Hidden Regions
Hidden regions of the Soul...
Emulate the shine of starry night...
Lending to a curtsy and bow--
The Light flows ever bright;
Aura's teem with glad filled splendour...
A circlet observed 'round messengers head-
Gossemer sings on delicate wings...
In our words oft' left unsaid;
Glory finds its loving grace-
Hidden in regions of ones Soul...
Guidance comes from Divine Inspiration...
Leading to fulfillment of lifes Godly goal;
Gladness beams itself most brillant...
In hidden regions of Souls Domain...
Directing us ever onward--
Far away from evils bane;
poem by Theodora Onken
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Celtic Spring
Gotta spread the news in the regions again
Im gonna sing my blues in the regions again
Gonna blow my fuse cause I wanna cut loose
In the regions again
Wanna dance by you by the light of the moon
I wanna see you there on a bright afternoon
I wanna sing my song, wont you play me the tune
In the regions again
In the celtic spring
In the celtic spring
Wont you come and go
Wanna go to the regions again
Wanna go to the regions again
I gotta go to the regions again
In the celtic spring
In the celtic spring
Wont you come and go
Gotta spread the news in the regions again
Im gonna sing my blues in the regions again
I wanna blow my fuse cause I wanna cut loose
In the regions again
Gonna dance with you by the light of the moon
Wanna see you there on a bright afternoon
I wanna sing my song, wont you play me the tune
In the regions again
In the regions again
In the regions again
In the regions again
In the regions again
In the regions again
In the regions again
In the celtic spring
In the celtic spring
Wont you come and go
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tonight stars do twinkle (English sonnet)
Tonight stars do twinkle with their glowing light
while the wonders from God's hand do shine
and some are dim and some are white and bright
as they display a power Godly and divine
and from the moment they did begin
every night they do find their way
as Godly beacons to a world of sin
until the very break of day
while constantly they do glow
and in the darkness do appear
as if some hidden purpose they do know,
as if to them constantly Godly power is near
as they are shining always sparkling
and to onlookers some wonder and joy they do bring
poem by Gert Strydom
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Metaphors of A Free Poet
Leaves shine their best
In the fall,
When they are dying.
Days grown cold
Are left behind,
While the sky comes around to crying.
Shadows can only show
True beauty,
Scattered in rays of the sun's light.
While nature's darkest picture
Is the moon hidden behind clouds,
On a chilled and rainy night.
What sets the soul
Of the poet free?
- the lack of law to conformity -
To bend and blend at will
Time with eternity;
Outter inspiration with inner ability.
Some times (with surprise) arrive
With no name,
Leaving only questions to ponder
Why they came.
Words in cryptic ways
May design delicate days,
Adorned with wonders so brief
Bringing just the slightest spiritual relief.
If even one soul
May find,
In some word I've pressed
A small peace of mind,
Or see just a glimpse
Of beauty so divine,
Then what I have sought
Of all that I feel,
(written metaphorically)
Shall finally become real.
This beyond all else
Is what sets the soul free,
Within the likes
Of a simple poet... like me.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Extract From The Conclusion Of A Poem Composed In Anticipation Of Leaving School
DEAR native regions, I foretell,
From what I feel at this farewell,
That, wheresoe'er my steps may tend,
And whensoe'er my course shall end,
If in that hour a single tie
Survive of local sympathy,
My soul will cast the backward view,
The longing look alone on you.
Thus, while the Sun sinks down to rest
Far in the regions of the west,
Though to the vale no parting beam
Be given, not one memorial gleam,
A lingering light he fondly throws
On the dear hills where first he rose.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Soul Sparks Of Imagination Light Hunted
soul is flying through night skies
of God’s creation now
through night sky of heaven’s
star mapped regions
soul roams
like a firefly
a spark
of light
beauty
is beheld
in light
spans
bubble bursts
of imagination
sparks flit
through possibility
spaces
which souls
will Satan
entice lure
trap hunt
down burst
destroy
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Hidden Talent
Written by gerry beckley, 1998
Found on human nature.
