The Dalliance Of The Eagles
SKIRTING the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,)
Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance of the eagles,
The rushing amorous contact high in space together,
The clinching interlocking claws, a living, fierce, gyrating wheel,
Four beating wings, two beaks, a swirling mass tight grappling,
In tumbling turning clustering loops, straight downward falling,
Till o'er the river pois'd, the twain yet one, a moment's lull,
A motionless still balance in the air, then parting, talons loosing,
Upward again on slow-firm pinions slanting, their separate diverse
flight,
She hers, he his, pursuing. 10
poem by Walt Whitman
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Related quotes
Where Is The River?
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or somewhere else
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or hidden under the ground
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or safe inside the cave
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or still far away
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or up above the cloud
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or out of our reach
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or trickling on the rock
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or gathering in the pool
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or down over the cliff
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or just sight of illusion
Where is the river?
Is it here
Running in your eyes
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or sudden flood in the road
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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On The Wings And Claws And Beaks Of Poetry
lame, i walk on the crutches
of poetry,
wingless, i put on the feathers
of words,
i get these beaks
of metaphors
to feed upon
the richness of meaning
i am a hundred birds
on a hundred wings
i have claws and beaks
and eagles' eyes
on the flights
of the madness of poetry
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What are we? what can we become?
We can be just snails if we want to,
But we can be sparrows too,
We must choose, we cannot just be silent
& undecided
Forever,
If we choose to be snails
Then we will know what we want
We want a river and some palms
To plan our slow travels,
If we choose to be sparrows then
We at least know what to do next,
We shall grow beaks, and wings, and
Soon we need the sharp claws too
To defend ourselves
At least we also know what we need,
Just nests to lay our small eggs,
Twigs of trees to rest upon
Our weary bodies,
We choose what we are
To become what we can be,
We start on that decision, and then
We will see what suits us
To be the best from the rest,
Who still ask
What are we? what can we become?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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66
What are we? what can we become?
We can be just snails if we want to,
But we can be sparrows too,
We must choose, we cannot just be silent
& undecided
Forever,
If we choose to be snails
Then we will know what we want
We want a river and some palms
To plan our slow travels,
If we choose to be sparrows then
We at least know what to do next,
We shall grow beaks, and wings, and
Soon we need the sharp claws too
To defend ourselves
At least we also know what we need,
Just nests to lay our small eggs,
Twigs of trees to rest upon
Our weary bodies,
We choose what we are
To become what we can be,
We start on that decision, and then
We will see what suits us
To be the best from the rest,
Who still ask
What are we? what can we become?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wheel of the Breast
Through rivers of veins on the nameless quest
The tide of my life goes hurriedly sweeping,
Till it reaches that curious wheel o' the breast,
The human heart, which is never at rest.
Faster, faster, it cries, and leaping,
Plunging, dashing, speeding away,
The wheel and the river work night and day.
I know not wherefore, I know not whither,
This strange tide rushes with such mad force:
It glides on hither, it slides on thither,
Over and over the selfsame course,
With never an outlet and never a source;
And it lashes itself to the heat of passion
And whirls the heart in a mill-wheel fashion.
I can hear in the hush of the still, still night,
The ceaseless sound of that mighty river;
I can hear it gushing, gurgling, rushing,
With a wild, delirious, strange delight,
And a conscious pride in its sense of might,
As it hurries and worries my heart forever.
And I wonder oft as I lie awake,
And list to the river that seethes and surges
Over the wheel that it chides and urges—
I wonder oft if that wheel will break
With the mighty pressure it bears, some day,
Or slowly and wearily wear away.
For little by little the heart is wearing,
Like the wheel of the mill, as the tide goes tearing
And plunging hurriedly through my breast,
In a network of veins on a nameless quet,
From and forth, unto unknown oceans,
Bringing its cargoes of fierce emotions,
With never a pause or an hour for rest.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Mt. Lykaion
Alone on Lykaion since man hath been
Stand on the height two columns, where at rest
Two eagles hewn of gold sit looking East
Forever; and the sun goes down between.
