of roses under the moon sheen loom
They come and go whence no one knows at night gloom
As spring renewed his reign in colors and in splendor bloom
Thoughts of sadness wave and sail in my mind
They come and go leaving memories of pain and agony behind
Like that keen fragrance in the garden, born on the wings of soft wind
And yet none of the flow of thoughts is soft, soothing or kind
But in the instant the thoughts of air remain
To ignite the memory I knew of laughter and of joyful pain
Of times unlike now that will not come again.
The mountains of aching thoughts the earth under heavy clouds of rain
I try to catch and subdue my mind of these many tunes
Like tears of light fallen from the forlorn moon,
Flattened, scattered and bright on a dark lagoon,
Where high reeds lull and sway by echoing duns
But my mind is dissolved under such bare
My anguish floats away, I am too timid, for who can hold
The pain of Youth, the perfume of a flower or a moon so bold?
Where one can ask the strength to dare?
Stoning
A weeping willow was telling
a trove of memories,
for an ancient provenance
where the lake sleeps.
Why the sheen of water brings out
ephemerality of ‘if’. You want to
take a holy dip, never to come up again
in the throes of birth and death.
And waves, why they clap when they
are hooked up with the winds? Was it
to marry the sky? I am counting
the stars fallen to the street.
Back to the moon in skunk night
of slimming curves and opulent
nose for a ride in bed, sorting out
the remaining stones.
poem by Satish Verma
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Amidst The Flowers A Jug Of Wine
Amidst the flowers a jug of wine,
I pour alone lacking companionship.
So raising the cup I invite the Moon,
Then turn to my shadow which makes three of us.
Because the Moon does not know how to drink,
My shadow merely follows the movement of my body.
The moon has brought the shadow to keep me company a while,
The practice of mirth should keep pace with spring.
I start a song and the moon begins to reel,
I rise and dance and the shadow moves grotesquely.
While I'm still conscious let's rejoice with one another,
After I'm drunk let each one go his way.
Let us bind ourselves for ever for passionless journeyings.
Let us swear to meet again far in the Milky Way.
Counterpoint: Two Rooms
He, in the room above, grown old and tired;
She, in the room below, his floor her ceiling,
Pursue their separate dreams. He turns his light,
And throws himself on the bed, face down, in laughter.
She, by the window, smiles at a starlight night.
His watch—the same he has heard these cycles of ages—
Wearily chimes at seconds beneath his pillow.
The clock upon her mantelpiece strikes nine.
The night wears on. She hears dull steps above her.
The world whirs on. New stars come up to shine.
His youth—far off—he sees it brightly walking
In a golden cloud .... wings flashing about it....
Darkness
Walls it around with dripping enormous walls.
Old age, far off—or death—what do they matter?
Down the smooth purple night a streaked star falls.
She hears slow steps in the street; they chime like music,
They climb to her heart, they break and flower in beauty,
Along her veins they glisten and ring and burn.
He hears his own slow steps tread down to silence.
Far off they pass. He knows they will never return.
Far off, on a smooth dark road, he hears them faintly.
The road, like a sombre river, quietly flowing,
Moves among murmurous walls. A deeper breath
Swells them to sound: he hears his steps more clearly.
And death seems nearer to him; or he to death.
What's death?—she smiles. The cool stone hurts her elbow,
The last few raindrops gather and fall from elm-boughs,
She sees them glisten and break. The arc-lamp sings,
The new leaves dip in the warm wet air and fragrance,
A sparrbw whirs to the eaves and shakes its wings.
What's death—what's death ? The spring returns like music ;
The trees are like dark lovers who dream in starlight;
The soft grey clouds go over the stars like dreams.
The cool stone wounds her arms to pain, to pleasure.
Under the lamp a circle of wet street gleams.
And death seems far away—a thing of roses,
A golden portal where golden music closes,
Death seems far away;
And spring returns, the countless singing of lovers,
And spring returns to stay....
He, in the room above, grown old and tired,
Flings himself on the bed, face down, in laughter,
And clenches his hands, and remembers, and desires to die.
And she, by the window, smiles at a night of starlight....
