Vestige
"This is the reality I need, the vestige of God in His creatures." Thomas Merton, When the Trees Say Nothing: Writings on Nature
Bright day,
seaward breezes
clearing the sky,
Can you feel the chill?
Can you hear sounds of
rushing trees,
of mockingbirds
calling
cawing crows?
Behind life's song
can you hear the beat,
the steady
basso continuo?
Oh, just gaze
hard enough
into the
living blue,
and be it!
You'll climb the
bright back of night
and enter into
the song -
the song
in the mind
of God.
poem by Steven Federle
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Cornish Lullaby
Out on the mountain over the town,
All night long, all night long,
The trolls go up and the trolls go down,
Bearing their packs and crooning a song;
And this is the song the hill-folk croon,
As they trudge in the light of the misty moon,--
This is ever their dolorous tune:
"Gold, gold! ever more gold,--
Bright red gold for dearie!"
Deep in the hill the yeoman delves
All night long, all night long;
None but the peering, furtive elves
See his toil and hear his song;
Merrily ever the cavern rings
As merrily ever his pick he swings,
And merrily ever this song he sings:
"Gold, gold! ever more gold,--
Bright red gold for dearie!"
Mother is rocking thy lowly bed
All night long, all night long,
Happy to smooth thy curly head
And to hold thy hand and to sing her song;
'T is not of the hill-folk, dwarfed and old,
Nor the song of the yeoman, stanch and bold,
And the burden it beareth is not of gold;
But it's "Love, love!--nothing but love,--
Mother's love for dearie!"
poem by Eugene Field
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Swing high and swing low
Swing high and swing low
While the breezes they blow -
It's off for a sailor thy father would go;
And it's here in the harbor, in sight of the sea,
He hath left his wee babe with my song and with me:
"Swing high and swing low
While the breezes they blow!"
Swing high and swing low
While the breezes they blow -
It's oh for the waiting as weary days go!
And it's oh for the heartache that smiteth me when
I sing my song over and over again:
"Swing high and swing low
While the breezes they blow!"
"Swing high and swing low " -
The sea singeth so,
And it waileth anon in its ebb and its flow;
And a sleeper sleeps on to that song of the sea
Nor recketh he ever of mine or of me!
"Swing high and swing low
While the breezes they blow -
'T was off for a sailor thy father would go!"
poem by Eugene Field
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Lonely Wind
When I'm needin' a friend I can talk to the wind
God I sure am glad that I found him
Sometimes he seems to be the only one beside me
Who can feel the Lord's breath all around him
Winter's cold frozen ice or a bright autumn day
On a warm summer night you can hear him say
Cry for me, sigh for me, sad breezes flow
Stay for me, play for me, the song my friends will know
My lonely wind must blow
Mighty friend that is mine, can you give me a sign?
He'll leave nothing but only to hear him
I've seen the tall trees bend low when his mighty winds blow
And that's all the more reason I fear him
Hear him call for the earth lonely I can feel his great pain
But on the eve of this day
I'll join in his refrain
When I'm needing a friend I'll remember the wind
And my life here with the breezes of sorrow
I'll be leaving him soon 'cause I've got to make room
For the lonely that will find him tomorrow
On a black stormy night in your bosom I'll cling
And I'll know I've found love and the last song we'll sing
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Far Away
Walking out on the shore
Casting stones at deep blue gazing eyes
Circles open the door
Loving faces start to rise
Sometimes I feel I'm drifting far away
And I can hear a song from far away
A song that will be living on and on
And you're the one I'll sing it to
Sahara sand in my eyes
Longing for some rain to wash them clear
The sun won't give me no smile
If my love won't bum the fear
And if it's only a dream
I don't wanna be a seer of your kind
If it's reality
You just keep on dreaming blind
Sometimes I feel I'm drifting far away
And I can hear a song from far away
A song that will be living on and on
Some day I'm gonna sing it all along
song performed by by Zeno
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dance with Me in The Key of Life
Holding the strings of vibes
We move to dance of life
When I look I see your essence
In space now empty
Quiet where the shout of whisper
Voice unheard in heart beats
Come here and dance
Hear the song of my mind
Dance to my beat in life
Let me hold you close to me
I feel my song is you
I want to sing you play to you
My beautiful song you be
Let me turn you
In step with my life
Move with me to music of life
Dance to pain of life
To joy of reality
The song for us to dance
Your moans of pleasure
Move me to love you
I now want to dance with you
Our finger touch our lip meet
Kissing to beats of jazz before
The blue come down on my soul
On I am coming to be true
To need what you be for me
Let just dance to our song
What the matter I’m the same as
Before your beats is my beat
Come dance with me come need me
I wait for you to know
I am for you only
Dance come dance your story with me
Move to life up and down
Dance with me I need you to dance
The dance of life in song of love
poem by George Jerone Jefferson
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Saint
Louis Tiffany and Company, 'Dogwood' Design Window: 1910-1915.
