En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Transition

The air was sultry
as the sun stood,
a blazing ball of fire, overhead.
Streams of sweat trickled through
every pore of the skin.
Sheets of light, like waves of water
glistened across the road.

The sky, suddenly into a violent rage, flew.
Dark mass of clouds, driven by the wind
went scurrying from West to East.
A dark shroud, across the sky
from end to end was spread.
The Sun stood veiled behind the penumbra of gloom.
The trees arched convex by the hard pull of the air.
And the heavens started weeping, wailing and roaring
darting gleams of light with fluorescent rays.
Thunder boomed and bounced as boulders,
falling over tin roofs.
Twigs and boughs went flying
like arrows from the archer's bow.
Light went out, as cables and electric lines
snapped down. Like festoons hung on poles
they lay dangling in the air.
Birds with their damp feathers
sat silent, forgetting their chirp and twitter.
Cattle stayed quiet, refusing to chew the cud.
The Earth dappled by a horrid grey mist
lay hideous……..
Every ditch and canal spilled over.
Trees crashed down and vegetation fell head long.
Wreaking havoc, the rain poured down.

Then everything was quiet and still.
Like a child gone to sleep,
after throwing violent tantrums unrelenting,
The sky over head, in her cerulean night gown
fell asleep,
attended by her twinkling handmaids!

poem by Valsa George
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The Storm

The clouds turned to gray
The air turned to cold
And I knew by that day
Some evil would unfold.
It arrived without a warning
Along with the pounding rain
And it was gone by the morning
As violently as it came.
But for that night I lived in terror
That night I lived in fright
With every sound I heard
With every flash of light.
Violently came the wind
Terrorizing with no form
Then came the thunder and lightning,
Arriving, was the storm.
Many trees I saw bent
Then God clapped his mighty hand
While many trees were refusing to fall,
But then, a tree didn't stand.
Rushing came the wind
Pounding came the rain
Crashing came the thunder
Quickly, came my pain.
Underneath my bed I hid
From the terror of the storm
And in pain and terror I cried
In horror and pain I moaned.
That night I lived in terror
That night I lived in fright
With every sound I heard
With every flash of light.
And the rain just kept falling
More tears I began to weep
For the wind just kept calling,
Then that night; I fell asleep.
Then morning she finally came
I awoke to the sound of peace and birds
The sound of thunder and rain was gone
Which had awoke my sleeping world.
Then outside towards the sky I stared,
To the clouds God he did call
I saw Gods hand moving the wind
Commanding the rain not to fall.
Then the sun began to shine
So on my knees I fell to pray
Then again, I began to cry
Thanking God; the storm had went away.

poem by Randy McClave
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To-Em-Meps ‘The Unmoving Cloud

I
The clouds have gathered, and gathered,
and the rain falls and falls,
The eight ply of the heavens
are all folded into one darkness,
And the wide, flat road stretches out.
I stop in my room toward the East, quiet, quiet,
I pat my new cask of wine.
My friends are estranged, or far distant,
I bow my head and stand still.

II
Rain, rain, and the clouds have gathered,
The eight ply of the heavens are darkness,
The flat land is turned into river.
'Wine, wine, here is wine!'
I drink by my eastern window.
I think of talking and man,
And no boat, no carriage, approaches.

III
The trees in my east-looking garden
are bursting out with new twigs,
They try to stir new affection,
And men say the sun and moon keep on moving
because they can't find a soft seat.
The birds flutter to rest in my tree,
and I think I have heard them saying,
'It is not that there are no other men
But we like this fellow the best,
But however we long to speak
He can not know of our sorrow.'

poem by Ezra Pound
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song - The Lost Road

We stood together on the seven five
Backs to the fields and eyes wide to the light
My thumb hitched high to the random unknown
I didn’t know where and wouldn’t be shown
We’d learn soon enough we couldn’t go home

We sailed straight into yon white water thrill
Down where the furious waves rose and fell
With no going back, and no turning around
We didn’t know if we’d make it or drown
Or if something worse might soon bring us down

(chorus)
When you were the fire, you were the light
And I was a shadow stealing the night
You were the av’rage and I was the pass
I had momentum and you had the class
Out of the seeds of a circular street
I stood on illusion, you stood on your feet

Across the table we sat with our kind
Breaking the bread with our hands full of time
And gulping down the holy water of self
Too eager like chicks we leapt and we fell
From high window dreams down to the cold earth

I stand alone here o’er this city night
But somehow see only your village light
Off in the far distance beside the lost road
Down by the old Beech tree under the crows
Beneath the moon’s light where we used to stroll.

