From the Encampment Of Heart Strife, A Young Warrior's Journal - Fragments From an 11th Century Japanese Scroll
for Goodfew
'like unto like'
but do not say it
my forbidden simile
one is not immune
to jealous couriers
who would come
between lovers
Rice paper is thin
Tender words never
tear though ink and
tears fade sure
words to guesses
Distance reconciles
murmurers with desire
Duress strengthens
supple resolve
supple resolve
thickens skin
thickened skin
feels the better
when simple
loves caress
paper curtains
for ink yearn
their brush strokes
burning stories
to bear
a fly
strolls a realm
just on the other
side of light
only silhouettes
guesses too
thrills at motion so
slight framed in
window gray
in love with
small things
keep what
is seen where
hides the wind
Geese tell
of return and
so I will when the
burnt village
counts its embers
measured in hands
there are treaties
generals
gilded boxes
are exchanged
and the
Mongol spices
no milk for her
child the nipple
droops a sad
thing while dogs
run wildly about
Hold Fast
the greatest
among us
he knows
only war which
makes him great
in one thing
alone
I know
of waiting
what the horizon
safe keeps behind
its ear
of love, yes
your top knot my hand
unknotting
your long hair my
scented bedding
sudden
startled
wildness of laps
the vase
so very
still
a clutch of stamens
I dream again
of moonlight
of sewing
that work of
warriors naked
needling seams
In this dream
I know the pattern well
so near to hand
a blessing
let the dead bury
theirs
his face
sleeps upon my
belly
I do not breathe
do not wish to disturb
Dawn just
light fingers
trace in circles
each my
breasts
what tickles
but a sigh interrupted
In your dream
a gentle
boat slowly rising
with waves
the gentler subsiding
slides up
my torso
to keel
to kiss
Never again will I go to war
I lie
Already
the men are heavily gathering
new arrows hot for flesh
only for yours I am
From childhood our song
'Hurry awake sleepy bee
Softly sings the breeze
To sweetness we are called...'
When the sun
is high
shall be
freshened
with tears
our parting
behind the barred door wait
a lock of wound hair
silk pouch of my gated heart
it will be a hard arrow to pierce it
Small boys
muddy feet
cheer
chase behind
innocent fists
raising threat
for them
such punctuation
I regret
only this
to take a quiet supper
to hear the dipper spilling
too full
the deep well
yielding
knowing a hand of dew
brings such sweetness wet, cool
wet
poem by Warren Falcon
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Related quotes
Photos of War
Photo of War - 1
no milk for her
child the nipple
droops a sad
thing while dogs
run wildly about
Photo of War - 2
Geese tell of return
the burning village
counts its embers
measured in hands
Photo of War - 3
there are treaties
generals
prisoners and
gilded boxes
exchanged
then the
Mongol spices
Photo of War - 4
boys
muddy feet
cheer
chase behind
battalions
innocent fists
raising threat
for them
such regrettable
punctuation
Photo of War - 5
Hold Fast
the greatest
among us
he knows
only war which
makes him great
in one thing
alone
I know
of waiting
what the horizon
safe keeps behind
its ear
of love, yes
Photo of War - 6
your top knot my hand
unknotting
your long hair my
scented bedding
sudden
startled
wildness of laps
in the vase
so very
still
a clutch of stamens
Arrival at last -
the fallen petal
of your navel
Photo of War - 7
Dream again
of moonlight
of sewing
that work of warriors
naked needling of seams
In this dream
I know the pattern well
so near to hand
a blessing
let the dead bury
theirs
Photo of War - 8
his face
sleeps upon my
belly
I do not breathe
do not wish to disturb
Dawn just
light fingers
trace in circles
each my
breasts
what tickles
but a sigh interrupted
Photo of War - 9
In your dream
a gentle
boat slowly rises
with waves
the gentler subsiding
slides up
my torso
to keel
to kiss
Never again will I go to war
Photo of War - 10
I lie
Already
the men are heavily gathering
new arrows hot for flesh
only for yours I am
Photo of War - 11
Fortress a better world
between the teeth
on tips of tongues
on lip perimeters
strung by kisses
Photo of War - 12
From childhood our song:
Hurry awake sleepy bee
Softly sings the breeze
To sweetness we are called
when the sun high shall be
freshened with tears our parting
Photo of War - The Last
behind the barred door wait
a lock of wound hair
silk pouch of my gated heart
it will be a hard arrow to pierce it
poem by Warren Falcon
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What Is Seen
a fly
strolls a realm
just on the other
side of light
only silhouettes
guesses thrills
motion so
slight framed in
window gray
in love with
small things
keep what
is seen where
hides the wind
poem by Warren Falcon
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Only This To Hear
only this
to hear the dipper spilling
too full
the deep well
yielding
knowing a hand of dew
brings such sweetness
wet, cool
wet
poem by Warren Falcon
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Skin Hair…
Skin Hair…
Where else does the earth rise?
