Elegy
He is sitting on a hill
A vapid night is crawling through the vale
The trees are fangs of transiency
The demons forge hammers and nails
He will travel all the ways
That lead to the unknown lands
Time has distorted his view
An amen in his due
He is gazing at the skies
Without yearning in his eyes
And he will follow the invisible trace
When the sirens sing again...
The spring is in the air, the silence in the skies
The wind is in his hair, the moon is in his eyes
The bats play on but hell be gone
Before the world has left the night
...the birds sing on but he has gone
Before the morning spreads its light
song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Legend (remix)
He is sitting on a hill
A vapid night is crawling through the vale
The trees are fangs of transiency
The demons forge hammers and nails
The spring is in the air
The sirens in the skies
The wind is in his hair
The morning's in his eyes
The rain turns on
And he will be
On the phone
The world has left alone...
He will travel all the ways
That lead to the unknown lands
Time has distorted his view
An amen in his due
The spring is in the air
The sirens in the skies
The wind is in his hair
The morning's in his eyes
The rain turns on
And he will be
On the phone
The world has left alone...
song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Legend
He is sitting on a hill
A vapid night is crawling through the vale
The trees are fangs of transiency
The demons forge hammers and nails
The spring is in the air
The sirens in the skies
The wind is in his hair
The morning's in his eyes
The rain turns on
And he will be
On the phone
The world has left alone...
He will travel all the ways
That lead to the unknown lands
Time has distorted his view
An amen in his due
The spring is in the air
The sirens in the skies
The wind is in his hair
The morning's in his eyes
The rain turns on
And he will be
On the phone
The world has left alone...
song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sirens
When the sirens sing again...
He is sitting on a hill
A vapid night is crawling through the vale
The trees are fangs of transiency
The demons forge hammers and nails
When the sirens sing again...
He will travel all the ways
That lead to the unknown lands
Time has distorted his view
An amen in his due
When the sirens sing again...
Diamond/1989
song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Light in My Winter
A light in my winter
For spring dreams to come
Shady darkish tinter
Where my summer is from
A light in white frost
For the blossoming dreams
Those with autumn were lost
In oblivion river streams
Each morning come glowing
With sunshine and day
Through the darkness going
To lead forthcoming way
When rose shall reddish
So lovesome in my bed
To bring in spring wish
Through their colors red
A light in my heart
To fulfill my dark eyes
For blossoms shall start
When there are blue skies
And again summer spring
With each beauty of worth
And birds in trees to sing
Every song of new earth
poem by Peter S. Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don't Go Chasing Shadows
Don't go chasing shadows
When the night is a lion
Into a night that goes
With the last of a lonely ion
The night is in my love song
Thru the dark and mist
All days that touches and long
That yearning have kissed
Day by day left behind
Morning weary waking eyes
To the light day shall find
In the mist of daybreak skies
Don't go chasing shadows
When the night is a lion
Into a night that goes
With the last of a lonely ion
All in heart of the deep
Blossoms growing in spring
What they felt in their sleep
As they turn around to sing
Tomorrow´s awaking call
Feelings torching like lullabies
Beautiful dreams for all
Making love and inner ties
Dreams will never come true
If you keep on going lonely
Never seeing them coming thru
Just being inside of you only
Don't go chasing shadows
Don't go chasing shadows
When the night is a lion
Into a night that goes
With the last of a lonely ion
poem by Peter S. Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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360
hair blown by the wind the two of us in the morning meadows
laughing and light as the air that carries us to the sea
you hold my hand you lead me you pull the kite with you
colors of blue and white spreading in the skies
you tie the kite on a tree and we lay ourselves on the grass
softness is you and my heart beats the notes of our love song
we sit side by side we feel we own this wide world
we hear the birds sing we listen to the flow of the river
we see how free are the fish riding on the currents
we look at each other's eyes, then we by instinct close
what was once open, we go inside us, gently our lips touch
there is so much color when our eyes closed
it tastes so sweet that our souls are like tongues licking
the sweetest honey on our skins on our whole bodies
we write happiness not in the usual words that they use
the ink is invisible the pen moves not with the hand but
with the heart with the soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Do We Write Happiness?