(chorus)
When you were the fire, you were the light
And I was a shadow stealing the night
You were the av’rage and I was the pass
I had momentum and you had the class
Out of the seeds of a circular street
I stood on illusion, you stood on your feet

poem by Jim Hogg
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Rainy Day Under Trees

She stood with you
under the trees

the rain falling hard
the Sunday church service

had been a wet affair
the walk home together

then the bus
to the end of the road

and she said
Is it ever going to stop?

her hair was limp
and hung over

her forehead
her eyes bright

her complexion white
Sure

you said
But I've built an ark

in the woods behind
just in case

and she laughed
and took your hand

and said
How any animals

have you got so far?
Couple of woodlice

and beetles
and the odd worm or so

and you smelt
the scent on her

the warmth
of her hand

in yours and you both
under the trees

out of the rain
but the drops fell through

You remember that time
we went to the hay barn

to keep out of the rain
and we were wet through

and took of our clothes
and lay in the hay?

she said
snuggling closer to you

No can't say I do
you said

and she smack your arm
and said

Oh yes you do
and there was a break out

from the sun
through the branches

as if you say
I' still here

I'm trying to get through
and she looked at you

and you smiled
and said

I can still smell the hay
and you lying there

beside me
and the damp clothes

hanging over the hay bale
and you and I close

and warmth
and then she put

her finger to her lips
and shushed you

and drops of rain
came onto her head

Let's keep it kind of holy
she said

and kissed your damp ear
her lips like a blessing

soft skin on soft skin
and she moved away

and the rain eased
and you both moved out

into the woods
pleased.

poem by Terry Collett
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Winter Morning

You rage all night,
urging black clouds
to mutinous thunder.

What wind blows from
such mighty lungs
that heaven itself
bends to the blast?

In sleep's confusion
I hear you
calling me
out of the dark,
into winter’s
dim light

where trees rise
still and bare
into the sepia air

and small birds
search
the desolate earth.

poem by Steven Federle
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Sunbeams

The warming rays
streaming on the freshness
of the morning
The slanting rays
trembling between
the green leaves
The guiding rays
sneaking from the arched
roofs of the trees
The shimmering rays
spreading on the curtain panels
of the windows
The scorching rays
flaring on the barren
dry fields
The crimson rays
touching the bare path
like beads of rubies
The outward light fades
while the inward light
gleams to enlighten us.

poem by Rizvana Parveen
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With blazing, electric blue thunder

(after Pablo Neruda)

With blazing, electric blue thunder
the morning is alive in this summer.

The wind tosses the threatening clouds like washing
torn from the line, waving goodbye without hands.

The mouthless harsh voice of the wind
howls right through our blissful silence.

Thunder bolts rock exploding in bright white light
while the wind rips leaves, branches and trees

as if in remembrance of long gone battles and wars
while it tosses squalls of pattering buckets of rain

sounding like the roar of a havoc orchestra
from the very gates of destruction, right from hell

while big oak trees sway as if only twigs,
some topple torn right out from their roots

and against me storm tossed in passion you are laying,
coming weightless full of fiery blazing desire,

with tender sweet lips that are kissing bringing bliss
and outside the wind roars as if its power is endless.

[Reference: “Es La Mañana Llena” “The Morning Is Full” by Pablo Neruda.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Violent Side

Here comes the night
Here comes the anger
Hidden so deep inside
No one can see
Behind these eyes
There walks a stranger
Wandering through the dark
Following me.
Control the violent side
Control the violent side
Control the violent side
Control the violent side.
Electric light
Shining on your block
Sayin to everyone
The power is on
While your alarm
Set up for safety
Keeps out invaders who come
But still cant control.
Control the violent side
Control the violent side
Control the violent side
Control the violent side.
Got to fight to control the violent side
Every day and night
Ive got to fight to control it.

song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Days

Issuing from the Word
The seven days came,
Each in its own place,
Its own name.
And the first long days
A hard and rocky spring,
Inhuman burgeoning,
And nothing there for claw or hand,
Vast loneliness ere loneliness began,
Where the blank seasons in their journeying
Saw water at play with water and sand with sand.
The waters stirred
And from the doors were cast
Wild lights and shadows on the formless face
Of the flood of chaos, vast
Lengthening and dwindling image of earth and heaven.
The forest's green shadow
Softly over the water driven,
As if the earth's green wonder, endless meadow
Floated and sank within its own green light.
In water and night
Sudden appeared the lion's violent head,
Raging and burning in its watery cave.
The stallion's tread
Soundless fell on the flood, and the animals poured
Onward, flowing across the flowing wave.
Then on the waters fell
The shadow of man, and earth and the heavens scrawled
With names, as if each pebble and leaf would tell
The tale untellable. And the Lord called
The seventh day forth and the glory of the Lord.

