Aloft In Zephyr's Reign!
Zephyr's silken caress, muffled prayer in arid faraway morn,
His eerie glide through forests murmured of no scorn,
Or rapturous chant of adoration, birds flights adorn,
Over hills veiled in vapor like earth's purple dream born.
In lover's quandary while parting, demur greens writhed,
In hide ‘n seek of tumultuous time, earth's screen clouds shift,
Storm's mad cadence hijack waves to wreck a foaming end,
Seeds and petals spirals odors, lairs left for journey's untold
But denied me his privileges;
As a wave thrash my incredulity o'er cliffs where gulls hovered,
Or break your chains, caught in lost hours, in a gale's fuss,
A fleeing cloud, bereft rain, bridge the space between us,
Forget your absences, as a tree does its dross fallin leaves.
Instead uproots ‘n flings me in a labyrinth of murky waters
Daylight flinches to enter, dares not leave shadow in cankers,
Night too aghast returns, the sad years like its stars fall dusty,
Wonder will I get another chance to tempt eternity.
Wrong will not bow its head-- only Right dares,
Defies what the skies spare, it's a mortal that wears.
So lost was I, oblivious to Zephyr's cruel reign,
Whisked aloft my Muse's wings to Elysium with you,
While the mist played soft, on the heart of the hills,
With unsung raptures of beauty, the poet wind blew.
A dew dropp contained smug, in its dream afloat,
On lotus leaf like love, defers muddy waters in my outpost,
Astute I wonder - how you fared and what held you aloft?
In what thought, in what quest, in what draft?
Seema.joglekar
4th May-2012
poem by Seema joglekar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
You are the reason
When we meet walking in the dawn of this faraway world
Stars would dropp their vigil over us,
And sunny hours would bare their brilliance,
Like butterflies with newly -unfurled colored wings.
The morning star's same palpitating hush would take a new meaning
With its guiding light, see us to our journey's end
With a twinkle, bless our reunion.
I shall know those dark eyes from which I nurture
Like the living grass and flowers that rejoice in the glance of the sun,
Those eyes whose gaze I could once catch in starless nights,
Its fragrance kept ever fresh through the memory of an earlier quest.
Then, raise my eyes to catch in there
Still lingering some shadow of the other days
Like the fragrance of that forest air that gathered
an enchantment in your presence.
For a moment bear with me if I forget myself.
Be in no hurry, it is for you I wait
What other reason could there be?
Times remain unchanged; cause deep in my heart
I guard a sweeping passion from times onslaught.
Kindling away through those stormy times to fuel itself in your care,
Like the tired waves seeking the destination's tranquil shores, pay the journey's fare.
Come wrapped warm in a token of my love
Like the trailing clouds that wrap round the hilltops
That teach the burden of the past the language of smiles
Let my heart touch yours and kiss the pain out of your silence
Like a listless leaf in the gustful wind,
Let me wrap myself around you in one glance.
I shall know that the magic of your face is not your own
Is but the stolen passionate light that once reflected in my eyes
Now eager to seek its origin in the depths of their glow
Prompting a reason for my sun, moon and stars to strove
Our only chance to grasp their hand and call them by their names,
To believe in the steadfastness of time and spirit and their claims.
Seema.J
9th March-2012
poem by Seema joglekar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reflections-9
1 Air
Escaping body
Can not but break through earth's hoops
Earth's timeless breather
2 Zephyr
Healer of pained heart
Godly treat timely caress
Zealous choice mortals'
3 Wind
Fluty through leaves, reeds
Dusty roller clouding sky
Fair monsoon's friend best
4 Twister
Funnel-armoured quest
Storm to cyclone forwarded
Final slap he sweeps
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Rising Of The Storm
THE lake's dark breast
Is all unrest,
It heaves with a sob and a sigh.
Like a tremulous bird,
From its slumber stirred,
The moon is a-tilt in the sky.
From the silent deep
The waters sweep,
But faint on the cold white stones,
And the wavelets fly
With a plaintive cry
O'er the old earth's bare, bleak bones.
And the spray upsprings
On its ghost-white wings,
And tosses a kiss at the stars;
While a water-sprite,
In sea-pearls dight,
Hums a sea-hymn's solemn bars.