"The pale flowers of the dogwood outside this window are saints. The little yellow flowers that nobody notices on the edge of that road are saints looking up into the face of God." Merton, Thomas, When the Trees Say Nothing: Writings on Nature
Her black eyes gaze
with pleasure.
My hand
flows slowly over her sinew,
ears, fur; she purrs in praise
that life is right,
hunger sated,
love remains.
Looking into her eyes
I see a flame
beyond her understanding
beyond my understanding:
the spark
of the being
freely given,
freely accepted.
poem by Steven Federle
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Night Thought
The world around is sleeping,
The stars are bright o'erhead,
The shades of myalls weeping
Upon the sward are spread;
Among the gloomy pinetops
The fitful breezes blow,
And their murmurs seem the music
Of a song of long ago;
Soft, passionate, and wailing
Is the tender old refrain -
With a yearning unavailing -
"Will he no come back again?"
The camp-fire sparks are flying
Up from the pine-log's glow,
The wandering wind is sighing
That ballad sweet and low;
The drooping branches gleaming
In the firelight, sway and stir;
And the bushman's brain is dreaming
Of the song she sang, and her.
And the murmurs of the forest
Ring home to heart and brain,
As in the pine is chorused
"Wi11 he no come back again?"
poem by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant
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If Trees Could Talk
If trees could talk, what would they say?
That would definitely be question of the day.
They'd say, "Help us! Help us! We're being chopped down! "
That wouldn't help as our oxygen would frown.
They'd say, "Help us! We're being turned into furniture! "
That doesn't sound like much of an adventure.
They'd say, "Help us! Our branches are losing leaves! "
That shouldn't be the case until Christmas Eve.
If trees could talk, what would they say?
They'd say, "We watch the children who like to play."
There are some nice things too that trees would utter,
Like, "We're as important to life as bread is to butter."
Sadly, trees are like some of us; they speak in silence.
But do they really deserve to be treated with violence?
poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
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Speak Roughly to Your Little Boy
And with that she
began nursing her child again, singing a sort of
lullaby to it as she did so, and giving it a vio
lent shake at the end of every line: -- --
"Speak roughly to your little boy,
And beat him when he sneezes;
He only does it to annoy,
Because he knows it teases."CHORUS
(in which the cook and the baby joined): -- -- "Wow! wow! wow!"While the Duchess sang the second verse of
the song, she kept tossing the baby violently up
and down, and the poor little thing howled so,
that Alice could hardly hear the words: -- --
"I speak severely to my boy,
I beat him when he sneezes;
For he can thoroughly enjoy
The pepper when he pleases!" CHORUS"Wow! wow! wow!"
poem by Lewis Carroll
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Intimacy
I hear people say, "I love my iPhone, "
Or, "I love drinking a Starbucks coffee."
Sometimes: "I love my Versace cologne, "
And also: "I love having this money."
I hear people say, "I love my Walmart, "
Or, "I love the drive-thru at Taco Bell."
"I love my TV. It's state of the art."
"I love the shoes that Nike has to sell."
I hear this: "I love American Idol, "
And, "I love a nice, cold Budweiser."
"I love medicines such as Demerol."
And, "I love my internet provider."
Yet, one thing I don't hear is, "I love you."
Saying that is too intimate to do.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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A Song & Dance
Well bring on the band
And the melody man
Let the mockingbirds sing along
Its a wonderful life
And the night is young
Well ladies and gents
The gala presents
A symphony in disguise
Its a wonderful thing
The clouds in your eyes
Ill do my song and dance for your this night
Ill sing you things you came to hear
Ill do my song and dance for you this night
Id walk a mile to see you cheer
Well life is a song
That goes on and on
From pittsburgh to peru
Its a wonderful world
Here with you
Ill do my song and dance for your this night
Ill sing you things you came to hear
Ill do my song and dance for you this night
Id walk a mile to see you cheer
This is my song and dance for you this night
Ive walked a mile to see you cheer
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grandfather Says
"Sit in my hand."
I'm ten.