Just like a person from another world
My eyes can see inside you, little girl
I see things that you dont want to see
I see things youre trying to hide from me
Im just trying to make you understand
All the ways you can affect this man
From the moment that you came in touch
With the power there to burn so much
Youve got hidden talent (yeah)
I bet youre gonna find some hidden talent, oh
You know your past is whats been bugging you
If youre ready girl ... do what you gotta do
Look for your life between the lines
Bad directions and poor designs
Youve got hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
I bet youre gonna find some hidden talent, oh
Hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
Check it out you ... got it, hidden talent, oh
With the advantage of perspective i
See theres more to you than meets the eye
But now the time must come to spread your wings and fly
Yeah (hidden talent) yeah
Hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
I bet youre gonna find some hidden talent, oh
Hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
Check it out ... you got it, hidden talent, oh
Hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
Affair without warning
Hidden talent, mmm (mmm)
Hidden talent (hidden talent, yeah)
I bet youre gonna find some hidden talent, oh
(fade)
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lament
Where are those dazzling hills touched by the sun,
Those crags in childhood that I used to climb?
Hidden, hidden under mist is yonder mountain,
Hidden is the heart.
A day of cloud, a lifetime falls between,
Gone are the heather moors and the pure stream,
Gone are the rocky places and the green,
Hidden, hidden under sorrow is yonder mountain,
Hidden, hidden.
O storm and gale of tears, whose blinding screen
Makes weather of grief, snow's drifting curtain
Palls th'immortal heights once seen.
Hidden, hidden is the heart,
Hidden, hidden is the heart.
poem by Kathleen Jessie Raine
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Ode. Written On The Blank Page Before Beaumont And Fletcher's Tragi-Comedy 'The Fair Maid Of The Inn
Bards of Passion and of Mirth,
Ye have left your souls on earth!
Have ye souls in heaven too,
Doubled-lived in regions new?
Yes, and those of heaven commune
With the spheres of sun and moon;
With the noise of fountains wondrous,
And the parle of voices thund'rous;
With the whisper of heaven's trees
And one another, in soft ease
Seated on Elysian lawns
Browsed by none but Dian's fawns;
Underneath large blue-bells tented,
Where the daisies are rose-scented,
And the rose herself has got
Perfume which on earth is not;
Where the nightingale doth sing
Not a senseless, tranced thing,
But divine melodious truth;
Philosophic numbers smooth;
Tales and golden histories
Of heaven and its mysteries.
Thus ye live on high, and then
On the earth ye live again;
And the souls ye left behind you
Teach us, here, the way to find you,
Where your other souls are joying,
Never slumber'd, never cloying.
Here, your earth-born souls still speak
To mortals, of their little week;
Of their sorrows and delights;
Of their passions and their spites;
Of their glory and their shame;
What doth strengthen and what maim.
Thus ye teach us, every day,
Wisdom, though fled far away.
Bards of Passion and of Mirth,
Ye have left your souls on earth!
Ye have souls in heaven too,
Double-lived in regions new!
poem by John Keats
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Hidden
Hidden away I am.
Locked in my world of dispare.
I have to hide away.
Its safer that way.
No one can get me.
I can hide my pain.
Its all well hidden to the human life.
All hidden deep inside of me.
Hidden its all hidden.
Ive hidden myself away.
Hidden my life in my world.
Just hidden it all is.
Its best that way
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Ode
Bards of Passion and of Mirth,
Ye have left your souls on earth!
Have ye souls in heaven too,
Double lived in regions new?
Yes, and those of heaven commune
With the spheres of sun and moon;
With the noise of fountains wound'rous,
And the parle of voices thund'rous;
With the whisper of heaven's trees
And one another, in soft ease.
Seated on Elysian lawns
Brows'd by none but Dian's fawns;
Underneath large blue-bells tented,
Where the daisies are rose-scented,
And the rose herself has got
Perfume which on earth is not;
Where the nightingale doth sing
Not a senseless, tranced thing,
But divine melodious truth;
Philosophic numbers smooth;
Tales and golden histories
Of heaven and its mysteries.
Thus ye live on high, and then
On the earth ye live again;
And the souls ye left behind you
Teach us, here, the way to find you,
Where your other souls are joying,
Never slumber'd, never cloying.
Here, your earth-born souls still speak
To mortals, of their little week;
Of their sorrows and delights;
Of their passions and their spites;
Of their glory and their shame;
What doth strengthen and what maim.
Thus ye teach us, every day,
Wisdom, though fled far away.
Bards of Passion and of Mirth,
Ye have left your souls on earth!
Ye have souls in heaven too,
Double-lived in regions new!
poem by John Keats
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Bards of Passion and of Mirth, written on the Blank Page before Beaumont and Fletcher's Tragi-Comedy 'The Fair Maid of the Inn
BARDS of Passion and of Mirth,
Ye have left your souls on earth!
Have ye souls in heaven too,
Doubled-lived in regions new?