Far out in the night,
On the wavering sight
I see a dark hull loom;
And its light on high,
Like a Cyclops' eye,
Shines out through the mist and gloom.
Now the winds well up
From the earth's deep cup,
And fall on the sea and shore,
And against the pier
The waters rear
And break with a sullen roar.
Up comes the gale,
And the mist-wrought veil
Gives way to the lightning's glare,
And the cloud-drifts fall,
A sombre pall,
O'er water, earth, and air.
The storm-king flies,
His whip he plies,
And bellows down the wind.
The lightning rash
With blinding flash
Comes pricking on behind.
Rise, waters, rise,
And taunt the skies
With your swift-flitting form.
Sweep, wild winds, sweep,
And tear the deep
To atoms in the storm.
And the waters leapt,
And the wild winds swept,
And blew out the moon in the sky,
And I laughed with glee,
It was joy to me
As the storm went raging by!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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What Is This Between You And Me?
When dawn arrives, sun rises,
And daylight bristles awake,
Never asks; Who leaves an ache as keepsake? ,
Grateful for each day, that he didn’t forsake.
When it rains, the cuckoo sings,
The forest echoes with his cravings,
Never asks; Whose soul-wrenching greetings the rain brings?
Tying her mute existence with what heartstrings?
When the wind moans in sweet whispers,
In ripe orchards, where the fruit anchors,
Never asks; With what sweet nothings he casts his doubts? ,
But in deeper shades she flushes.
When the moon returns on the rung of stars,
The night in obeisance crawls, like hungry jaguars,
Never asks-questions about his whereabouts, all that in the darkness chars,
But steers to him on the shoulder's of the lodestar.
When the storm hurls thunder and rain,
Enduring the earth braces open and doesn’t complain,
Never asks; What havoc in this rage she sustains?
Content to know in her hands, lie the reins to his restrain.
When the butterfly flickers mingling colors,
The blossoms throw no tempers, till their contrast blurs,
Never asks; Who steals my colors and violates the sanctity of my lair?
With open arms to his designs she willing concurs.
When the clouds lie scattered & wander,
The hills try hard to delay their departure,
Never asks; Who rides off to what strange lands with my emotions?
She knows with her heavy on his heart he returns.
Now, you have the temerity to ask me;
What is this between you and me?
x-x-x
Seema.Joglekar
5th Dec-2009
poem by Seema joglekar
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Barcarolle
The stars are dimly seen among the shadows of the bay,
And lights that win are seen in strife with lights that die away.
The wave is very still -- the rudder loosens in our hand,
The zephyr will not fill our sail and waft us to the land;
O precious is the pause between the winds that come and go,
And sweet the silence of the shores between the ebb and flow.
No sound but sound of rest is on the bosom of the deep,
Soft as the breathing of a breast serenly hushed with sleep:
Lay by the ear; there is a voice at heart to sing or sigh --
O what shall be the choice of barcarolle or lullaby?
Say shall we sing of day or night, fair land or mighty ocean,
Of any rapturous delight or any dear emotion,
Of any joy that is on earth, or hope that is above--
The holy country of our birth, or any song of love?
Our heart in all our life is like the hand of one who steers
A bark upon an ocean rife with dangers and with fears;
The joys, the hopes, like waves or wings, bear up this life of ours --
Short as a song of all these things that make up all its hours.
Spread sail! For it is Hope today that like a wind new-risen
Doth waft us on a golden wing towards a new horizon,
That is the sun before our sight, the beacon for us burning,
That is the star in all our night of watching and of yearning.
Love is this thing that we pursue today, tonight, for ever,
We care not whither, know not who shall be at length the giver:
For Love, -- our life and all our years are cast upon the waves;
Our heart is as the hand that steers; -- but who is He that saves?
We ply with oars, we strive with every sail upon our mast --
We never tire, never fail -- and Love is seen at last:
A low and purple mirage like a coast where day is breaking --
Sink sail! for such a dream of Love is lost before the waking.
poem by Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy
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To
The Day was dying; his breath
Wavered away in a hectic gleam;
And I said, if Life's a dream, and Death
And Love and all are dreams -- I'll dream.
