Elegy For Jane
(My student, thrown by a horse)
I remember the neckcurls, limp and damp as tendrils;
And her quick look, a sidelong pickerel smile;
And how, once started into talk, the light syllables leaped for her.
And she balanced in the delight of her thought,
A wren, happy, tail into the wind,
Her song trembling the twigs and small branches.
The shade sang with her;
The leaves, their whispers turned to kissing,
And the mould sang in the bleached valleys under the rose.
Oh, when she was sad, she cast herself down into such a pure depth,
Even a father could not find her:
Scraping her cheek against straw,
Stirring the clearest water.
My sparrow, you are not here,
Waiting like a fern, making a spiney shadow.
The sides of wet stones cannot console me,
Nor the moss, wound with the last light.
If only I could nudge you from this sleep,
My maimed darling, my skittery pigeon.
Over this damp grave I speak the words of my love:
I, with no rights in this matter,
Neither father nor lover.
poem by Theodore Roethke
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Related quotes
Night Poem
There is nothing to be afraid of,
it is only the wind
changing to the east, it is only
your father the thunder
your mother the rain
In this country of water
with its beige moon damp as a mushroom,
its drowned stumps and long birds
that swim, where the moss grows
on all sides of the trees
and your shadow is not your shadow
but your reflection,
your true parents disappear
when the curtain covers your door.
We are the others,
the ones from under the lake
who stand silently beside your bed
with our heads of darkness.
We have come to cover you
with red wool,
with our tears and distant whipers.
You rock in the rain's arms
the chilly ark of your sleep,
while we wait, your night
father and mother
with our cold hands and dead flashlight,
knowing we are only
the wavering shadows thrown
by one candle, in this echo
you will hear twenty years later.
poem by Margaret Atwood
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Canvas Of Leaf Life Stories
restoration a kinda life season soul appeasement
light is still liquid paint shining upon autumn leaves
colours shapes shift blown across damp moss earth
tree roots snug cuddle warm under blankets of leaves
leaves to warm comfort sing mould harvest life stories
tell of spring quick at bud born to summer adventures
tell of bugs spirit climb ate birds leap skies flew sang ate
tell of glorious summer days star canvas summer nights
breeze prints encyclopedia comprehensive life whispers
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Waking (1948)
I strolled across
An open field;
The sun was out;
Heat was happy.
This way!This way!
The wren's throat shimmered,
Either to other,
The blossoms sang.
The stones sang,
The little ones did,
And flowers jumped
Like small goats.
A ragged fringe
Of daisies waved;
I wasn't alone
In a grove of apples.
Far in the wood
A nestling sighed;
The dew loosened
Its morning smells.
I came where the river
Ran over stones:
My ears knew
An early joy.
And all the waters
Of all the streams
Sang in my veins
That summer day.
poem by Theodore Roethke
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The River Sings
The river sings
A voice rises above
Fairer than the water, rings
I know you well
For the river has told
All there is to tell
It sung of a maiden
Fair as the water’s song
Her heart heavy laden
Though she sang
Her song was sorrowed
In voice the sadness rang
No words were needed
The river knew
Her voice it heeded
She walked alone
Her gaiety was lost
River, her only home
She listened to the water
Telling a story
Calling her River Daughter
The river sang, through day and night
Sang for her, the only listener
She joined the song, through dark and light
She called to her lover
Come free me!
Called with song and river
poem by Rachel Harris
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Lover Lover Lover
I asked my father,
I said, father change my name.
The one Im using now its covered up
With fear and filth and cowardice and shame.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
He said, I locked you in this body,
I meant it as a kind of trial.
You can use it for a weapon,
Or to make some woman smile.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
Then let me start again, I cried,
Please let me start again,
I want a face thats fair this time,
I want a spirit that is calm.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
I never never turned aside, he said,
I never walked away.
It was you who built the temple,
It was you who covered up my face.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
And may the spirit of this song,
May it rise up pure and free.
May it be a shield for you,
A shield against the enemy.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Angel On My Shoulder
There's an angel on my shoulder,
asking me whats wrong?
and as i speak the words to her
she starts to sing a song
This song she sings is powerfull
yet its the saddest song you'll hear.
She sings a song of pain and love,
even the angel has a tear.