The soft grey clouds go slowly across the sky.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Tribal Rites (The Nighshade of Hues)
The nightshades of hue
Blacken the empty abyss
As the moon hangs low
With an eerie neon glow
A shadow moves across the
Barren land as the stars
Glisten in the dark
Thunder claps its roar energy
As the dark clouds creep across the moon
A lone owl hoots its eerie song
As it watches' the moon play hide and seek
With natures dark clouds of doom
The night is dark as the mist
Swirls around the abyss
That gapes at the edge of the cliff
The crackle of thunder crash's
Across the land booming from
One end of the abyss to other
And standing atop a hill
That views over the abyss
A lone figure stands
The wind whips at his clothing
Like a torrent of never ending lashings
His long shoulder length ebony hair
Swirling in the wind
He gazes towards the heavens
And sees the stars and moon
Beckoning to him to fly
But this earth bound body
Can only stand in this glories
Raging storm of the night
He sways to the rhythm of nature
As he recalls his brothers of the tribe
Teasing him of what's install for him
To gain his manhood his rights as a man
To live through this dark abyss
That has tested his father and his father before him
And it is now his turn to prove to the tribe he is a man
So as he stands alone
He embraces himself for natures test
The swirling winds and raging storms
A testament to his strength
As the dawn starts to break
He walks back to his tribe
Were he left a few days before
Just a boy now he returns a man
poem by Kaila George
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White House
It was a rape of a city. Go ahead.
I still speak the old phrases
with back pain.
And let fly the silence
in beautiful emptiness
of a swollen heart.
On pain of anonymity
I wanted to clear my name
from tangled fame.
The after death comfort
of words when clarity
moves in the home of a meaning.
poem by Satish Verma
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The House Of Dust: Part 04: 04: Counterpoint: Two Rooms
He, in the room above, grown old and tired,
She, in the room below—his floor her ceiling—
Pursue their separate dreams. He turns his light,
And throws himself on the bed, face down, in laughter. . . .
She, by the window, smiles at a starlight night,
His watch—the same he has heard these cycles of ages—
Wearily chimes at seconds beneath his pillow.
The clock, upon her mantelpiece, strikes nine.
The night wears on. She hears dull steps above her.
The world whirs on. . . .New stars come up to shine.
His youth—far off—he sees it brightly walking
In a golden cloud. . . .Wings flashing about it. . . . Darkness
Walls it around with dripping enormous walls.
Old age—far off—her death—what do they matter?
Down the smooth purple night a streaked star falls.
She hears slow steps in the street—they chime like music;
They climb to her heart, they break and flower in beauty,
Along her veins they glisten and ring and burn. . . .
He hears his own slow steps tread down to silence.
Far off they pass. He knows they will never return.
Far off—on a smooth dark road—he hears them faintly.
The road, like a sombre river, quietly flowing,
Moves among murmurous walls. A deeper breath
Swells them to sound: he hears his steps more clearly.
And death seems nearer to him: or he to death.
What's death?—She smiles. The cool stone hurts her elbows.
The last of the rain-drops gather and fall from elm-boughs,
She sees them glisten and break. The arc-lamp sings,
The new leaves dip in the warm wet air and fragrance.
A sparrow whirs to the eaves, and shakes his wings.
What's death—what's death? The spring returns like music,
The trees are like dark lovers who dream in starlight,
The soft grey clouds go over the stars like dreams.
The cool stone wounds her arms to pain, to pleasure.
Under the lamp a circle of wet street gleams. . . .
And death seems far away, a thing of roses,
A golden portal, where golden music closes,
Death seems far away:
And spring returns, the countless singing of lovers,
And spring returns to stay. . . .
He, in the room above, grown old and tired,
Flings himself on the bed, face down, in laughter,
And clenches his hands, and remembers, and desires to die.
And she, by the window, smiles at a night of starlight.
. . . The soft grey clouds go slowly across the sky.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Ghost Raddled
'Come, surly fellow, come! A song!'
What, madmen? Sing to you?
Choose from the clouded tales of wrong
And terror I bring to you.
Of a night so torn with cries,
Honest men sleeping
Start awake with glaring eyes,
Bone-chilled, flesh creeping.
Of spirits in the web hung room
Up above the stable,
Groans, knockings in the gloom,
The dancing table.
Of demons in the dry well
That cheep and mutter,
Clanging of an unseen bell,
Blood choking the gutter.
Of lust frightful, past belief,
Lurking unforgotten,
Unrestrainable endless grief
From breasts long rotten.