A mist came over the bay
Like as a dream would over an eye.
The mist was white and the dream was grey
And both contained a human cry,
The burthen whereof was "Love",
And it filled both mist and dream with pain,
And the hills below and the skies above
Were touched and uttered it back again.
The mist broke: down the rift
A kind ray shot from a holy star.
Then my dream did waver and break and lift --
Through it, O Love, shone thy face, afar.
So Boyhood sets: comes Youth,
A painful night of mists and dreams;
That broods till Love's exquisite truth,
The star of a morn-clear manhood, beams.
poem by Sidney Lanier
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Dedication
THE SEA gives her shells to the shingle,
The earth gives her streams to the sea;
They are many, but my gift is single,
My verses, the firstfruits of me.
Let the wind take the green and the grey leaf,
Cast forth without fruit upon air;
Take rose-leaf and vine-leaf and bay-leaf
Blown loose from the hair.
The night shakes them round me in legions,
Dawn drives them before her like dreams;
Time sheds them like snows on strange regions,
Swept shoreward on infinite streams;
Leaves pallid and sombre and ruddy,
Dead fruits of the fugitive years;
Some stained as with wine and made bloody,
And some as with tears.
Some scattered in seven years’ traces,
As they fell from the boy that was then;
Long left among idle green places,
Or gathered but now among men;
On seas full of wonder and peril,
Blown white round the capes of the north;
Or in islands where myrtles are sterile
And loves bring not forth.
O daughters of dreams and of stories
That life is not wearied of yet,
Faustine, Fragoletta, Dolores,
Félise and Yolande and Juliette,
Shall I find you not still, shall I miss you,
When sleep, that is true or that seems,
Comes back to me hopeless to kiss you,
O daughters of dreams?
They are past as a slumber that passes,
As the dew of a dawn of old time;
More frail than the shadows on glasses,
More fleet than a wave or a rhyme.
As the waves after ebb drawing seaward,
When their hollows are full of the night,
So the birds that flew singing to me-ward
Recede out of sight.
The songs of dead seasons, that wander
On wings of articulate words;
Lost leaves that the shore-wind may squander,
Light flocks of untameable birds;
Some sang to me dreaming in class-time
And truant in hand as in tongue;
For the youngest were born of boy’s pastime,
The eldest are young.
Is there shelter while life in them lingers,
Is there hearing for songs that recede,
Tunes touched from a harp with man’s fingers
Or blown with boy’s mouth in a reed?
Is there place in the land of your labour,
Is there room in your world of delight,
Where change has not sorrow for neighbour
And day has not night?
In their wings though the sea-wind yet quivers,
Will you spare not a space for them there
Made green with the running of rivers
And gracious with temperate air;
In the fields and the turreted cities,
That cover from sunshine and rain
Fair passions and bountiful pities
And loves without stain?
In a land of clear colours and stories,
In a region of shadowless hours,
Where earth has a garment of glories
And a murmur of musical flowers;
In woods where the spring half uncovers
The flush of her amorous face,
By the waters that listen for lovers,
For these is there place?
For the song-birds of sorrow, that muffle
Their music as clouds do their fire:
For the storm-birds of passion, that ruffle
Wild wings in a wind of desire;
In the stream of the storm as it settles
Blown seaward, borne far from the sun,
Shaken loose on the darkness like petals
Dropt one after one?
Though the world of your hands be more gracious
And lovelier in lordship of things
Clothed round by sweet art with the spacious
Warm heaven of her imminent wings,
Let them enter, unfledged and nigh fainting,
For the love of old loves and lost times;
And receive in your palace of painting
This revel of rhymes.
Though the seasons of man full of losses
Make empty the years full of youth,
If but one thing be constant in crosses,
Change lays not her hand upon truth;
Hopes die, and their tombs are for token
That the grief as the joy of them ends
Ere time that breaks all men has broken
The faith between friends.
Though the many lights dwindle to one light,
There is help if the heaven has one;
Though the skies be discrowned of the sunlight
And the earth dispossessed of the sun,
They have moonlight and sleep for repayment,
When, refreshed as a bride and set free,
With stars and sea-winds in her raiment,
Night sinks on the sea.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Grim Seasons
The sea shore is the gods lap
Where the timeless meet,
The grey ditch by the hedgerow
Is my heart’s slow beat,
The dark sky and the crow’s cry
And the gulls, slow wheeling,
Are sleep’s shroud in a gold cloud
On my eyes, drawn stealing.’