hair blown by the wind the two of us in the morning meadows
laughing and light as the air that carries us to the sea
you hold my hand you lead me you pull the kite with you
colors of blue and white spreading in the skies
you tie the kite on a tree and we lay ourselves on the grass
softness is you and my heart beats the notes of our love song
we sit side by side we feel we own this wide world
we hear the birds sing we listen to the flow of the river
we see how free are the fish riding on the currents
we look at each other's eyes, then we by instinct close
what was once open, we go inside us, gently our lips touch
there is so much color when our eyes closed
it tastes so sweet that our souls are like tongues licking
the sweetest honey on our skins on our whole bodies
we write happiness not in the usual words that they use
the ink is invisible the pen moves not with the hand but
with the heart with the soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The way it goes. (BY A 12 YEAR OLD)
The wind in your hair,
the wind in your face, the wind in your toes,
the wind up in space.
The wind down below,
or even up higher.
as cold as ice,
or as hot as fire.
When the wind tieds down,
the grass stops moving.
The trees are still,
and grandma starts snoring.
The day comes to night,
The sun turns to moon.
Then I have to wait,
till morning to use a spoon.
Good night my child,
now, you rest up good!
for now you'll be sleeping,
aswell as the neighborhood.
So as you sleep,
I'll continue to sing.
and when the day comes
you'll get the chance,
to sing to your kids, my love.
poem by Braylyn Thomasson
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See Off This Mountain
Shes a blue ridge cradle shes a mother to some and home to the laughter of road weary ones so well sing all the old songs sing to grandmama road and well sing cause we miss her
Were sad she had to go if I could see off this mountain through the clouds in my eyes I would see off this mountain on the nights stars fell and see off this mountain through the te
N my eyes I would see off this mountain and the stars fell from the skies in the air I hear a fiddle down along hickory way and the mandolin guitar like we used to play and down on
s rock brothers boasting a dare we tell them theyre crazy and pretend we dont care if I could see off this mountain through the clouds in my eyes I would see off this mountain o
Nights stars fell and see off this mountain through the tears in my eyes I would see off this mountain and the stars fell from the skies the air tastes like moonshine in the wind a ca
>
Ival tune it soars with our laughter but well all leave too soon so I raise a toast to family put thanks in my glass in the arms of your loved ones its the only home that lasts i
Ould see off this mountain through the clouds in my eyes I would see off this mountain on the night the stars fell and see off this mountain through the tears in my eyes I could see
His mountain when the stars fell from the skies when the stars fell from the skies going up to grandmama road going up to grandmama road Im happy as can be cause cant you see i
Ng up to grandmama road
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Bless Of My Own Silence....
in this place
the first thing that i hear every morning
is the song of the birds
on top of trees
as they prepare to leave
after a night's sleep
as i open my window
and light is still young like some eyes blinking
i wonder
what are these birds up to
they do not build their nests here
they just come
spend a night and then leave and are back again
on the same hour of the same night
i try to ask more questions
that i myself have to answer
but then
something comes up within
the reasons do not really matter
it is their songs
the harmony with the wind
the joy of the trees
the bliss
of my own silence....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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THE BLISS OF MY OWN SILENCE (revised)
in this place
the first thing that i hear every morning
is the song of the birds
on top of trees
as they prepare to leave
after a night's sleep
as i open my window
and light is still young like some eyes blinking
i wonder
what are these birds up to?
they do not build their nests here
they just come
spend a night and then leave and are back again
on the same hour of the another night
i try to ask more questions
that i myself have to answer
but then
something comes up within
the reasons do not really matter
it is their songs
the harmony with the wind
the joy of the trees
the bliss
of my own silence....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Song of the Pilgrims
(Halted around the fire by night, after moon-set, they sing this beneath the trees.)
What light of unremembered skies
Hast thou relumed within our eyes,
Thou whom we seek, whom we shall find? . . .
A certain odour on the wind,
Thy hidden face beyond the west,
These things have called us; on a quest
Older than any road we trod,
More endless than desire. . . .