Far down the mountain's oval green
An order keeps the falling stones abreast.
Below within the chaos last and least
A river like a curl of light is seen.
Beyond the river lies the even sea,
Beyond the sea another ghost of sky,--
O God, support the sickness of my eye
Lest the far space and long antiquity
Suck out my heart, and on this awful ground
The great wind kill my little shell with sound.
poem by Trumbull Stickney
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A River For Him
(emmylou harris)
I crossed on the river
Therell be no returning
I crossed all the bridges
I watched them all burning
And now Im a stranger
To a strange land Im driven
Where all is forgotten
And nothings forgiven
But I cried a river
A river for him
Thats deeper and wider
Than Ill ever swim
The heart it will harden
The sorrow will dim
But I cried a river
A river for him
I think of him now
On the road I am taking
And wonder how long
His heart will be breaking
But hell never hear when
The teardrops are falling
Or the sound of my voice
And the name Im calling
But I cried a river
A river for him
Thats deeper and wider
Than Ill ever swim
The heart it will harden
The sorrow will dim
But I cried a river
A river for him
So sweep for the sons
And the dear darling daughters
For the passing of time
And the parting of waters
For all who have passed through
This world long before me
To a far distant shore line
Where no one waits for me
But I cried a river
A river for him
Thats deeper and wider
Than Ill ever swim
The heart it will harden
The sorrow will dim
But I cried a river
A river for him
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Road That Runs Beside The River
follows the river as it bends
along the valley floor,
going the way it must.
Where water goes, so goes the road,
if there's room (not in a ravine,
gorge), the river
on your right or left. Left is better: when you're driving,
it's over your elbow across
the road.
You see the current, which is
what the river is: the river
in the river, a thing sliding fast forward
inside a thing sliding not so fast forward.
Driving with, beside, the river's flow is good.
Another pleasure, driving against it: it's the same river
someone else will see
somewhere else downstream -- same play,
new theater, different set.
Wide, shallow, fairly fast,
roundy-stone streambed, rocky-land river,
it turns there or here -- the ground
telling it so -- draining dull
mountains to the north,
migrating, feeding a few hard-fleshed fish
who live in it. One small sandbar splits
the river, then it loops left,
the road right, and the river's silver
slips under the trees,
into the forest,
and over the sharp perpendicular
edge of the earth.
poem by Thomas Lux
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Summit And Gravity
There's a motionless tree
And another one coming forward
A river of trees
Hits my chest
The green surge
Is good fortune
You are dressed in red
You are
The seal of the scorched year
The carnal firebrand
The star fruit
In you like sun
The hour rests
Above an abyss of clarities
The height is clouded by birds
Their beaks construct the night
Their wings carry the day
Planted in the crest of light
Between firmness and vertigo
You are
Transparent balance
poem by Octavio Paz
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Rivers Of Ice
Dont need the money nothing can buy
All that I feel under the skies
Shadows were falling my heart beat inside
We walk through the fields to the rivers of ice
Days turn to colour and darkness to light
She said I want you I need you I want you in my life
Love in the shadows the blood rushed inside
Carry on little saviour to the end of the line
I get high for ever
Till the river runs dry for every
Ooh for ever
Its been so many years now I still cant forget
Love flew like an eagle in gods wilderness
Shadows were falling oh my heart beat inside
We kissed on the bridge above the river of ice
I get high for ever
The river runs dry for ever
I get high for ever
The river runs dry for ever
Ooh she tells me
Ooh she tells me
Tell the end of the line
Shadows were falling
On rivers of ice
Music : maclachlan lyrics and arrangement by : kerr/burchill reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Birds Of Passage
Black shadows fall
From the lindens tall,
That lift aloft their massive wall
Against the southern sky;
And from the realms
Of the shadowy elms
A tide-like darkness overwhelm
The fields that round us lie.