settle down with a fall,
cover with strand...
after other strand,
of hair curl,
loom adversely,
along the length,
along the breadth....
of a man, woman
where it is delicate, where it is private...
pronounced an' concealed.
on the face above the eyes,
like a brush of feathers,
above the lip,
a moustache…
eloquently trim,
tweezed eye browses,
hair flock grace the neck,
onto the back.
Along the shin,
Along the skin,
Smooth touch rendered,
Chill rising the hair follicles,
Desire burn,
In the shower wet with soap,
Silk fiber strand,
Run through fingers of a lover,
Relishing the sensations erect,
Tiny hair, almost as fur…
Souring along the back,
Trough upon the skin,
Collect scent of a love scene.
The skin here dark,
Chocolate born,
Wind caress these, both hair an' skin
Creature so supreme,
Conquer all but this, delicate
Feather brush of skin against skin,
Hair rise here thin,
Space of a love gaze seen,
Hair on skin….
poem by Merlin Mwaura
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Skin Hair
Skin Hair…
Where else does the earth rise?
settle down with a fall,
cover with strand...
after other strand,
of hair curl,
loom adversely,
along the length,
along the breadth....
of a man, woman
where it is delicate, where it is private...
pronounced an' concealed.
on the face above the eyes,
like a brush of feathers,
above the lip,
a moustache…
eloquently trim,
tweezed eye browses,
hair flock grace the neck,
onto the back.
Along the shin,
Along the skin,
Smooth touch rendered,
Chill rising the hair follicles,
Desire burn,
In the shower wet with soap,
Silk fiber strand,
Run through fingers of a lover,
Relishing the sensations erect,
Tiny hair, almost as fur…
Souring along the back,
Trough upon the skin,
Collect scent of a love scene.
The skin here dark,
Chocolate born,
Wind caress these, both hair an' skin
Creature so supreme,
Conquer all but this, delicate
Feather brush of skin against skin,
Hair rise here thin,
Space of a love gaze seen,
Hair on skin….
poem by Merlin Mwaura
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Her Wet Hair Feels Cool on My Skin
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin
As she came fresh from the shower.
She lies near me and rest begins.
Her whispers soft, a quiet wind
Caress my senses for an hour.
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin.
I’m at peace more than ever when
I lay down with her in her bower,
She lies near me and rest begins.
Now love’s sensations lie within
A subtle simple touch of power-
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin.
She holds my heart fast with a grin
Delicately, like a flower.
She lies near me and rest begins.
I say that now if this be sin
I don’t in fear of death cower.
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin:
She lies near me and rest begins.
2009
poem by William Mcgehee
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As Dew On Grass Sleeves No Longer Stiffening In The Wind - Moments From The Orange World - After Reading Kenneth Patchen
.
for Bruce and Patti
happily singing in their chains by the sea...
'...do not grieve, therefore, those who are lost to you;
they were ever so to themselves...'
- Kenneth Patchen - from 'There Is One Who Watches'
I've lost my way and wait for signs.
Distant signal fires indicate 'wait here'.