She sang of how she found true love,
and how she let it go.
she sang of how she pushed aside
the only love she'd know
she sang of how she pushed him away
to find another love thats true
she sang of how she looked at him
as he spoke the words 'thats you'
She never faulted in her words
as she sang and as she cried
for as she sang she told me
of how her true love died
She said he died of a broken heart
that only she could mend
her true love died because of her
his true love and friend
as the angel sang her final words
she looked at me and said
Kolee this is not my song
but your true loves instead
There's an angel on my shoulder
asking me whats wrong
asking me to love you,
and to never hear your song.
poem by Angel of Darkness
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Lamp Lit Darkness In shadow Night
solo singer sang her soul songs
she sang opera upon life stage
all spell cast audience sat silently
listened silently sitting settled in chairs
listened to words in notes voice rapture
after success show was song sung over
an audience rose left slowly silent still
living echo of vibrant voice words enthrill
heard rosaceae heart opened bloomed
like life bloom song of vital rich red rose
later only I watched petal bloom free soul
after singer had cast off her formal shoes
to run barefoot in soft mist falling rain
to run through fresh puddles soft forming
in lamp lit mist darkness in shadow night
your soul free you ran bliss like a young girl
you ran vision race my heart also shared
could not contain in bound clay soul feeling
light shadow light shadow race you run
through night through many nights memory
poem by Terence George Craddock
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A Song of Enchantment
A song of Enchantment I sang me there,
In a green-green wood, by waters fair,
Just as the words came up to me
I sang it under the wild wood tree.
Widdershins turned I, singing it low,
Watching the wild birds come and go;
No cloud in the deep dark blue to be seen
Under the thick-thatched branches green.
Twilight came: silence came:
The planet of Evening's silver flame;
By darkening paths I wandered through
Thickets trembling with drops of dew.
But the music is lost and the words are gone
Of the song I sang as I sat alone,
Ages and ages have fallen on me -
On the wood and the pool and the elder tree.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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At The Tail Of The Rainbow
i work in codes
and you have to
decipher
the meaning from
those neutral letters
forming
a scenery of words
like
pools and mountains
and rivers
and leaves and
twigs
and stones
and sand
there are so many
which i put there
for me
to sometimes
remember and
smile
i never forget what
i put here
each word is a trail
that leads me always
back to myself
the syllables
are my fortresses
each sound is
an echo of
what happened
and must catapult me
beyond
this wall
at the tail of the
rainbow
are the imaginary
bridges of
our minds
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Three Marching Songs
REMEMBER all those renowned generations,
They left their bodies to fatten the wolves,
They left their homesteads to fatten the foxes,
Fled to far countries, or sheltered themselves
In cavern, crevice, or hole,
Defending Ireland's soul.
Be still, be still, what can be said?
My father sang that song,
But time amends old wrong,
All that is finished, let it fade.
Remember all those renowned generations,
Remember all that have sunk in their blood,
Remember all that have died on the scaffold,
Remember all that have fled, that have stood,
Stood, took death like a tune
On an old,tambourine.
Be still, be still, what can be said?
My father sang that song,
But time amends old wrong,
And all that's finished, let it fade.
Fail, and that history turns into rubbish,
All that great past to a trouble of fools;
Those that come after shall mock at O'Donnell,
Mock at the memory of both O'Neills,
Mock Emmet, mock Parnell,
All the renown that fell.
Be still, be still, what can be said?
My father sang that song,
but time amends old wrong,
And all that's finished, let it fade.
The soldier takes pride in saluting his Captain,
The devotee proffers a knee to his Lord,
Some back a mare thrown from a thoroughbred,,
Troy backed its Helen; Troy died and adored;
Great nations blossom above;
A slave bows down to a slave.
What marches through the mountain pass?
No, no, my son, not yet;
That is an airy spot,
And no man knows what treads the grass.
We know what rascal might has defiled,
The lofty innocence that it has slain,
Were we not born in the peasant's cot
Where men forgive if the belly gain?
More dread the life that we live,
How can the mind forgive?
What marches down the mountain pass?
No, no, my son, not yet;
That is an airy spot,
And no man knows what treads the grass.
What if there's nothing up there at the top?
Where are the captains that govern mankind?
What tears down a tree that has nothing within it?
A blast of the wind, O a marching wind,
March wind, and any old tune.