I can't see him,
but I hear him breathing
in the dark.
It's after dinner playtime.
We're outside,
hidden by trees and shrubbery.
He calls it hide-and-seek,
but only my little sister seeks us
as we hide
and she can't find us,
as grandfather picks me up
and rubs his hands between my legs.
I only feel a vague stirring
at the edge of my consciousness.
I don't know what it is,
but I like it.
It gives me pleasure
that I can't identify.
It's not like eating candy,
but it's just as bad,
because I had to lie to grandmother
when she asked,
"What do you do out there?"
"Where?" I answered.
Then I said, "Oh, play hide-and-seek."
She looked hard at me,
then she said, "That was the last time.
I'm stopping that game."
So it ended and I forgot.
Ten years passed, thirtyfive,
when I began to reconstruct the past.
When I asked myself
why I was attracted to men who disgusted me
I traveled back through time
to the dark and heavy breathing part of my life
I thought was gone,
but it had only sunk from view
into the quicksand of my mind.
It was pulling me down
and there I found grandfather waiting,
his hand outstretched to lift me up,
naked and wet
where he rubbed me.
"I'll do anything for you," he whispered,
"but let you go."
And I cried, "Yes," then "No."
"I don't understand how you can do this to me.
I'm only ten years old,"
and he said, "That's old enough to know."
It's Just A Song (Lyric) :
You hear the sound of the song.
It's coming on real strong.
It gives you a sense of strength.
it filters through the air.
It lifts you off the ground.
We hear from town to town.
It's just a song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
it's just a song.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It takes you out in space.
Closer to second base.
It follows through so cool.
The smoothest thing for you.
A sound that sounds so clear.
A sound you'll want to hear.
It's just a song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It's just a song.
It's just a-song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It sends you through the air.
A sound that makes you high.
It makes you feel so good.
A sound that always should.
Just lifts you off the ground.
We hear from town to town.
It's just a-song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It's just a song.
It's just a-song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
it's just a song..
Song-Lyric-Poetry by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1989,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
See>>www.edwardspoetry.com
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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My Lost Youth
Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song
Is haunting my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
And catch, in sudden gleams,
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,
And islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my boyish dreams.
And the burden of that old song,
It murmurs and whispers still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the black wharves and the ships,
And the sea-tides tossing free;
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.
And the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the bulwarks by the shore,
And the fort upon the hill;
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,
And the bugle wild and shrill.
And the music of that old song
Throbs in my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the sea-fight far away,
How it thundered o'er the tide!
And the dead captains, as they lay
In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay
Where they in battle died.
And the sound of that mournful song
Goes through me with a thrill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I can see the breezy dome of groves,
The shadows of Deering's Woods;
And the friendships old and the early loves
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves
In quiet neighborhoods.
And the verse of that sweet old song,
It flutters and murmurs still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the school-boy's brain;
The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on, and is never still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
Strange to me now are the forms I meet
When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,
And with joy that is almost pain
My heart goes back to wander there,
And among the dreams of the days that were,
I find my lost youth again.
And the strange and beautiful song,
The groves are repeating it still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Young Fellow My Lad
"Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad,
On this glittering morn of May?"
"I'm going to join the Colours, Dad;
They're looking for men, they say."
"But you're only a boy, Young Fellow My Lad;
You aren't obliged to go."
"I'm seventeen and a quarter, Dad,
And ever so strong, you know."
* * * *
"So you're off to France, Young Fellow My Lad,
And you're looking so fit and bright."
"I'm terribly sorry to leave you, Dad,
But I feel that I'm doing right."
"God bless you and keep you, Young Fellow My Lad,
You're all of my life, you know."
"Don't worry. I'll soon be back, dear Dad,
And I'm awfully proud to go."
* * * *
"Why don't you write, Young Fellow My Lad?
I watch for the post each day;
And I miss you so, and I'm awfully sad,
And it's months since you went away.
And I've had the fire in the parlour lit,
And I'm keeping it burning bright
Till my boy comes home; and here I sit
Into the quiet night.
* * * *
"What is the matter, Young Fellow My Lad?
No letter again to-day.
Why did the postman look so sad,
And sigh as he turned away?
I hear them tell that we've gained new ground,
But a terrible price we've paid:
God grant, my boy, that you're safe and sound;
But oh I'm afraid, afraid."
* * * *
"They've told me the truth, Young Fellow My Lad:
You'll never come back again:
(Oh God! the dreams and the dreams I've had,
and the hopes I've nursed in vain!)
