En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Grandeur Of Ghosts

When I have heard small talk about great men
I climb to bed; light my two candles; then
Consider what was said; and put aside
What Such-a-one remarked and Someone-else replied.

They have spoken lightly of my deathless friends,
(Lamps for my gloom, hands guiding where I stumble,)
Quoting, for shallow conversational ends,
What Shelley shrilled, what Blake once wildly muttered ....

How can they use such names and be not humble?
I have sat silent; angry at what they uttered.
The dead bequeathed them life; the dead have said
What these can only memorize and mumble.

poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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The Dead Next Door

Watch the sky
For a reason why
Im safe here
Sunday it was part
Monday it was none
Monday was none
For the dead next door
One pair of silent terror reins
And were the dead next door
The heat of the day fades away
Fades into the night
The heat of the day
Offering a wedding
Suffering away
For the dead next door
You see
One error, silent terror
And were the dead next door
In animal land
And dark is in command
One thing you should know
Dont hear that knocking
Dont eat out of their hand
Dont stumble, die
You say
Dont stumble, cry
They see you and me
You and me
With the dead next door
You and me
With the dead next door
You and me
With the dead next door

song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Dead, All Dead

Memories, my memories
How long can you stay
To haunt my days
She came without a farthing
A babe without a name
So much ado about nothing
Is what shed try to say
So much ado my lover
So many games we played
Through every fleeted summer
Through every precious day
All dead all dead
All the dreams we had
And I wonder why I still live on
All dead all dead
And alone Im spared
My sweeter half instead
All dead
And gone
All dead...
All dead all dead
At the rainbows end
And still I hear her own sweet song
All dead all dead
Take me back again
You know my little friends
All dead
And gone
All dead and gone
Her ways are always with me
I wander all the while
But please you must forgive me
I am old but still a child
All dead all dead
But I should not grieve
In time it comes to everyone
All dead all dead
But in hope I breathe
Of course I dont believe
Youre dead
And gone
All dead
And gone

song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Small Talk

Its not the chapters he reads when youre feeling low down
Its not the touch of his skin when you kiss him goodnight
Its not the money he spends when you want to buy a daydream
And not that miracle smile that makes the sky bright
Its not the way his hands behave
When youve turned out the light
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen
Small, small small talk that makes you want to fly, yes it does
Its not the way he believes in you like a religion
Its not the thrill that you get when hes holding you tight
Its not the way his eyes persuade
You to stay the night
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen (just like that)
Small, small small talk that makes you feel like flying, yes it does
Information, heart and soul, a whisper, a word
Confessions that have to be heard
Small small talk
Come on now, come on now
Come on - you make it rock so heavenly
Come on now, come on now
Come on - you seem to talk so heavenly
Big words...
Small talk...
Its not the way his eyes persuade
You to stay the night
Its the small, small small talk that makes it all happen
Small, small small talk that makes you feel like flying, yes it does

song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You And I Saw Hawks Exchanging The Prey

They did the deed of darkness
In their own mid-light.

He plucked a gray field mouse
Suddenly in the wind.

The small dead fly alive
Helplessly in his beak,

His cold pride, helpless.
All she receives is life.

They are terrified. They touch.
Life is too much.

She flies away sorrowing.
Sorrowing, she goes alone.

Then her small falcon, gone.
Will not rise here again.

Smaller than she, he goes
Claw beneath claw beneath
Needles and leaning boughs,

While she, the lovelier
Of these brief differing two,
Floats away sorrowing,

Tall as my love for you,

And almost lonelier.

Delighted in the delighting,
I love you in mid-air,
I love myself the ground.

The great wings sing nothing
Lightly. Lightly fall.

poem by James Arlington Wright
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Dead And Broken

Too many things I've never spoken
I'm not feeling fine
I never told you what to do
I never made you a promise that you could hold me to
That'll be the day you see me crying
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
How many different faces can you show me?
How many times can you be right?
Another world of fantasy
Another reason for dramatizing everything
Taking it all in just one more time
I'm dying
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
Sorry to see that you're underestimated lately
I'd rather be dead and broken than living in your grace
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken

song performed by by Godsmack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Friends.... Old Friends......