And now we see in the sun
The mountains standing clear in the third day
(Where they shall always stay)
And thence a river run,
Threading, clear cord of water, all to all:
The wooded hill and the cattle in the meadow,
The tall wave breaking on the high sea-wall,
The people at evening walking,
The crescent shadow
Of the light built bridge, the hunter stalking
The flying quarry, each in a different morning,
The fish in the billow's heart, the man with the net,
The hungry swords crossed in the cross of warning,
The lion set
High on the banner, leaping into the sky,
The seasons playing
Their game of sun and moon and east and west,
The animal watching man and bird go by,
The women praying
For the passing of this fragmentary day
Into the day where all are gathered together,
Things and their names, in the storm's and the lightning's nest,
The seventh great day and the clear eternal weather.

poem by Edwin Muir
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New Perspective

dust on my feet on my rubber shoes
stamp a mound of mud drying itself
the afternoon sun so hot
this little boy follows me with his gaze
did I appear so big to his attention
or the world is too small for him to play ball?

we look amazed to the same birds
too playing in the skies chasing the ones
not having the same feathers

the sun sets spreading orange colors
waning and now sprinkles some gray hues
the boys playing basketball sweat like they
were bathing on the rain, their bodies gleaming
like some barbecue on spiced oil

time to go home, it is dark, I have no reason to stay
the little boy follows me towards the road
where the fluorescent light is turned on by the guards

then I look back, the boy was gone
the whole block is lost eaten by this night
and on the island of light on this road
I stand, waiting for my ride back home

then I look back again, I smile a while
that little boy was me, I got lost somehow

I touch my head, I am setting a new perspective

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One summer when the wind was strong

This is the place, now we are here again

I remember that summer when the wind was strong
And everything around us was dry,

The acacia trees towered and showered us with
Round leaves falling and falling and falling

Some birds were there and they flew away
Some cars were there and they speeded away

It was getting dark and it was a dry summer
We stayed there for a while when the leaves fell

Then we went under the trees not seeking shelter
But to catch those leaves falling and falling and falling

We are trying to feel again what falling was
We are here on this summer, we see the leaves

Falling and falling again to the dry wind,
We try to recall about us, but there is simply

Nothing about us anymore, but just the same
The leaves fall and fall and fall, we see them reenacting

There is that meaning; there it is in the falling
But we have outgrown it, we look for more, we hope

We can find some more, something beyond us.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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After a Tempest

The day had been a day of wind and storm;--
The wind was laid, the storm was overpast,--
And stooping from the zenith, bright and warm
Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last.
I stood upon the upland slope and cast
My eye upon a broad and beauteous scene,
Where the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast,
And hills o'er hills lifted their heads of green,
With pleasant vales scooped out and villages between.

The rain-drops glistened on the trees around,
Whose shadows on the tall grass were not stirred,
Save when a shower of diamonds, to the ground,
Was shaken by the flight of startled bird;
For birds were warbling round, and bees were heard
About the flowers; the cheerful rivulet sung
And gossiped, as he hastened ocean-ward;
To the gray oak the squirrel, chiding clung,
And chirping from the ground the grasshopper upsprung.

And from beneath the leaves that kept them dry
Flew many a glittering insect here and there,
And darted up and down the butterfly,
That seemed a living blossom of the air.
The flocks came scattering from the thicket, where
The violent rain had pent them; in the way
Strolled groups of damsels frolicksome and fair;
The farmer swung the scythe or turned the hay,
And 'twixt the heavy swaths his children were at play.

It was a scene of peace--and, like a spell,
Did that serene and golden sunlight fall
Upon the motionless wood that clothed the fell,
And precipice upspringing like a wall,
And glassy river and white waterfall,
And happy living things that trod the bright
And beauteous scene; while far beyond them all,
On many a lovely valley, out of sight,
Was poured from the blue heavens the same soft golden light.