Far God,
Sigh with thy cruel voice, that fills
The soul with longing for dim hills
And faint horizons! For there come
Grey moments of the antient dumb
Sickness of travel, when no song
Can cheer us; but the way seems long;
And one remembers. . . .
Ah! the beat
Of weary unreturning feet,
And songs of pilgrims unreturning! . . .
The fires we left are always burning
On the old shrines of home. Our kin
Have built them temples, and therein
Pray to the Gods we know; and dwell
In little houses lovable,
Being happy (we remember how!)
And peaceful even to death. . . .
O Thou,
God of all long desirous roaming,
Our hearts are sick of fruitless homing,
And crying after lost desire.
Hearten us onward! as with fire
Consuming dreams of other bliss.
The best Thou givest, giving this
Sufficient thing - to travel still
Over the plain, beyond the hill,
Unhesitating through the shade,
Amid the silence unafraid,
Till, at some sudden turn, one sees
Against the black and muttering trees
Thine altar, wonderfully white,
Among the Forests of the Night.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1907)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Song of the Pilgrims, The
(Halted around the fire by night, after moon-set, they sing this beneath the trees.)
What light of unremembered skies
Hast thou relumed within our eyes,
Thou whom we seek, whom we shall find? . . .
A certain odour on the wind,
Thy hidden face beyond the west,
These things have called us; on a quest
Older than any road we trod,
More endless than desire. . . .
Far God,
Sigh with thy cruel voice, that fills
The soul with longing for dim hills
And faint horizons! For there come
Grey moments of the antient dumb
Sickness of travel, when no song
Can cheer us; but the way seems long;
And one remembers. . . .
Ah! the beat
Of weary unreturning feet,
And songs of pilgrims unreturning! . . .
The fires we left are always burning
On the old shrines of home. Our kin
Have built them temples, and therein
Pray to the Gods we know; and dwell
In little houses lovable,
Being happy (we remember how!)
And peaceful even to death. . . .
O Thou,
God of all long desirous roaming,
Our hearts are sick of fruitless homing,
And crying after lost desire.
Hearten us onward! as with fire
Consuming dreams of other bliss.
The best Thou givest, giving this
Sufficient thing -- to travel still
Over the plain, beyond the hill,
Unhesitating through the shade,
Amid the silence unafraid,
Till, at some sudden turn, one sees
Against the black and muttering trees
Thine altar, wonderfully white,
Among the Forests of the Night.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Muse
Walking voluptuously down the street
With your scarlet streaming hair
Gently caressing the warm air
While like velvet become your feet...
Your big rounded eyes
Sparkling like distant stars
Reflect the brightness of the skies
Becoming visible even from afar...
The birds enjoy your presence
And happily sing for you...
You are of beauty, the essence
And of the morning, the dew...
By invading every night my dream
And in the day my thoughts,
You have become my everlasting spring
And of my heart, a permanent host...
©All Rights Reserved-2011
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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Chirping Birds
the morning here
is always the sound of chirping birds
because the trees
have been their homes at night
when the sun rises
the birds fly away again
and when the sun fades
they come back
to their nests
and home
the night hums the song of silence
bird's eyes closing again
to the golden sheen
of the bright moon
the white owl flaps its wings
on a nocturnal adventure
in harmony with the bats
friends of the night
some shadows lurk in the night
in the pursuit of happiness
some souls are restless
on dreams unfulfilled
some wake up dwindling at dawn
opening the fridge for a glass of cold water
switches on the computer
and begin again
anew to another poem
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Star
I HAD a star to sing by, a beautiful star that led,
But when I sang of its splendour the world in its wisdom said:
'Sweet are your songs, yet the singer sings but in madness when
He hymns but stars unbeholden of us his fellows of men;
Glow-worms we see and marshlights; sing us sweet songs of those
For the guerdons we have to give you, laurel and gold and rose;
Or if you must sing of stars, unseen of your brother man,
Go, starve with your eyes on your vision; your star may save if it can!'
So I said, 'If I starve and die I never again shall see
The glory, the high white radiance that hallows the world for me;
I will sing their songs, if it must be, and when I have golden store,
I will turn from the marsh and the glow-worms, and sing of my star once more.'