She turned, splintering crystal
In the dawn’s brisk chill,
The sharp scatter of silence
By the rook’s slow trill;
‘I left you for the grey day,
For the cliff’s grim seasons,
For the crisp breath, or a life’s quest
Of my own small reasons.’
‘The long shade of the sundial
For a day’s lost thought,
The moon, beamed in a cold room
Where a shadow’s caught.
I took flight for the still night
And the earth’s slow turning,
For the green hills and the clear rills
And the dream you’re torn in.’
21 February 1978
poem by David Lewis Paget
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The lotus eye
A lotus is born in muddy water
You cannot grow lotus anywhere else
A sage is born in a decadent world
Jesus never comes during any golden age
He came in an age harrowed by humbugs
A lotus has eyes
They are enamoured of the Sun
Jesus had lotus eyes
They could see the Sun and nothing else
He saw light and nothing else
He was always in light
The lotus is the Sun on earth
Jesus was the Sun on earth
When we pray to Jesus
Our prayer goes to a lotus
When we caress a lotus
We caress God the Son
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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Summer By The Lakeside: Lake Winnipesaukee
I. NOON.
White clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep,
Light mists, whose soft embraces keep
The sunshine on the hills asleep!
O isles of calm! O dark, still wood!
And stiller skies that overbrood
Your rest with deeper quietude!
O shapes and hues, dim beckoning, through
Yon mountain gaps, my longing view
Beyond the purple and the blue,
To stiller sea and greener land,
And softer lights and airs more bland,
And skies,--the hollow of God's hand!
Transfused through you, O mountain friends!
With mine your solemn spirit blends,
And life no more hath separate ends.
I read each misty mountain sign,
I know the voice of wave and pine,
And I am yours, and ye are mine.
Life's burdens fall, its discords cease,
I lapse into the glad release
Of Nature's own exceeding peace.
O welcome calm of heart and mind!
As falls yon fir-tree's loosened rind
To leave a tenderer growth behind,
So fall the weary years away;
A child again, my head I lay
Upon the lap of this sweet day.
This western wind hath Lethean powers,
Yon noonday cloud nepenthe showers,
The lake is white with lotus-flowers!
Even Duty's voice is faint and low,
And slumberous Conscience, waking slow,
Forgets her blotted scroll to show.
The Shadow which pursues us all,
Whose ever-nearing steps appall,
Whose voice we hear behind us call,--
That Shadow blends with mountain gray,
It speaks but what the light waves say,--
Death walks apart from Fear to-day!
Rocked on her breast, these pines and I
Alike on Nature's love rely;
And equal seems to live or die.
Assured that He whose presence fills
With light the spaces of these hills
No evil to His creatures wills,
The simple faith remains, that He
Will do, whatever that may be,
The best alike for man and tree.
What mosses over one shall grow,
What light and life the other know,
Unanxious, leaving Him to show.
II. EVENING.
Yon mountain's side is black with night,
While, broad-orhed, o'er its gleaming crown
The moon, slow-rounding into sight,
On the hushed inland sea looks down.
How start to light the clustering isles,
Each silver-hemmed! How sharply show
The shadows of their rocky piles,
And tree-tops in the wave below!
How far and strange the mountains seem,
Dim-looming through the pale, still light
The vague, vast grouping of a dream,
They stretch into the solemn night.
Beneath, lake, wood, and peopled vale,
Hushed by that presence grand and grave,
Are silent, save the cricket's wail,
And low response of leaf and wave.
Fair scenes! whereto the Day and Night
Make rival love, I leave ye soon,
What time before the eastern light
The pale ghost of the setting moon
Shall hide behind yon rocky spines,
And the young archer, Morn, shall break
His arrows on the mountain pines,
And, golden-sandalled, walk the lake!
Farewell! around this smiling bay
Gay-hearted Health, and Life in bloom,
With lighter steps than mine, may stray
In radiant summers yet to come.