I looked, and thought the quiet of the scene
An emblem of the peace that yet shall be,
When, o'er earth's continents and isles between,
The noise of war shall cease from sea to sea,
And married nations dwell in harmony;
When millions, crouching in the dust to one,
No more shall beg their lives on bended knee,
Nor the black stake be dressed, nor in the sun
The o'erlabored captive toil, and wish his life were done.

Too long, at clash of arms amid her bowers
And pools of blood, the earth has stood aghast,
The fair earth, that should only blush with flowers
And ruddy fruits; but not for aye can last
The storm, and sweet the sunshine when 'tis past.
Lo, the clouds roll away--they break--they fly,
And, like the glorious light of summer, cast
O'er the wide landscape from the embracing sky,
On all the peaceful world the smile of heaven shall lie.

poem by William Cullen Bryant
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Absence

My shadow --
I woke to a wind swirling the curtains light and dark
and the birds twittering on the roofs, I lay cold
in the early light in my room high over London.
What fear was it that made the wind sound like a fire
so that I got up and looked out half-asleep
at the calm rows of street-lights fading far below?
Without fire
Only the wind blew.
But in the dream I woke from, you
came running through the traffic, tugging me, clinging
to my elbow, your eyes spoke
what I could not grasp --
Nothing, if you were here!

The wind of the early quiet
merges slowly now with a thousand rolling wheels.
The lights are out, the air is loud.
It is an ordinary January day.
My shadow, do you hear the streets?
Are you at my heels? Are you here?
And I throw back the sheets.

Anonymous Submission

poem by Edwin Morgan
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A sunset [ double Quintain (English and Sicilian) ]

While the red butterfly melts its wings
Within the light red poppy chain,
The pink gray cloud of the sunset rings
On the gray pink sky the light rays,
Seemingly thrown in a bloody pain.

The leaving sun abandons the sky
For a few hours and like crickets crawl,
The whispers of oak leaves mean good bye,
While the coming night is a dark haul,
Looking at the moon with a black eye.

The sun and the moon finds synergy,
Light becomes gray regolith of moon
With helium fusing energy,
Night makes moon looks like a big balloon
Or like swaddled in a big cocoon.

Much more, like thoughts enveloped in words
Or like souls carrying their divine love,
With feathers of light like Holy birds,
In the rain with drops of divine globes,
Falling down for giving love awards.

Like rain with drops of human spheres,
Pouring up to Him when they can hook
Or falling right down to disappear,
Reverse arch getting a killer look,
Trying to provide fragrance of fear.

Their waves are liquid and drain in sight
Of Earth to meet at infinity.
They are like dark rays in the pure light,
Light rays are arches for Trinity,
While dressed in wind seems to be the night.

Stars are candles and night lights them all,
The colors withdraw in the lost light.
In the black darkness they look so small.
The seeds of dream germinate for fight,
Becoming real for breaking their wall.

poem by Marieta Maglas
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How He Saw Angus, The God

I heard the swallow sing in the eaves and rose
All in a strange delight while others slept,
And down the creaking stair, alone, tip-toes,
So carefully I crept.

The house was dark with silly blinds yet drawn,
But outside the clean air was filled with light,
And underneath my feet the cold, wet lawn
With dew was twinkling bright.

The cobwebs hung from every branch and spray
Gleaming with pearly strands of laden thread,
And long and still the morning shadows lay
Across the meadows spread.

At that pure hour when yet no sound of man,
Stirs in the whiteness of the wakening earth,
Alone through innocent solitudes I ran
Singing aloud for mirth.

Till I had found the open mountain heath
Yellow with gorse, and rested there and stood
To gaze upon the misty sea beneath,
Or on the neighbouring wood,

—That little wood of hazel and tall pine
And youngling fir, where oft we have loved to see
The level beams of early morning shine
Freshly from tree to tree.

Through the denser wood there's many a pool
Of deep and night-born shadow lingers yet
Where the new-wakened flowers are damp and cool
And the long grass is wet.

In the sweet heather long I rested there
Looking upon the dappled, early sky,
When suddenly, from out the shining air
A god came flashing by.

Swift, naked, eager, pitilessly fair,
With a live crown of birds about his head,
Singing and fluttering, and his fiery hair,
Far out behind him spread,

Streamed like a rippling torch upon the breeze
Of his own glorious swiftness: in the grass
He bruised no feathery stalk, and through the trees
I saw his whiteness pass.