So I walked in the warm wet by-ways, not daring to lift my eyes
Lest love should drive me to singing my star supreme in the skies,
And the world cried out, 'We will crown him, he sings of the lights that are,
Glories of marshlight and glow-worms, not visions vain of a star!'
I said, 'Now my brows are laurelled, my hands filled full of their gold,
I will sing the starry songs that these earthworms bade withhold.
It is time to sing of my star!' for I dreamed that my star still shone,
Then I lifted my eyes in my triumph. Night! night! and my star was gone.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Visions Of Sorrow
In this hall of marbled walls in another
Dimension where time heeds no calls
It's neither day it's neither night, eternal
Twilight away from the light
Traveling through time and through space
Blinded by the grace
Shooting stars guide my way,
Cosmic tide cannot lead me astray.
Seen the signs so many times,
Stones turn to vapour and life declines.
A flash of light and all turns black,
Mountain falls and bursts with a crack.
travelling through time and through space
blinded by the grace
Visions of sorrow fill my eyes, always the
Same as i travel on through time.
Blackbrowed memories hides in the skies,
They travel inside me as
I watch another crime.
Visions of sorrow fill my eyes, always the
Same as i travel on through time.
Blackbrowed memories hides in the skies,
They travel inside me as
I watch another crime.
Shooting stars guide my way,
Cosmic tide cannot lead me astray.
In ancient tales forgotten by now,
Priests and kings pledged their vow.
So i send my curse to earth,
Forced to create a new rebirth
Traveling through time and through space
Blinded by the grace
Visions of sorrow fill my eyes, always the
Same as i travel on through time.
Blackbrowed memories hides in the skies,
They travel inside me as
I watch another crime.
song performed by by Zonata
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Moon
the moon is the centre
of the night
carving darkness
into shapes
releasing shadows
from their souls
the moon
unleashes
hidden power
into the world
causing the sea to swirl
my fear to grow
the surgeon's
nervous first cut
where blood oozes
to the size of the moon
on beds too
two love birds sing
their passion to
the unilluminated
part of the moon
two cats launch their
roucous foreplay
in the alleyway
tickling insomniacs
offering a comic respite
to their plight
the full moon
multiplies evil
and witchcraft
in the hissing of the bats
hoots of the owls
and the towering trees
that have greeted it 100,000 days
underneath which
even my shadow shrinks
to a half moon
i know why a hundred witches spring
to action on such nights
i wish not to die on
a full moon night
though it has shed its light
in a million love poems
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Dark Eyes
DARK EYES
I LOOK UPON THE DARKENED SKIES,
ALL I SEE IS HIS DARK EYES.
I KNOW HE WILL BE COMING SOON,
AS I SIT IN THIS COLD DARK ROOM.
EVERY NIGHT I WISH FOR LIGHT,
AS I LOOK FOR THE COURAGE TO FIGHT.
EVERY NIGHT I SEE THOSE EYES,
COMING FROM THE DARK DARK SKIES.
IT’S SO COLD HERE IN THE DARK,
FAR OFF A DOG DOES BARK.
A SHRIEK, A CRY, DEATH DOES COME,
ONLY I KNOW WHERE IT COMES FROM.
I LOOK OUT AND SEE THOSE EYES,
WAY UP IN THOSE DARKENED SKIES.
AS THEY LOOK UPON MY SOUL,
MY LIFE IS DRAINED INTO A BOWL.
DEATH RIDES WITH THOSE EVIL EYES,
AND ALL THAT SEE THEM, SURLY DIES.
YOU MUST FIGHT, AND YOU MUST NOW FAIL,
YOU MUST SEND THOSE EYES BACK TO HELL.
REB
poem by Rik Bertrand
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My Morning
the house is surrounded by trees
and birds sleep there
some of those who do not have fears
made their nests
and this early morning i hear them sing
chirp if you may call it
but there is this feeling that nature is there
in the songs of birds
and the hush of the wind and the coming
bright rays of the sun
my dog is beside me
still asleep as i begin my prayers and rituals
for the day
behind the black shadows of the trees
the gray horizon starts
to brighten and now the mountains begin to
appear in view
their peaks touching the skies
as the clouds hang and float and drift....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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