But the night is fair,
And everywhere
A warm, soft vapor fills the air,
And distant sounds seem near;
And above, in the light
Of the star-lit night,
Swift birds of passage wing their flight
Through the dewy atmosphere.
I hear the beat
Of their pinions fleet,
As from the land of snow and sleet
They seek a southern lea.
I hear the cry
Of their voices high
Falling dreamily through the sky,
But their forms I cannot see.
Oh, say not so!
Those sounds that flow
In murmurs of delight and woe
Come not from wings of birds.
They are the throngs
Of the poet's songs,
Murmurs of pleasures, and pains, and wrongs,
The sound of winged words.
This is the cry
Of souls, that high
On toiling, beating pinions, fly,
Seeking a warmer clime.
From their distant flight
Through realms of light
It falls into our world of night,
With the murmuring sound of rhyme.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Lines on an incident observed from the deck of a steamboat on the Mississippi river
Where the dark primeval forests
Rise against the western sky
And "the Father of the Waters"
In his strength goes rushing by:
There an eagle, flying earthward
From his eyrie far above,
With a serpent of the forest
In a fierce encounter strove.
Now he gains and now he loses,
Now he frees his ruffled wings;
And now high in air he rises;
But the serpent round him clings.
In that death embrace entwining,
Now they sink and now they rise;
But the serpent wins the battle
With the monarch of the skies.
Yet his wings still struggle upward,
Though that crushing weight they bear;
But more feebly those broad pinions
Strike the waves of upper air.
Down to earth he sinks a captive
In that writhing, living chain;
Never o'er the blue horizon
Will his proud form sweep again.
Never more in lightning flashes
Will his eye of terror gleam
Round the high and rocky eyrie,
Where his lonely eaglets scream.
Oh majestic, royal eagle,
Soaring sunward from thy birth,
Thou hast lost the realm of heaven
For one moment on the earth!
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Eagles
THE eagles gather on the place of death
So thick the ground is spotted with their wings,
The air is tainted with the noisome breath
The wind from off the field of slaughter brings;
Alas! no mourners weep them for the slain,
But all unburied lies the naked soul;
The whitening bones of thousands strew the plain,
Yet none can now the pestilence control;
The eagles gathering on the carcase feed,
In every heart behold their half-formed prey;
The battened wills beneath their talons bleed,
Their iron beaks without remorse must slay;
Till by the sun no more the place is seen,
Where they who worshipped idol gods have been.
poem by Jones Very
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The River
I see a couple of leaves
spinning around in the river
in a small whirlpool
circling back,
around and around.
A canoe glides past
with its occupant waving,
dressed in brilliant orange,
and it sails on
without loosing motion.
Tranquillity washes over me
where I am fishing
next to the fluid continuity
that looks the same,
but very subtle the hue changes
like the colour of the sky.
My eyes are on the policemen
of the fishing lines,
but I watch the vibrant river
rushing past, the deep blue sky
and some finches sitting twittering
on their nests in a willow tree.
I am here to catch some equilibrium,
to get balance in a busy life,
to hear the river’s voice,
for a time to let nature
talk to me and to experience
sun, wind, sky and breeze.
I think of you and I
and how suddenly passion
like the river gets an own power,
goes to a new high water mark
and although your body
is so familiar in aspects of shape,
texture and structure
there’s always something new.
You leave me breathless
and like the water
make me rise
in power and strength
and bring serenity to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Attraction
The meadow and the mountain with desire
Gazed on each other, till a fierce unrest
Surged ‘neath the meadow’s seemingly calm breast,
And all the mountain’s fissures ran with fire.
A mighty river rolled between them there.
What could the mountain do but gaze and burn?
What could the meadow do but look and yearn,
And gem its bosom to conceal despair?