But none shall more regretful leave
These waters and these hills than I
Or, distant, fonder dream how eve
Or dawn is painting wave and sky;
How rising moons shine sad and mild
On wooded isle and silvering bay;
Or setting suns beyond the piled
And purple mountains lead the day;
Nor laughing girl, nor bearding boy,
Nor full-pulsed manhood, lingering here,
Shall add, to life's abounding joy,
The charmed repose to suffering dear.
Still waits kind Nature to impart
Her choicest gifts to such as gain
An entrance to her loving heart
Through the sharp discipline of pain.
Forever from the Hand that takes
One blessing from us others fall;
And, soon or late, our Father makes
His perfect recompense to all!
Oh, watched by Silence and the Night,
And folded in the strong embrace
Of the great mountains, with the light
Of the sweet heavens upon thy face,
Lake of the Northland! keep thy dower
Of beauty still, and while above
Thy solemn mountains speak of power,
Be thou the mirror of God's love.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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In Memory of Edward Butler
A voice of grave, deep emphasis
Is in the woods to-night;
No sound of radiant day is this,
No cadence of the light.
Here in the fall and flights of leaves
Against grey widths of sea,
The spirit of the forests grieves
For lost Persephone.
The fair divinity that roves
Where many waters sing
Doth miss her daughter of the groves —
The golden-headed Spring.
She cannot find the shining hand
That once the rose caressed;
There is no blossom on the land,
No bird in last year’s nest.
Here, where this strange Demeter weeps —
This large, sad life unseen —
Where July’s strong, wild torrent leaps
The wet hill-heads between,
I sit and listen to the grief,
The high, supreme distress,
Which sobs above the fallen leaf
Like human tenderness!
Where sighs the sedge and moans the marsh,
The hermit plover calls;
The voice of straitened streams is harsh
By windy mountain walls;
There is no gleam upon the hills
Of last October’s wings;
The shining lady of the rills
Is with forgotten things.
Now where the land’s worn face is grey
And storm is on the wave,
What flower is left to bear away
To Edward Butler’s grave?
What tender rose of song is here
That I may pluck and send
Across the hills and seas austere
To my lamented friend?
There is no blossom left at all;
But this white winter leaf,
Whose glad green life is past recall,
Is token of my grief.
Where love is tending growths of grace,
The first-born of the Spring,
Perhaps there may be found a place
For my pale offering.
For this heroic Irish heart
We miss so much to-day,
Whose life was of our lives a part,
What words have I to say?
Because I know the noble woe
That shrinks beneath the touch —
The pain of brothers stricken low —
I will not say too much.
But often in the lonely space
When night is on the land,
I dream of a departed face —
A gracious, vanished hand.
And when the solemn waters roll
Against the outer steep,
I see a great, benignant soul
Beside me in my sleep.
Yea, while the frost is on the ways
With barren banks austere,
The friend I knew in other days
Is often very near.
I do not hear a single tone;
But where this brother gleams,
The elders of the seasons flown
Are with me in my dreams.
The saintly face of Stenhouse turns —
His kind old eyes I see;
And Pell and Ridley from their urns
Arise and look at me.
By Butler’s side the lights reveal
The father of his fold,
I start from sleep in tears, and feel
That I am growing old.
Where Edward Butler sleeps, the wave
Is hardly ever heard;
But now the leaves above his grave
By August’s songs are stirred.
The slope beyond is green and still,
And in my dreams I dream
The hill is like an Irish hill
Beside an Irish stream.
poem by Henry Kendall
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The Worship of Nature
The harp at Nature's advent strung
Has never ceased to play;
The song the stars of morning sung
Has never died away.
And prayer is made, and praise is given,
By all things near and far;
The ocean looketh up to heaven,
And mirrors every star.
Its waves are kneeling on the strand,
As kneels the human knee,
Their white locks bowing to the sand,
The priesthood of the sea!
They pour their glittering treasures forth,
Their gifts of pearl they bring,
And all the listening hills of earth
Take up the song they sing.
The green earth sends its incense up
From many a mountain shrine;
From folded leaf and dewy cup
She pours her sacred wine.