Yes, and those of heaven commune
With the spheres of sun and moon;
With the noise of fountains wondrous,
And the parle of voices thund'rous;
With the whisper of heaven's trees
And one another, in soft ease
Seated on Elysian lawns
Browsed by none but Dian's fawns;
Underneath large blue-bells tented,
Where the daisies are rose-scented,
And the rose herself has got
Perfume which on earth is not;
Where the nightingale doth sing
Not a senseless, tranced thing,
But divine melodious truth;
Philosophic numbers smooth;
Tales and golden histories
Of heaven and its mysteries.
Thus ye live on high, and then
On the earth ye live again;
And the souls ye left behind you
Teach us, here, the way to find you,
Where your other souls are joying,
Never slumber'd, never cloying.
Here, your earth-born souls still speak
To mortals, of their little week;
Of their sorrows and delights;
Of their passions and their spites;
Of their glory and their shame;
What doth strengthen and what maim.
Thus ye teach us, every day,
Wisdom, though fled far away.
Bards of Passion and of Mirth,
Ye have left your souls on earth!
Ye have souls in heaven too,
Double-lived in regions new!
poem by John Keats
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Stimulate
(an acrostic)
Sanity awaits those minds that
travel to regions uncharted vast
imagining images inking pages
mysterious and mystical all
until visions release their reason
like books with words finally there
All’s needed is a dreamers mind
to taste the hidden worlds and
enjoy the sanity feast. Welcome
Small Things Bother Me
He wore dark glasses I could not see his eyes
And the mirror to his soul he did disguise
He hid from the World his personality
Without the eyes a face you only see.
Perhaps his eyes from the bright sun he shade
The main reason why dark glasses are made
And though he lives nearby him I shall never get to know
As he wears dark glasses rain or sun shine or snow.
Any acknowledgement of me he never seems to show
And we pass each other by without saying hello
Through his dark glasses into my soul he peer
And he's still a stranger though to me he lives near.
Perhaps I'm small in ways and small things get to me
But it bothers me when others eyes I cannot see
Whether their eyes be blue, brown, green or grey who can say
As the mirror to their soul behind dark glasses hidden away.
I see him often though not every day
And his eyes behind dark glasses always hidden away
The mirror of his soul is well hidden from me,
Perhaps I'm small and small things bother me.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In Memoriam
A gentle loving thoughtful boy,
But happy gay and bright:
A gleam of sunshine from the sky
That filled a home with light.
And whether busied with his play
Throughout the passing summer day,
Or sleepless in the night
A simple song by children sung,
For ever in his memory rung,
Found gleeful utterance from his tongue
And filled him with delight —
'Jesus loves me — He will stay
Close beside me all the way.'
But now across the morning sky
The shade of night has rolled —
Lay all his little playthings by,
His hands are still and cold.
His loving eyes once bright as day
Are turning to their former clay —
No more:— the tale is told:
The soul has left that pulseless breast
For regions of eternal rest.
Ay but to die — a child, alone
Without a guard or guide
To launch into the vast unknown
Where shapeless phantoms glide,
To cross the gulf no bridge can span
To realms unseen by living man
All strange and yet untried.
With no familiar loved one near
To charm away his childish fear,
And give him one soft word of cheer
To break the dreary void.
Alas! conjecture seems to swim
And reason waxes faint and dim,
But faith affirms 'tis well with him
Whatever may betide.
Jesus loves him — He will stay
Close beside him all the way.
(February, 1879.)
poem by Joseph Furphy
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God's messangers
I witnessed many bright stars in the sky
I tried to pick their numbers but could not try
They were countless in numbers and in depth hidden by vastness
With permanent existence and hung on solid base
Who came first on this earth as god's messenger?
Why was almighty in need to send them or eager?
I thought of their greatness as they were all named in sky
No one from earth can reach them even if divinely fly
God sent them one by one in different regions
They professed well and created liens
Followers swelled in strength and became large group
They all later became disciples and witnessed great jump
Who can claim any of the messengers as best?
Why was then need arose by him to send them for test?
What did we do to them when they roamed among us?
Poked on body, blinded and hung on cross with distrust
Yet we claim true followers of only one creator
Nothing wrong in it even if we pray and remember
He may rush to followers in any form they worship
Whether he has asked for help in desert, at sea or on the ship
You will find countless faiths yet they claim almighty is one
They bow the head to his honor an d believe none
I shall go by their verdict and stand alone
Ready to exist as long as he wises and then gone
No religion preaches violence and hatred
Sometimes they carried away or mislead
Human beings are slaughtered for no fault of their own
Wars are fought in red earth soil with what ever causes to disown
It gives me tremendous joy when hear the churches bell ring
It equally rejoices me when in early morning someone remembers and sings
His holy name either in verses or through recitals
I bow my head in his glory and offer rose petals
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Far Away
By what pale light or moon-pale shore
Drifts my soul in lonely flight ?