Their seething passion agitated space,
Till lo! the lands a sudden earthquake shook,
The river fled: the meadow leaped, and took
The leaning mountain in a close embrace.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Twilight Broodings
Sitting alone on the river bank
In the fast fading amber light
My eyes glanced across the flowing river
To the other side, on my right
Neon bulbs have begun flickering here n' there
On the far fringes of the sprawling city,
As fire flies clustering in dozens
Making the night look so pretty
With what vigor and gripping zest
The city has woken up, never to rest
And hordes of people, unmindful of any
Move briskly along the crowded street
Where do this stirring throng advance
When there descends the long pawed night
It leaves one to wonder, if it's man's lot
To be ever in motion without halt
I watched the turbid mass of current
Of the river bearing an agitated frown
How it moves to its convergence with the sea
Hundreds of miles away, still slugging down
With a resonant whistle and a ‘chug' ‘chug' sound
I heard the train trundling away
Reminding me of endless days and nights
Fleeting past in inscrutable dismay
Just then I chanced to think of Time and River
The twin forces making a unique pair
Unable to get back from whence they came
Rushing forward anon and ever
All around, I see life on wheels
Racing down in frantic hurry
Without knowing what awaits
At the other end, after all such scurry
poem by Valsa George
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Discovery
When you are slightly drunk
Things are so close, so friendly.
The road asks to be walked upon,
The road rewards you for walking
With firm upward contact answering your downward contact
Like the pressure of a hand in yours.
You think - this studious balancing
Of right leg while left leg advances, of left while right,
How splendid
Like somebody-or-other-on-a-peak-in-Darien!
How cleverly that seat shapes the body of the girl who sits there.
How well, how skilfully that man there walks towards you,
Arms hanging, swinging, waiting.
You move the muscles of your cheeks,
How cunningly a smile responds.
And now you are actually speaking
Round sounding words
Magnificent
As that lady's hat!
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
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Wings Of Silk
In a flight of silken silence
Wings of velvet stroke
Pinions soft as melted butter
With touch as light as smoke
Huge bright eyes of earthen brown
Ne'er ceasing to peer around
To perceive the vole's
most minute sound
Then… as if a ghostly
Downy dart
Wings of silk
Spread wide apart
A muted squeak
Stop'd short in surprise
And from the snow
Doth feathered phantom rise
Then talons spread
Returns to lurch
Onto it's branch
Upon which to perch
And ‘neath the branch
Said vole will soon to fall
Snug again…wrap't tight within
It's very own fur-ball
poem by David Whalen
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The River And Her
in the slow history of the river flowing
she wants to mark her own name with her fingers
religiously she goes there on a ritual of her own
naked she dips her skin on the water
so soft are her feet on the bed of pebbles
deep down the fishes ask for more of her toes
touched the river begins to sing a song for her
the bamboo leaves keep watching what happens next
will love dance on the surface of flimsy reasons?
will passion appear and last forever?
the banks want to close in on them: the river and her
the sun is worried what will happen next
it did end, but it was sad, as sad as the butterfly that lost one of its wings.
the river loses its name as she plunges deep to the tight arms of death.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Drifter
Written by: neil diamond
Well, I am the drifter
I walk the highways
I cross the river
That rolls on forgotten
I sing for the living
Live for the trying
But whats it about
If you got to be trying alone
And Im the dreamer
Who climbed the mountain
Who saw forever
Across the ocean
But you found me waiting
And knew that I would
Be lost forever
I kept on trying alone
They call me the drifter
And I walk the highways
I crossed every river
That rolled on forgotten
Id sing for the living
But inside was dying
cause whats it about
If you got to be trying alone
Well, Im the drifter
Who solved the answer
And when I found you
I knew for ever
Would be for ever
And not for some time
And youd be mine
Wont have to be trying alone
Now I sing like a dreamer
And I walk like Im flying
I looked in your eyes
There was no use denying
You cared for that moment
And I knew the answer
I came for a while
And I stayed for the rest of my life
I came for a while
And I stayed for the rest of my life
I came for a while
And I stayed for the rest of my life
Well, I was the drifter
And I walked the highways
I crossed every river
That rolled on forgotten
I sang for the living
And lived for the trying
I came for a while
And I stayed for the rest of my life
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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