The mists above the morning rills
Rise white as wings of prayer;
The altar-curtains of the hills
Are sunset's purple air.
The winds with hymns of praise are loud,
Or low with sobs of pain, --
The thunder-organ of the cloud,
The dropping tears of rain.
With drooping head and branches crossed
The twilight forest grieves,
Or speaks with tongues of Pentecost
From all its sunlit leaves.
The blue sky is the temple's arch,
Its transept earth and air,
The music of its starry march
The chorus of a prayer.
So Nature keeps the reverent frame
With which her years began,
And all her signs and voices shame
The prayerless heart of man.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Sunset On The Bearcamp
A gold fringe on the purpling hem
Of hills the river runs,
As down its long, green valley falls
The last of summer's suns.
Along its tawny gravel-bed
Broad-flowing, swift, and still,
As if its meadow levels felt
The hurry of the hill,
Noiseless between its banks of green
From curve to curve it slips;
The drowsy maple-shadows rest
Like fingers on its lips.
A waif from Carroll's wildest hills,
Unstoried and unknown;
The ursine legend of its name
Prowls on its banks alone.
Yet flowers as fair its slopes adorn
As ever Yarrow knew,
Or, under rainy Irish skies,
By Spenser's Mulla grew;
And through the gaps of leaning trees
Its mountain cradle shows
The gold against the amethyst,
The green against the rose.
Touched by a light that hath no name,
A glory never sung,
Aloft on sky and mountain wall
Are God's great pictures hung.
How changed the summits vast and old!
No longer granite-browed,
They melt in rosy mist; the rock
Is softer than the cloud;
The valley holds its breath; no leaf
Of all its elms is twirled
The silence of eternity
Seems falling on the world.
The pause before the breaking seals
Of mystery is this;
Yon miracle-play of night and day
Makes dumb its witnesses.
What unseen altar crowns the hills
That reach up stair on stair?
What eyes look through, what white wings fan
These purple veils of air?
What Presence from the heavenly heights
To those of earth stoops down?
Not vainly Hellas dreamed of gods
On Ida's snowy crown!
Slow fades the vision of the sky,
The golden water pales,
And over all the valley-land
A gray-winged vapor sails.
I go the common way of all;
The sunset fires will burn,
The flowers will blow, the river flow,
When I no more return.
No whisper from the mountain pine
Nor lapsing stream shall tell
The stranger, treading where I tread,
Of him who loved them well.
But beauty seen is never lost,
God's colors all are fast;
The glory of this sunset heaven
Into my soul has passed,
A sense of gladness unconfined
To mortal date or clime;
As the soul liveth, it shall live
Beyond the years of time.
Beside the mystic asphodels
Shall bloom the home-born flowers,
And new horizons flush and glow
With sunset hues of ours.
Farewell! these smiling hills must wear
Too soon their wintry frown,
And snow-cold winds from off them shake
The maple's red leaves down.
But I shall see a summer sun
Still setting broad and low;
The mountain slopes shall blush and bloom,
The golden water flow.
A lover's claim is mine on all
I see to have and hold,--
The rose-light of perpetual hills,
And sunsets never cold!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The Genesis of the Butterfly
The dawn is smiling on the dew that covers
The tearful roses; lo, the little lovers
That kiss the buds, and all the flutterings
In jasmine bloom, and privet, of white wings,
That go and come, and fly, and peep and hide,
With muffled music, murmured far and wide.
Ah, the Spring time, when we think of all the lays
That dreamy lovers send to dreamy mays,
Of the fond hearts within a billet bound,
Of all the soft silk paper that pens wound,
The messages of love that mortals write
Filled with intoxication of delight,
Written in April and before the May time
Shredded and flown, playthings for the wind's playtime,
We dream that all white butterflies above,
Who seek through clouds or waters souls to love,
And leave their lady mistress in despair,
To flit to flowers, as kinder and more fair,
Are but torn love-letters, that through the skies
Flutter, and float, and change to butterflies
poem by Victor Hugo
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Indebted A Million and More!
A lifetime may fall short for a love to suffice,
What’s caught in twinkle of an eye, the heavens can’t revise
Names etched in gneiss, will bring not lost eternity,
Heed love, ebbing tides in destiny’s hand, may not always agree.