No gate ahead. The iron dogs hungrily await
all who approach edges of the orange world.
Best to settle in, grin at stinking Death who is
sinking into the ground winking at me as if to say,
You will soon sink. You will soon sink.
Who do you think you are or were?
Step forward if you dare.
I've observed how furred things give up without much complaint.
They've grabbed often enough and so Death grabs back.
They sigh or call out in their animal way, Son of a b*tch!
but in the end they relent and they sink leaving only their
pink tongues spread out over the dawn as if to say...as if to say...
I blink in the dark looking at edges distant fire.
I wink back at Death who has left only a bony hand
on the ground where He waits just beneath.
How trite He is but it does the job, conveys His trap clearly.
When dawn tongues awake licking dew from my face,
and my fears, I shall raise both my hands, too,
as if to say...as if to say...
And flaunting these two hands to Death's one, and with flesh,
I shall walk away the way I came having done with burning signs
and a night's work of waiting, my presence taunting the dogs,
Death baiting as if He has forgotten one hand upon the dirt.
We have flirted, Death and me. Not the kind of company
I like to keep preferring furred things to winking bones,
Death's head all teeth and no whistle. But I earn my pay.
I walk away, my own tongue licking.
*
I can barely contain myself arriving back at camp.
She waits dreaming shyly in our tent, a Bedouin soul bending
gently over the wells in Her keeping on Gentler Hill.
I shall lick Her face then. I shall not tell Her how
I have survived the night with Death at my feet, the taunting
signals over there at the edges, iron dogs alert.
I shall not hurt Her with knowledge of this orange world,
all the dark things within it. I shall not take Her roughly
to me but softly settle beside Her where she breezes as dew
on grass sleeves no longer stiffening against the wind.
I shall bring Her in as a fisherman brings
in his boat softly singing a fisherman's tale,
his throat a song-sore nocturne rocking night waves,
beacons ashore flaring where his Love lies sleeping
awaiting conjectures, his folding, folding into Her
gently suspiring guesses -
'Is my love away at sea, at sea,
dark as wine presses as he will
surely press me?
O drink from the wells I tend -
I earn my pay - and away with
ocean roaming! '
Distant lights demur sure in their beckoning.
Sudden he turns singing boat and heart to shore,
starfish near at hand yearning beyond foam..
Dawn tongues slowly raise up land-sunken houses,
stilled curtains in darkened windows not yet stirring.
Nearing, he shall not shake the dew from his cloak but gather
as much as he can to bathe Her - feet, hands, those parts
Death cannot sink into, but he can. And life will continue on.
As will the other, his lost brother of the inland tent
now gratefully at rest forgetting the ever orange world,
edge fires signaling unseen until dark,
and then the dogs,
and Death's hand,
and then back to work again.
poem by Warren Falcon
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Moonlight Sestina
While reading Li Po, I fall
Asleep, and dream of the moon
My body lies on white
Cool sheets, flooded in a pool
Of moonlight. Lost in a dream
I lie in light, floating.
Like a full moon floating
On waves, I feel the fall
And rise, the tide of these dream
Currents. Closer, the moon
Approaches to my pool
Of flesh, shining me white.
From the glare of waxing white,
Gauze curtains – breeze floating -
Shield this rippling pool,
Become a waterfall,
And break the mirror moon-
Light through wet prisms, I dream.
Is this Shechinah? my dream
Self asks. At once the cold white
Chills me to ice. The moon
Swells until it's a floating
City, waiting to fall -
Atlantis – in the pool.
I yearn to be that pool
Skin, transparent as dream.
Instead I fear the moon fall:
I cannot part the white
Sea of thighs, Still floating
Whole, I cry to the moon:
“I am not ready, Moon”
Silence shimmers my pool,
But brightness fades, Floating
Away. Then from the dream
I emerge, weeping white
Tears that shine like star-fall.