March, march, and how does it run?
What marches down the mountain pass?
No, no, my son, not yet;
That is an airy spot,
And no man knows what treads the grass.
III
Grandfather sang it under the gallows:
'Hear, gentlemen, ladies, and all mankind:
Money is good and a girl might be better,
But good strong blows are delights to the mind.'
There, standing on the cart,
He sang it from his heart.
1
'A girl I had, but she followed another,
Money I had, and it went in the night,
Strong drink I had, and it brought me to sorrow,
But a good strong cause and blows are delight.'
All there caught up the tune:
'Oh, on, my darling man.'
Robbers had taken his old tambourine,
But he took down the moon
And rattled out a tune;>1
Robbers had taken his old tambourine.
'Money is good and a girl might be better,
No matter what happens and who takes the fall,
But a good strong cause' -- the rope gave a jerk there,
No more sang he, for his throat was too small;
But he kicked before he died,
He did it out of pride.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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I woke up to a lullaby
I woke up to a lullaby
The birds sang a song for me
They sang their hearts out all the while
Dancing on the maple tree
Each bird sang a different song
That melted into one
A song full of promises
For the day that’s just begun
They sang of sorrow
Of happiness and mirth
The sang of marriage
And of birth
They sang of people laughing
And of them crying
They sang of sickness
They sang of dying
This little song
They sang for me
Made me think
Made me free
My Young Brother Sang A Song
it is quite
a discovery
i a mode of hearsay
that allegedly
when my father almost died
being bitten by
his own white horse
my younger brother
who was then
so young
sang a song and sang it well
with all his friends
who were drinking
beer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Silent Grave
the silent grave
swept clean by time,
knowing only the wind
that undresses the night.
the eyes of an owl,
dead branches walking...
moonlight and darkness
thrust and parry, and dance.
the smell of damp earth,
the kingdom of spider and snail...
moss and vines wrapped
around the throat of time...
no footprints, no memories,
no flapping of wings....
the unnamed hand covers
all trace, all thought....
all that which was urgent,
eternal... of universal need...
becomes small and insignificant...
in the silent grave!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Poet's Song
I HID in the world and sang,
And I sang so loud and long
That all the ages rang
With the music of my song.
I sang of the earth and sky,
5
I sang of the whispering seas,
I sang of the mountains high,
And I sang of the flowers and trees;
I sang of the early spring,
I sang of the dawning day,
10
I sang, for I had to sing
As the young lambs have to play;
Till heaven and earth were ringing,
And all the people heard,
And they said, "We love his singing,
15
For his song is the song of the bird."
poem by Frederick George Scott
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Of Shadow of Light
The rain on the stars,
of light and shadow,
both wrought of the same substance,
gave way to the life,
and on each dropp sang the nymphs,
whose names invoked a deep mundane power,
both real and elusive,
So the flood of shadow and light,
flowed on each star,
within angels' sight,
and so were drowned all stars,
in shadow, in light,
that each came to come,
to separate day from night,
And so the sun,
of fire,
began from water,
and a song of the nymphs,
of Shadow of Light.
poem by Aamir Zain
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A Child’s Smile
A CHILD'S smile--nothing more;
Quiet, and soft, and grave, and seldom seen;
Like summer lightning o'er,
Leaving the little face again serene.
I think, boy well-beloved,
Thine angel, who did grieve to see how far
Thy childhood is removed
From sports that dear to other children are,
On this pale cheek has thrown
The brightness of his countenance, and made
A beauty like his own--
That, while we see it, we are half afraid,
And marvel, will it stay?
Or, long ere manhood, will that angel fair,
Departing some sad day,
Steal the child-smile and leave the shadow care?
Nay, fear not. As is given
Unto this child the father watching o'er,
His angel up in heaven
Beholds Our Father's face for evermore.
And he will help him bear
His burthen, as his father helps him now:
So may he come to wear
That happy child-smile on an old man's brow.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Tending the Garden
Grandmother dug into the earth saying
'men, family, children
are like tending to the garden.
First, you have to have good seed
and good dark earth.'
I used to help her tend the garden
on my Sunday visits-a patch in the
back of her house.
'Get a good fertilizer, find the right spot,
location matters in all this,
bad location
the family, the children, the wife, the men
don't do so good.