But when I followed him beyond the wood,
Lo! He was changed into a solemn bull
That there upon the open pasture stood
And browsed his lazy full.

poem by Clive Staples Lewis
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Strange But True 3 - Ball Of Light

Through my life, I have been plagued
with things I can’t explain.
One night while I was living in Canada,
my parents, my sister and I were walking home,
after going to see a film at a local cinema.
We stopped for a moment to cross a road,
when out of the heavens a ball of light fell,
no larger than a baseball
and disappeared behind a garden wall.
At first we thought it to be a shooting star,
and was about to make a wish,
when the ball of light again appeared.
It now streaked upwards and disappeared
into the night sky among the stars.
Now, I’ve seen plenty of shooting stars,
when they fall they stay put.
Whatever this ball of light was,
it only stayed for a few moments,
before it rose and flew away.
Sometimes as I look at the stars,
and I wonder where the ball of light went.
I had never seen its likes before,
nor have I seen it since.
Just another little mystery
to enter into the scrapbook of my life.

poem by David Harris
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In A Dark Night Of A Cape Winter

In a dark night of a Cape winter
fog rises from the plantation of pine trees
of which the scent is suddenly sharp everywhere
while the slight wind does not even stir the leaves,
or the sieving rain that is falling days without end.

Days later the southeast wind howls like an angry beast,
whipping trees to and thro, pulling even big oaks
right from their roots, throwing squalls of rain
splattering like continuous buckshot against the roofs,
against window panes and the coldness creeps in
and like a child you wonder when the angry beast
will again go to rest; go back to its hidden lair.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Battle Of Fog Wind And Sun

It’s a mysterious morning in the wood as the fogs settled in
Fog dances with the wind through the trees twirling
A hazy white blanket diffusing scattering the light
Everything looks so different tricking your sight
The sun rays pours down breaking through the trees canopy
Linear streaks of light highlighting objects we see
Mysterious fog plays with the light as things it conceals
So when you are only near objects magically reappear
Strange shaped shadows jump out from the teasing mist
And twigs and objects appear that at first you did miss
The gloomy cold fog tries hard to hide the light of the new day
But the darkness and mystery it brings is not there to stay
The wind helps the sun to blow the mist from our sight
And wind sun versus the fog start their regular teasing fight
As normal the fog slowly loses, thins to a light haze in the air
Going patchy with little dancing wisps here and there
The light and the wind always it wins afterall
But the fog would just quickly disappear from us all
But look closely he left a present from his newly departed mist
On foliage are water jewel droplets where it gently kissed

poem by Micron
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When The Sun Was Throwing Its Last Rays On The Earth

When the sun was throwing its last rays on the earth,
your hand found mine at twilight,
the evening sky was suddenly smudged by blood

while the evening-wind was softly scattering sand,
while people hurried home from their jobs
and something in your glance had drawn me closer to you

and when suddenly lightning bolts were falling
we found shelter
against thunderbolts sounding ominous,
against the wild stormy wind

we stood for long moments in each other’s arms
while the rain were pattering down, while the storm quieted down
with the clouds suddenly drawing open
and the moon’s rays falling magically about us.

poem by Gert Strydom
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A Storm In Summer

Nature that day a woman was in weakness,
A woman in her impotent high wrath.
At the dawn we watched it, a low cloud half seen
Under the sun; an innocent child's face
It seemed to us rose--red and fringed with light
Boding no hurt, a pure translucent cloud,
Deep in the East where the Sun's disk began.
We did not guess what strengths in it were pent,
What terrors of rebellion. An hour more,
And it had gathered volume and the form
Of a dark mask, the she--wolf's of old Rome,
The ears, the brow, the cold unpitying eyes,
Through which gleams flashed. And, as we watched, the roll
Of thunder from a red throat muttering
Gave menace of the wild beast close at hand.
Anon a wall of darkness in the South
Black to the Zenith, and a far--off wail,
The wind among the trees.--And then, behold,
Flying before it a mad clamorous rout
Of peewits, starlings, hawks, crows, dishwashers,
Blackbirds and jays, by hundreds, scattering,
While the Earth trembled holding as it were its breath;
Till suddenly an answer from the ground,
And the fields shook and a new mighty roar
Crashed through the oaks, and in a pent--up flow
The storm's rage broke in thunder overhead,
And all the anger of the passionate heaven
Burst into tears.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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