What journeyed miles that faraway look in your eyes burn,
With my first haul of kisses, it is from there I return,
There, when we first met, rich was I, with so much in store,
Smothered with near misses? Now you owe me a million and more!
It all began with consecrating a kiss uninhibited.
One for the sunshine smile, another for that look- contented,
One for the way of conveying quietly, shadows embracing,
One for a trick of thought, played graciously, me listening.
Grew manifold, when you tip-toed in my thoughts and stood vigil,
For times when you never tried to break my pride or bow my will,
For the give and take of glances and breaths caught,
And the times we went home with a song in our heart.
For the grief I gave all at once, one the salt of my tears,
That you resiliently bore, the other curdled in those sighing years.
Some martyred over those jealous fits and sleepless nights,
Some saved for times when in our fervor the sky ignites.
A hundred for breaking my morn, and startling dew,
Another for the noon bustle, to sear and not let the fumes show,
For evenings red halo-see a benediction hover,
For moonlit walks on avenues where shivering stars lower.
Thousand for steaming summers;
Heated sonnets, jealous fits, in restraining fight and muscle agur,
Bowers and meadows take a demure look, scorched in sun’s ardor,
Thousand for the wanton rite of spring;
When wind teasing plucks, flower-petals with the lover’s chant,
Great neural energy, over ablaze hills, resounding he love’s me, he love’s me not.
Thousand for the monsoons;
Eyes speak more than lips seal, what Insatiable green hunger meant,
A letdown of wetness and tears, wondering where the lightening went.
Thousand for brooding Autumn;
Trees in group hypnosis, drift fluff knee high,
Winds wail grief of many partings, every rustle bracing rushes by..
Thousand warmer for sordid winters;
In dawn’s flushed gathering light, flesh hurts and bones rattle,
Icicles dropped on our dreams, a reason to seek warmth and huddle.
Come into my life, a way to retrieve my debt I shall find,
To the circling seasons, good times devoid, how I foolishly blind,
While in bad times, you stood ground and my frivolities bore,
Both weighed you outshine, I fall short by score,
Indebted I am -millions and many more
Seema.Joglekar-23rd October-2011
poem by Seema joglekar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Had A Dream
I had a dream last night
Last night I had a dream
Everything was black and white
And it smelled like gasoline
We stood in the corner
And I held you tight
I kissed your mouth
Till my head got light
Last night when I had a dream
I had a dream last night
Last night I had a dream
Birds were flying left and right
Thru the light of a movie screen
Everyone was looking
For something to do
I even thought
I had a chance with you
Last night when I had a dream
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Want
To welcome you into my kingdom & shut out the sea,
Where on every cascading tree &sun-filled path,
sing chirpy birds & bumble bees,
To fill with their glee all your sensibilities,
An altar lit by your steadfast faith in me.
Here I slide down the walls of a flower cup,
Like the dew, collect in their receptacle
And catch you wink in the glint of the sun,
The intrigue in your eyes unload their burden.
Here rocks brood on the imperative to act,
Like your nearness binds me in a spell distraught,
Waving fields bare open to serene skies,
Only those in love could know of such wantonness.
Here I run my fingers through the satin grass,
the wind cannot break,
As I lay down, lost in their trampled immensity,
nothing can shake,
In a fog burned by the morning sun, wish you were there,
In its breath only your words come to warm the ache.
Here on a faint wind, the pining moon floats, dragging wispy clouds,
Carrying your voice, throws a soft light of stupor beneath,
To play in whispers around my shoulders,
Was that your laughter shading my grief?
Putting words to my feelings and embers under my feet.
Here at the edge of the cliff I live the dare,
Till you return every time you turn away,
Firm in my faith like the tawny leaf fluttering away,
Not giving in, even after the season’s languid sway.
Here expectant I count the scales of the mackerel sky,
Watch the lotus balance atop the water’s edge
Under the summer skies tamed into surrender by the rainbows,
With blossoms burst into easy laughter & easy tears,
in a measure of time’s wedge.
Here I rest on pillows stuffed with old spells of happy days,
Waking at night & muttering at dawn like the creatures of the night.