Friends… old friends…
One sees how it ends.
A woman looks
Or a man lies,
And the pleasant brooks
And the quiet skies,
Ruined with brawling
And caterwauling,
Enchant no more
As they did before,
And so it ends
With friends.

Friends… old friends…
And what if it ends?
Shall we dare to shirk
What we live to learn?
It has done its work,
It has served its turn;
And, forgive and forget
Or hanker and fret,
We can be no more
As we were before.
When it ends, it ends
With friends.

Friends… old friends…
So it breaks, so it ends.
There let it rest!
It has fought and won,
And is still the best
That either has done.
Each as he stands
The work of its hands
Which shall be more
As he was before?…
What is it ends
With friends?

poem by William Ernest Henley
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Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. John (Chapter 11)

A man called Lazarus was ill,
Brother of Mary, Bethany;
This Mary had anointed Lord’s feet
By perfumed oil, dried by her hair!

So, Mary sent word to Jesus,
‘Master, the one you love is ill.’
(Meaning her brother Lazarus)

When Jesus heard, then He remarked,
‘This illness isn’t to end in death.
But for the glory of God’s works
And that the Son be glorified.’

Now Jesus loved Martha, Mary
And Lazarus who’d fallen ill;
He went to Judea later;
His disciples told Him, ‘Rabbi,
The Jews had wanted to stone you,
You want to go back to that place? ’

Then Jesus answered, ‘Are there not
Twelve hours by day for one to walk?
None stumble then for world has light.
But when he walks alone at night,
He stumbles as he has no sight!

Then Jesus said, ‘Friend Lazarus
Has gone asleep, let me wake him.’
They said, ‘If he sleeps, he’ll be saved! ’
But Jesus talked of deathly sleep,
While disciples, of slumber deep.

Jesus told, ‘Lazarus is dead! ’
Let’s go to him that you believe.
So, Thomas said, ‘Let’s die with him! ’

When Jesus reached Lazarus’ house,
He had died four days earlier.
Bethany lay two miles away!

Some Jews arrived to comfort them;
When Martha heard Jesus would come,
She went to meet; Mary sat home.

Then Martha told Him, ‘Lord, if you’d
Been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.’
‘But even now, I know whatev’r
You ask of God, He will give you.’

Jesus said, ‘Your brother will rise! ’
Martha replied, ‘Yes, Lord, I know,
He’ll resurrect on the last day.’

‘I am the resurrection, life! ’
Then Jesus said. ‘Whoev’r believes
In me, ev’n if he dies, will live!
And everyone who lives, believes
In me, will never die at all.
‘Do you believe this? ’ asked Jesus.

Then Martha replied, ‘Yes, my Lord.
I do believe you’re Son of God;
I know that you’re the Messiah,
The one who’s coming to the world!

She told her sister in secret,
‘The Teacher’s here and asks for you! ’
On hearing, Mary rose to greet.
But Jesus had not reached village.

When Mary saw Jesus, she fell
At his feet and said to Him, ‘Lord
If only you had been here then,
My brother would not be now dead.’

On seeing Mary and Jews weep,
Then Jesus perturbed, became sad.
He asked, ‘Where has he been entombed? ’

They said to Him, ‘Sir, come and see! ’
And Jesus wept while Jews all said,
‘Look, how He loved poor Lazarus! ’

But some remarked, ‘Could not the one
Who opened eyes of blind beggar,
Have done something to avoid death?

So, Jesus reached the place of tomb;
It was a cave with stone across;
Jesus said, ‘Take the stone away.
Then Martha said, ’Tis four days now,
Should there a stench be, all around? ’

Then Jesus asked, ‘Did I not tell
If you believe, God’s glory’s seen!
Then Jesus raised his eyes to Heav’n,
And said, ‘I thank you Father, God.
I know You always have heard me,
I said so, that they may believe.’

And having said this, Jesus cried,
‘Lazarus, Come out! ’ in voice loud.
The dead man came with hands, feet tied,
With burial bands and face cloth-wrapped.
So Jesus said, ‘Untie him soon! ’

Now many Jews who had come there,
Began to believe in Jesus.
But some went to the Pharisees,
And told them what he ‘ad done that day.