For you passed in the night, Young Fellow My Lad,
And you proved in the cruel test
Of the screaming shell and the battle hell
That my boy was one of the best.
"So you'll live, you'll live, Young Fellow My Lad,
In the gleam of the evening star,
In the wood-note wild and the laugh of the child,
In all sweet things that are.
And you'll never die, my wonderful boy,
While life is noble and true;
For all our beauty and hope and joy
We will owe to our lads like you."
poem by Robert William Service
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O Nightingale! Thou Surely Art
O Nightingale! thou surely art
A creature of a "fiery heart":--
These notes of thine--they pierce and pierce;
Tumultuous harmony and fierce!
Thou sing'st as if the God of wine
Had helped thee to a Valentine;
A song in mockery and despite
Of shades, and dews, and silent night;
And steady bliss, and all the loves
Now sleeping in these peaceful groves.
I heard a Stock-dove sing or say
His homely tale, this very day;
His voice was buried among trees,
Yet to be come at by the breeze:
He did not cease; but cooed--and cooed;
And somewhat pensively he wooed:
He sang of love, with quiet blending,
Slow to begin, and never ending;
Of serious faith, and inward glee;
That was the song -- the song for me!
poem by William Wordsworth
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The Book of LIfe
"Perhaps the book of life, in the end, is the book of what one has lived and if one has lived nothing, he is not in the book of life. " Merton, Thomas, When the Trees Say Nothing: Writings on Nature
Turn the pages
past the flashy cover
beyond sincere dedications;
what do you
read?
Are there tragedies
lurking in your leafy folds?
Do you struggle, oh Hero,
with sirens and one-
eyed peep-
ing Toms?
Are you triumphant?
In your brief tale,
do you satisfy
harried Plot's demands?
Are you happy
with your climax, your
denoue-
ment?
Or, with eyes moist and red,
at last do you drop
your ragged volume
to the musty cellar floor,
and wonder,
what happened?
poem by Steven Federle
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I Can Hear Your Heartbeat
In the silence of the side street
In the whisper of the night
From the darkness of the empty hours
To the early morning light
From the hustle down on main street
With all it's lights so bright
To the trucker on the highway
Pressing through the night
I can hear you heartbeat
I can hear you heartbeat
Girl, the sound of you is so sweet
To me
And i'm sailing on your wind song
Oh, i can feel the summer breeze
You've got me walking on my tiptoes
You've got me standing on my knees
From the mills way down in pittsburgh
To the clubs of gay paris
Ah, no matter where i roam, girl,
You can always get to me
I can hear you heartbeat
I can hear you heartbeat
Girl, the sound of you is so sweet
To me
We got freezing coca-cola
We got anything you want
I moving on that back beat
Girl, but it's you that sings the song
'cos i can hear you heartbeat
I can hear you heartbeat
The sound of you is so sweet
To me
Oh i still hear your heartbeat
Yea i still hear your heartbeat
Girl, the sound of you is so sweet,
To me
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Can you hear my soul sing?
The sounds of my soul are a symphony,
always a lilting melody.
There's never a minor chord to interfere
with all the sweet tones that I hear.
The quiet reflections are the rests
that pause in its ongoing quest
to proceed with violin strings so sweet
to heal the pierces that I meet.
The harps and orchestral sounds
allow my soul its leaps and bounds.
And the basso profundo is your touch
which reaches my soul in a tender clutch.
The treble sounds reach out to you
as only I can give to you.
For my soul has always sung a song
and consoled my body as I moved along.
I can hear it wherever I go.
Can you hear my soul sing?
I will wish it so.
Listen my love so you can hear
the song that I am for you, my dear
poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Song Of Comfort
"Sleep, weary ones, while ye may --
Sleep, oh, sleep!"
Eugene Field.
Thro' May time blossoms, with whisper low,
The soft wind sang to the dead below:
"Think not with regret on the Springtime's song
And the task ye left while your hands were strong.
The song would have ceased when the Spring was past,
And the task that was joyous be weary at last."
To the winter sky when the nights were long
The tree-tops tossed with a ceaseless song:
"Do ye think with regret on the sunny days
And the path ye left, with its untrod ways?
The sun might sink in a storm cloud's frown
And the path grow rough when the night came down."
In the grey twilight of the autumn eves,
It sighed as it sang through the dying leaves:
"Ye think with regret that the world was bright,
That your path was short and your task was light;
The path, though short, was perhaps the best
And the toil was sweet, that it led to rest."
poem by John McCrae
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