Every half shut bud in half a dream carries your smile to my lips,
A wonder that also holds the trusting butterflies aloft.
Here soar our dreams like colored birds, our playthings
The price of our lives the wax in our wings,
Today I want to lead you by the hand & take you there,
When I shall return to life without having lived
-Here to lie down in your shade-.
23rd October-2010
poem by Seema joglekar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Transplanted Rose Tree
Amid the flowers of a garden glade
A lovely rose tree smiled,
And the sunbeams shone, the zephyrs played,
’Round the gardens favorite child;
And the diamond dew-drops glistening fell
On each rose’s silken vest,
Whilst light winged bee and butterfly gay
On the soft leaves loved to rest.
But one morn while a sunbeam bright
Lit up its delicate bloom,
And a zephyr lightly hovered ’round,
On wings of sweet perfume,
A strong hand came, and ruthlessly
Tore up the parent tree,
And bore it off, with each fair young rose,
From butterfly, zephyr and bee.
What mattered it that an antique vase
Of Sèvres costly and old,
Was destined, henceforth, in royal State,
Its fair young form to hold?
What mattered it that the richest silks
Of the far famed Indian loom,
With priceless marbles paintings rare,
Adorned its prison room?
It even pined for the garden free,
For its pleasant friends of yore,
And brooded over the bitter thought,
It would never see them more:
And its young head daily lowlier drooped
Upon its sorrowing breast,
While it chafed against the kindly hand
That tended and caressed.
But Autumn came with angry storms,
With clouded and wintry skies—
Rudely it touched the lovely flowers,
And withered their brilliant dyes;
The sunbeam false hid its glowing glance,
Or with chilling coldness shone;
The zephyr fled to Southern climes,
And the flowers died alone
Then the rose tree looked on the gloomy earth,
On each withered tree and flower,
And it warmly blessed the loving care
Of its new, protecting power:—
No more it mourned past Summer joys,
But brightly blossomed on,
With beauty brighter than when once,
The garden’s queen, it shone.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kindness
Things are destined to be lost
To be broken
The leaves fall and rot
At the foot of the tree
The roots soon shrink
And become part
Of the indifference of the
Rocks and the soil
Things move out
And up
Like vapor and then
Change their forms to air
But there are those that weep
And keep
Whatever was lost and destroyed
The leaves they take with their hands
And the roots
They stroke with the toes of their feet
Caress and
Kindness their virtues
That humanity has soon discarded
They grow the seeds in their hearts
They keep the fire of love
Burning
And the earth and the sun and stars
All smile at them
They too grow and scatter and travel
To all the places of this earth
Their forms too many
The gods know
They too must grow and get the world
Of the grass of sorrow
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Goddess Guardian Of The Nightmare.
O Mother of love unseen
It seems as though I shall know no love till my muse in my arms
Away from the harm on another plain
I call upon the moon - female energies divine -
Bring me the princess of eternity.
The stars are flickering candlelight
Testament to a time long gone
For upon the canvas of the night
Are sewn for us scriptures lost.
No longer do the stars that shine exist to us
The constellations transforming.
How my heart swells with the thoughts of the past
Sages long forgotten
Men journeying within themselves without boundaries upon his acceptance of reality.
Feeding the beast of the labyrinth calling.
Ecstatic visions empowering
To dream and to believe is to never be deceived.
Through days unsleeping we lay lost to the memory of forgetting
The hours have dissolved into a solution of grim and soulless solitude.
I have not yet set foot beyond the ivory gates of dream time wandering
Yet I am aware of the shadows that fall.
The unseen court parades the night
A thousand spirits rise as demons loose within the child's imagination
Form as Gods within the twilight realm
Dividing dream time reality from the waking consciousness.
I remember the days we used to lay upon the barren fields of winters reign
I remember the games we would play over and over, again and again
And now, years from forgetting here I am regretting that naught has come to pass.
Are we those that forget we are alive?
The elders of the tribe are gathered
Silence breathes heavy on the woodland air.
Darkness stalks the land unforgiving
Enveloping in dank suffocation all that is held precious within the heart of man, .
For twenty years I have grown,
Seeking to know all that can be known
Where are the kings and queens of our kingdoms dream?
poem by David Lacey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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