Plant the good seeds of decency.
Tell the truth, work hard,
don't get mean
and cynical,
love peace,
help your neighbor.
Simple, really.
Then you find what each plant needs.
Some like a lot of light
some like shade,
then afternoon or morning light,
Each is different.
And have to take the time
to find out what works for each.
And you water your damp ground
til that first little leaf comes up,
pokes up its little head
looking at the first light of its life
of its first day.
That feels good.
And then you water it,
let it know it is welcome in this world,
that someone cares.
And you tend to it.
Keep the weeds away,
the ants and the snails,
and big feet trampling
and it grows,
til you have your first bud
that flowers,
and the branches get sturdy,
and supports more and more of the buds,
and then the early flowers,
and then the full blossomings.
Pretty soon you have your garden,
and you teach your kids,
and your grandkids how to keep
it flowering;
like that
generation after generation.
Of course you need the Son,
the Father too
and the Holy Ghost
.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Tree Is My Animal
Tree is My Animal 7/09
Tree is my animal
And I burst forth from the soil
Past root, worm and grub
Unfurled now my leaves seek mother sun
Nourished and illuminated
I stand neath Methuselahs
Father old and true
Aged moss (ancient moss)
Comforts and warms me
Vines find shelter and comfort along my bones
Mother sun still sings
And centuries have past
But as a new nest appears in my arms
Oh I know I have much to go
And I am now Methuselah
And stand next to my father old and true
And watch as my young sapling grows neath me
My love is alone
I am alone
I stretch to touch her leaves and tickle her branches
My poems I send on the wings of birds, butterflies and bees
I feel the scent of her in the perfumed pollen born on wisps of wind
Wherever you are my Love
I will find you
Though seeds may scatter
And leaves grow few
Though centuries may pass
Here I stand
Now
Tendrils touch
At long last
A Moorish lattice of leaf and bark
Filigree
A canopy of lovers to shade
Lovers from the unwanted gaze of mother sun
Our songs sung by birds at play in our tender union
Our union complete
Til centuries wither our bones
Then to earth
A loamy death to share
This union and
Alone no more
poem by Guillermo Veloso
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Castro Alves From Brazil
Castro Alves from Brazil, for whom did you sing?
Did you sing for the flower? For the water
whose beauty whispered words to the stones?
Did you sing to the eyes, to the torn profile
of the woman you once loved? For the spring?
Yes, but those petals were not dewed,
those black waters had no words,
those eyes were those who saw death,
still burning the tortures behind love,
Spring was splashed with blood.
I sang for the slaves, aboard the ships
as a dark branch of wrath.
They travelled, and bled from the ships
leaving us the weight of a stolen blood.
I sang in those days against the inferno,
against the sharp languages of greed,
against the gold drenched in the torment,
against the hand that rose the whip,
against the maestros of darkness.
Each rose had one dead man in their roots.
The light, the night, the sky were covered in tears,
the eyes separated from wounded hands
and it was my voice the only one to fill the silence.
I wanted that from the man we could be rescued,
I believed that the route passed through the man,
and from there destiny would be made.
I sang for those who had no voice.
My voice hit doors that until then were closed
so that, fighting, Freedom could be let in.
Castro Alves from Brazil, now that your pure book
is reborn to a free land,
let me, poet of our America,
to crown your head with the laurels of the people.
Your voice joined the eternal and loud voice of the men.
You sang well. You sang how it must be sung.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Oh What A Love
Oh what a love, thatll bind the wounds of a loss and heal my heart
Oh what a love, to cast away the pain
Oh what a love, thatll bear for me the cost of a brand new start
Oh what a love, to let me begin again
Oh what a life, thatll brighten up the corners of a lonely life
Oh what a life, to cast away the rain
Oh what a life to remove the gloom I face in the dark alone
Oh what a life, I believe I can see again
I remember the day
We walked on the beach till sunset, then we sang
And the songs we played were a promise of love thatll honor beyond the grave
Oh what a song, learned from the sea taught slowly to the young
Oh what a song, to cast away the rain
Oh what a song, to break the bonds of fear and still the sound
Oh what a song, I believe I can sing again
I remember the day we met at a place of hope, I took what you gave
And the words wed say were a promise of love thatll honor beyond the grave
Chorus
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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