So, they convened the Sanhedrin,
And said, ‘What do we do hence-forth?
This man performs so many signs.’
If we leave Him alone for now,
All will believe in Him and Rome
Will take away, our nation whole.’

But one Caiaphas, high-priest that year
Remarked, ‘You know not anything,
Nor do you consider better
That one man dies, not more people
And whole nation may not perish,
And gather dispersed God’s children.’

They planned to kill Him, from that day!
So, Jesus didn’t walk in public,
And left for Ephraim, desert-town,
And there He stayed with disciples.

The Jewish Passover was near.
Many came to Jerusalem.
They looked for Jesus everywhere
And wondered if He will ev’r come.

For, Pharisees and chief priests all,
Had given orders to inform,
If they should come across Jesus,
So that, they could arrest Him soon.

Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-24-2007

poem by John Celes
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The Death of Poetry

Poetry is dead and God is alive.
I heard these words and began to cry.
Without poetry what would become of me,
Drowning in a sea of Christianity?

Poetry is dead and long let it lie
With its Thee and its Thy and its Thou and its Thine
May we never see another line
Of iambic pentameter with end-stopped rhymes.

Poetry is dead, and so it shall lay,
Mouldering at the pit of its shallow grave.
And no longer will they give a hoot
For the quatrain stanzas or the metered foot!

Poetry is dead at the bottom of the sea
With its anapests, dithyrambs, dactyls and spondees.
And also eight to sixteen lines
On your innermost feelings or the meaning of life.

Poetry is dead but how long will it stay
Before they resurrect it for another day?
Has it not been just a few years time
Since they said it was God who was dead—
-and poetry alive?

poem by Theresa Haffner
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Everybody Dance (The Dance Of The Dead)

As the sun sinks upon the horizon,
As the dark night creeps in,
The dead dance.
On the streets they roam,
Silent,
Alone.
Everybody dances,
The saints and the sinners,
Everybody dances,
To the sound of the rhythm,
Everybody dances,
The dance of the dead.

The dance of the dead goes on,
And on,
Never stops,
Never slows,
Time does not matter to the dead.
Everybody dances,
The poor and the rich,
Everybody dances,
To the cries to the babies,
Everybody dances,
The dance of the dead.

As your time goes up,
The dead dance into your room,
Filled with silent movements,
They twirl with grace,
And style
And ease.
They reach out their hands,
And you take it,
And join the dance of the dead.
Everybody dance,
The young and the old,
Everybody dance,
The music is playing,
Everybody dance,
To the dance of the dead.

C’mon,
Everybody dance,
Soldiers and lovers,
Oh,
Everybody dance,
To sound they cry,
So,
Everybody dance,
To the dance of the dead,
The dance of the dead.
Oh,
Everybody dances,
Because the dance never stops.

6/05/06

poem by Charlie F. Kane
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Dead In The Wombs

those same children
who died in the waters
that swallowed Atlantis....

those same children,
starving 'neath Africa's sun....
dead from the bombings

in Iraq, Afghanistan, and soon Iran....
their bodies thrown into dumpsters
here in the United States....

dead on the borders,
dead in the oil filled waters,
dead on the cocaine streets,

dead in the prisons...
dead in the colleges,
dead in the unemployment lines....

dead on the picket lines,
dead, handcuffed, and beaten....
dying, and dead, world crazy spinning...

as the 'light of the world'
sputters, and goes out....
dead in the wombs of the

homeless, hopeless, and forgotten...
dead by our hands!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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The light's in my head - Villanelle

There's a light in the sickroom that never goes dead,
Though daylight is dimming, through the still open curtain-
But the light's in my head; the light's in my head!

He lies in a stupor, but calls out from his bed;
And he never complains, but you fear that he's hurting-
There's a light in the sickroom that never goes dead.

She doesn't sleep nights, but sleeps daytimes instead;
Her breathing's still even, but death's near for certain-
But the light's in my head; the light's in my head!