Regions God had floated o'er
Ere He touched the world with light ?
Not in Heaven and not in earth
Is this water, is this moon ;
For there is no starry birth,
And no dawning and no noon.
Far away-0 far away,
Mist-born-dewy vapours rise
From the dim gates of the day
Far below in earthly skies.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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Means What It Does...
‘…means what it does’.
I read: ‘God cannot be named; cannot be and cannot have,
a ‘proper noun’; God can only be approached
through verbs and adjectives.’
The eight petunias which arrived so neatly in
their cardboard box as if pretending to be a book,
are already upright, thriving, growing;
that magic petal radiance of the deepest purple-blue
so delicate, so unique, seems to fill
the space around them with a message:
this is what God sings;
this is how God grows;
this is what God does;
this is what ‘God’ means.
*
And what of the ‘soul’? Can this be named?
as God in us, how can we know it
but by verbs and adjectives;
it ‘means’ just what it does..
A meditation, deep in inner mysteries
as mind delved in itself
for hidden things yet beyond words,
beyond all self yet known to be,
interrupted by the delivery man –
I drag myself reluctantly from chair to door:
he’s met with such a glorious sunshine burst
of goodwill, gratitude…
this is what soul sings;
this is how soul grows;
this is what soul does;
this is what ‘soul’ means.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A Funeral Poem On The Death Of C. E. An Infant Of Twelve Months
Through airy roads he wings his instant flight
To purer regions of celestial light;
Enlarg'd he sees unnumber'd systems roll,
Beneath him sees the universal whole,
Planets on planets run their destin'd round,
And circling wonders fill the vast profound.
Th' ethereal now, and now th' empyreal skies
With growing splendors strike his wond'ring eyes:
The angels view him with delight unknown,
Press his soft hand, and seat him on his throne;
Then smilling thus: 'To this divine abode,
'The seat of saints, of seraphs, and of God,
'Thrice welcome thou.' The raptur'd babe replies,
'Thanks to my God, who snatch'd me to the skies,
'E'er vice triumphant had possess'd my heart,
'E'er yet the tempter had beguil d my heart,
'E'er yet on sin's base actions I was bent,
'E'er yet I knew temptation's dire intent;
'E'er yet the lash for horrid crimes I felt,
'E'er vanity had led my way to guilt,
'But, soon arriv'd at my celestial goal,
'Full glories rush on my expanding soul.'
Joyful he spoke: exulting cherubs round
Clapt their glad wings, the heav'nly vaults resound.
Say, parents, why this unavailing moan?
Why heave your pensive bosoms with the groan?
To Charles, the happy subject of my song,
A brighter world, and nobler strains belong.
Say would you tear him from the realms above
By thoughtless wishes, and prepost'rous love?
Doth his felicity increase your pain?
Or could you welcome to this world again
The heir of bliss? with a superior air
Methinks he answers with a smile severe,
'Thrones and dominions cannot tempt me there.'
But still you cry, 'Can we the sigh borbear,
'And still and still must we not pour the tear?
'Our only hope, more dear than vital breath,
'Twelve moons revolv'd, becomes the prey of death;
'Delightful infant, nightly visions give
'Thee to our arms, and we with joy receive,
'We fain would clasp the Phantom to our breast,
'The Phantom flies, and leaves the soul unblest.'
To yon bright regions let your faith ascend,
Prepare to join your dearest infant friend
In pleasures without measure, without end.
poem by Phillis Wheatley
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Red Faces
Red flags the reason for pretty flags.
And ribbons.
Ribbons of flags
And wearing material
Reason for wearing material.
Give pleasure.
Can you give me the regions.
The regions and the land.
The regions and wheels.
All wheels are perfect.
Enthusiasm.
poem by Gertrude Stein
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The key of light
On the cloudiest days and the darkest nights
The sun still shines though it’s not in sight
Hidden and locked away with in our minds
There is this box full of perpetual sunshine
Hidden and locked away with in our hearts
There is an ability to live life and experience all its parts
Happiness is the first key to success
With out happiness in the heart what is left?
Look deep inside your soul and find
The key to unlock the box of perpetual sunshine
For with out this key, this key of light
The sun will still shine but will never be in sight
poem by It's Me K.s.z
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