A song? What laughter or what song
Can this house remember?
Do flowers and butterflies belong
To a blind December?
poem by Robert Graves
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God’s Lights
Morning’s painting on the sky above, covers this earth like a glove,
Clouds covered by the sun’s rays, filling earth with abundant praise.
With yet another day to unfold, of God’s wonderful Glory to behold,
The beauty fills hearts and minds, with awe for God’s grand design.
Before the sun is overhead, God paints the clouds a gorgeous red,
This as He moves earth out of night, into the brightness of daylight.
At times the sunlight He shrouds, hiding the sun behind the clouds,
Clouds God paints upon the sky, as wide and vast as they are high.
Although the sun is hid from sight, God keeps it there till fall of night,
Then it’s truly veiled from all eyes, by the ever darker evening skies.
When God shows us another side, as He allows the daylight to hide,
As night’s ushered in by Heaven, God’s lesser light starts to descend.
Now under an ever darker canopy, with lights far as the eye can see,
And the moon above phase by phase, to count both nights and days,
God starts with a new moon friend, with the full moon at month’s end.
This is how God lights the skies, above a world that is filled with eyes.
Lights placed above for all to see, by the hand of The God of Eternity.
The Greatest Light we cannot see; The One who died for you and me.
The Light of Christ soon will shine, from the Eternal City for all of time,
No more need of the moon or sun, for the only Light will be God’s Son.
The Little Fete
I take a bottle of wine and I go drink it among the flowers.
We are allways three ... counting my shadow and my friend the shimmering moon
Happily the moon knows nothing of drinking, and my shadow is never thirsty
When I sing, the moon listens to me in silence. when I dance, my shadow dances too.
After all festivities the guests must depart. this sadness I do not know.
When I go home, the moon goes with me and my shadow follows me
song performed by by Vangelis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death, My Salvation
Death, the never-ending blackness,
From where comes no man back
It is to this emptiness
That my heart calls out to me.
Death, the blissful deliverance,
Where each of us pay our debt
It is time that I paid
A visit to my banker
Death, the final frontier
A place unrestrained
It is to this freedom
That my will hails me to go.
Death, my shadow
A shadow, with me day and night
Come rain or sun, happiness or sadness
It never leaves my side.
Death, my only friend,
My only salvation
poem by Arun George
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Moon Tribute
World of the night
What a wonderful sight
Moon white misty or silver
Senses can start shiver
Luna Lune Lua or Moon
Any kind of love might bloom
Luminous shadow streak
Over the lakes water peak
Sit meditate enjoy the sky
Dear one you are allowed to cry
Full Moon sooth and milky
Touches on skin soft and silky
Moon tune why be blue
Feelings can come so true
An embrace in your arms
Moon kiss wont harm
World of the night
What a wonderful sight
Misty silky or milky
Moon is the eternal light
poem by Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
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Clouds
Clouds i look up to you
When i need a view
To take me away
From what's left of this play.
You gathered, swelled with rain
As she faded from view
And cried to drown my pain
As i bathed in you
And wished you'd taken me along
When the moon turned blue
As a sunset stole my song
I just mimed goodbye- adieu
And hoped she saw the sadness in the skies
As i watched the fading sunlight in her eyes
Within my mind, when love was kind.
Clouds the only pillow on which to sleep
Forever
In soft embrace to keep
Her memory safe, untouched
At sky, like love i clutched
As clouds sailed slowly by
And far below i so slowly die.
poem by Kevin East
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Where the flute lets out its song
a real poet means
even the mistakes
between the verses
will not douse the
eagerness to read you
even when you do not
write out full sentences
and place dashes, moon
and stars between your words
because between the lines
are jewels to dazzle the readers' mind
notches and keyholes the
smart flute lets out its song
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Starry Night
When the night falls in your small room
Nothing seen but the dark and the air becomes chill
Everybody has turned asleep
Leaving the blue mountain bored and lonely
Look at your window, the moon calls
There is stars bloom in the dark sky
Giving a hazy sight of the imaginary city
The tall tree is now awaking
When the cold rigid line blurred into waving hands ready to dance
And city lights accompany you to sing a long the midnight
Even the scary darkness drunken in the party
Marching the clouds around the stars and moon
Inspired by Starry Night, Vincent van Gogh
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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