First they said stroke, and then heart attack- dread!
With the new diagnosis, with death he is flirting-
There's a light in the sickroom that never goes dead.

There's cancer and heart disease, so lightly we tread;
It's bad news for sure- her aneurysm bursting! -
But the light's in my head; the light's in my head!

It's all here inside me now, all that I've said,
Now what's left in memory's darkness, I'm cursing;
There's a light in the sickroom that never goes dead-
And the light's in my head- the light's in my head!

poem by Patti Masterman
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Picture Of A Young Lady

When I was sitting, sad, and all alone,
Remembering youth and love for ever fled,
And many friends now resting with the dead,
While the still summer's light departing shone,
Like many sweet and silent summers gone;
Thou camest, as a vision, with a mien
And smile like those I once on earth had seen,
And with a voice of that remembered tone
Which I in other days, long since, had heard:
Like Peace approaching, when distempers fret
Most the tired spirit, thy fair form appeared;
And till I die, I never shall forget,--
For at thy footstep light, the gloom was cheered,--
Thy look and voice, oh! gentle Margaret.

poem by William Lisle Bowles
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The Only Son

O bitter wind toward the sunset blowing,
What of the dales tonight?
In yonder gray old hall what fires are glowing,
What ring of festal lights?

In the great window as the day was dwindling
I saw an old man stand;
His head was proudly held and his eyes kindling,
But the list shook in his hand.'

O wind of twilight, was there no word uttered,
No sound of joy or wail?

'A great fight and a good death,' he muttered;
'Trust him, he would not fail.''

What of the chamber dark where she was lying
For whom all life is done?

'Within her heart she rocks a dead child, crying
'My son, my little son.''

poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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The Light Through The Morning Window

THE LIGHT THROUGH THE MORNING WINDOW

The light through the morning window
The small leaves of the light green tree
The pale sky waiting behind everything
The night which is gone now.

All these failures one after the other,
Other names other destinies, greater than mine
The single singing I cannot hear
The great prophecies I will not realize.

Others who are more to me
Even than I am to myself.

The morning
The morning again
Words again
Trying to live again
A poem again perhaps.

In a life of many days
In which each small day
Its own struggle
And each night
A night which ends
With morning light.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Careless Word

A WORD is ringing thro' my brain,
It was not meant to give me pain;
It had no tone to bid it stay,
When other things had past away;
It had no meaning more than all
Which in an idle hour fall:
It was when first the sound I heard
A lightly uttered, careless word.

That word--oh! it doth haunt me now,
In scenes of joy, in scenes of woe;
By night, by day, in sun or shade,
With the half smile that gently played
Reproachfully, and gave the sound
Eternal power thro' life to wound.
There is no voice I ever heard,
So deeply fix'd as that one word.

When in the laughing crowd some tone,
Like those whose joyous sound is gone,
Strikes on my ear, I shrink--for then
The careless word comes back again.
When all alone I sit and gaze
Upon the cheerful home-fire blaze,
Lo! freshly as when first 'twas heard,
Returns that lightly uttered word.

When dreams bring back the days of old;
With all that wishes could not hold;
And from my feverish couch I start
To press a shadow to my heart--
Amid its beating echoes, clear
That little word I seem to hear:
In vain I say, while it is heard,
Why weep?--'twas but a foolish word.

It comes--and with it come the tears,
The hopes, the joys of former years;
Forgotten smiles, forgotten looks,
Thick as dead leaves on autumn brooks,
And all as joyless, though they were
The brightest things life's spring could share.
Oh! would to God I ne'er had heard
That lightly uttered, careless word!

It was the first, the only one
Of those which lips for ever gone
Breathed in their love--which had for me
Rebuke of harshness at my glee:
And if those lips were here to say,
'Beloved, let it pass away,'
Ah! then, perchance--but I have heard
The last dear tone--the careless word!

Oh! ye who, meeting, sigh to part,
Whose words are treasures to some heart,
Deal gently, ere the dark days come,
When earth hath but for one a home;
Lest, musing o'er the past, like me,
They feel their hearts wrung bitterly,
And, heeding not what else they heard,
Dwell weeping on a careless word.

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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The Era Of The Dead

They live to die!
Death, the longing of all men
They are born to die!
Fate, the companion of infants
In this era, the era of the dead.

They strip naked
Like in the garden of Eden
Where innocence ended
And righteousness melted
From the era of the dead

To make ends meet,
They meet the ends
The ends of life
A life of values and morals
And on streets, they lie naked

The era of the dead
Who insure their death
And dig their graves, the savings
To bury their souls, the wealth
Eternally in the pit of perdition.

poem by Timothy muggaga
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Dead & Broken

Too many things Ive never spoken
Im not feeling fine
I never told you what to do
I never made you a promise that you could hold me to
Thatll be the day you see me crying
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
How many faces can you show me?
How many times can you be right?
Another world of fantasy
Another reason for dramatizing everything
Taking it all in just one more time
Im dying
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Sorry to see that youre underestimated lately
Id rather be dead and broken than living in your grace
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken

song performed by by Godsmack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lines Written On Hearing The News Of The Death Of Napoleon

What! alive and so bold, O Earth?
Art thou not overbold?
What! leapest thou forth as of old
In the light of thy morning mirth,
The last of the flock of the starry fold?
Ha! leapest thou forth as of old?
Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled,
And canst thou move, Napoleon being dead?

How! is not thy quick heart cold?
What spark is alive on thy hearth?
How! is not HIS death-knell knolled?
And livest THOU still, Mother Earth?
Thou wert warming thy fingers old
O’er the embers covered and cold
Of that most fiery spirit, when it fled--
What, Mother, do you laugh now he is dead?

'Who has known me of old,' replied Earth,
'Or who has my story told?
It is thou who art overbold.'
And the lightning of scorn laughed forth
As she sung, 'To my bosom I fold
All my sons when their knell is knolled,
And so with living motion all are fed,
And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead.

'Still alive and still bold,' shouted Earth,
'I grow bolder and still more bold.
The dead fill me ten thousandfold
Fuller of speed, and splendour, and mirth.
I was cloudy, and sullen, and cold,
Like a frozen chaos uprolled,
Till by the spirit of the mighty dead
My heart grew warm. I feed on whom I fed.

'Ay, alive and still bold.' muttered Earth,
'Napoleon's fierce spirit rolled,
In terror and blood and gold,
A torrent of ruin to death from his birth.
Leave the millions who follow to mould
The metal before it be cold;
And weave into his shame, which like the dead
Shrouds me, the hopes that from his glory fled.'

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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What He Say

Ive seen many countries
Argue about human lives
But one thing that stays the same is
The clubs are always full at night
Pick out any far-out place
Like kenya or swaziland
Doesnt matter what the place
Theyll still be dancing to the band
(mumble mumble jumble)
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble)
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble) what he say?
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble) what he say?
(garble warble farble) lets dance!
Say youve found a homeland? (move to it, move to it)
Say youve found a clubland? (get to it, get to it)
Now youve got a song? (groove to it, groove to it)
Got to find a partner (just get to it, get to it)
(mumble mumble jumble)
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble)
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble) what he say?
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble) what he say?
(garble warble farble) lets dance!
Lets dance!
Ive seen many a race of people
Argue many things before
But there is one language that
Gets you understood for sure
Not a language of the mouth
Its only for the feet
Grab a russian by the hands
And he will feel the need
Thats right!
(mumble mumble jumble)
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble)
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble) what he say?
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble) what he say?
(garble warble farble) lets dance!
Lets dance!

song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shallow Grave

When I fall in endless sleep
I hope that I'll be buried deep
Let me be the one that fortune favours
Even good children got shallow graves
Throw another clown to the lions
Throw another Joan on the blaze
Cast me away on the cruel calm ocean
and leave me for days and days and days and days and days
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
I won't lie, I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Bless the poor 'cos like the rich
They all end up in a ditch
In this world of fools and knaves
Even good children got shallow graves
The tinker, the tailor, the fabulous five
Nobody gets out of this alive
Chorus
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down, dig me down, dig me down deep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave

song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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