Li Po's moon plunge sank dream
Deep. Whirlpool of lunar white
Drowns us; floating, we fall.
poem by Lillian Susan Thomas
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I wait to meet her gaze then she will understand I will hold my breath and kiss her hand
I wait to meet her gaze then she will understand
I will hold my breath and kiss her hand
I will see her blush her cheeks red now
I will smell her hair and kiss her brow
It will bring me joy to hear her speak
I will take her hand and kiss her cheek
I will feel her skin beneath my finger tips
I will hold her face and kiss her lips
Our love's true passion can now begin
I will caress her form and kiss her skin
Our passion will flow like summer rain
Our love will be fulfilled as we kiss again
In the afterglow in fond embrace
We speak of love and I kiss her face
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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Lonely Tear
I close my eyes and you are there
As you stand in front of me
I reach out my hand to hold you
As you have set my soul and mind free
You then give me a smile and then a kiss
And now my heart and soul is on fire
I tremble and shake with thoughts only of you
My heart is full of want and your desire.
You then close your eyes and walk towards me
We then kiss with both passion and need
You gave me what I want I gave you what you have
To each other our passions we will feed.
You then step away to show me who you are
I ravish you with my hands and eyes
I then caress your breasts and touch your lips
Once again I am a man deep inside.
You turn around just one more time
To prove to me that your the woman for me
I take a deep breath it explodes in my soul
My soul and mind of all other women is free.
You take me by the hand and lead me to our bed
We lay down together with you at my side
Your head is on my chest and my hands in your hair
My passion for you for this night I will not hide.
You then make me a man I can barely stand
I look at you as you are covered with silk and lace
We then kiss again you’re my lover and friend
As I can see the pleasure upon your face.
I open my eyes and now you are gone
And sadly it was a dream you are no longer here
I now forget the passion and the words I had spoke
Now I walk away alone, with one lonely tear.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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While You Are With Me
When Adam and Eve lived in Eden
the sea of faith stretched out into the blue
meeting the sky’s canopy
and its waves pulsed anciently
gathering water from the stream of life
and love, grace even the power of man
seemed at that time as to be unlimited
as if life could stretch on into eternity
Tonight the wind is blowing through the window
moving the curtains in a tender breeze
and in the distance I can hear the ebb and flow
in which the waves continually go
and the moon is casting light
that stretches out over the endless ocean
Your breath touches my breast and face softly
and I read true happiness in the smallest things
see your breasts rising and subsiding
while the sea is continually flinging
grains of sand crushing on the distant beach
and though sometimes it feels as if out of reach
happy moments are lingering
while you are with me
[Reference: “Dover beach” by Matthew Arnold.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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As I Wait For For You
and then our minds met at a point
of convergence
i waited for you in a room without a number
a place without a name
a space where only us know what & how to fill
i am naked
you want the whole truth and so i am naked
in this room without a number, a place without a name
a space, where only our self-manifested emptiness know how & what to fill
when you arrive do not call my name
be so soft and gentle with your feet
do not even say your name as
i have also left my name somewhere else
and it is only i who knows it
i lose my identity
that is how i want to spend my short moment with you
i am naked
i only have my face, my skin and my flesh my bones my whole body
not my soul
do not knock
just push the door
it is left open throughout the nights of my waiting
i have intended it that way
so when you arrive and i am still asleep with my dreams and desires
of you
do not disturb the silence and sweetness of my sleep
just whisper your desire for love so sweet to my ears
touch the surfaces of my skin and caress with your soft fingers the smooth lines of my face
place your head just beside my tight chest
for there you shall hear the sounds of all my desires
and then my love we begin the sharing of our hidden truths
we shall dance in our nakedness
we shall make love real
we shall open the shutters of this closed window
we let the slits of light from outside the night get inside us and put some
warmth on the empty pores of our skins
we bring light to the darkness of our lives
we put fire to those eyes that refuse to close and die
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cool Water
Day by day ... whistle while you work ... our
Backs are breaking ... up from hollow earth ...
From end to end ... the noise begins ... in the
Human battle stations ... and the big ones
Coming in
Work, work, work, work ... work till holes are
Filled ... work, work, work, work ... bags of
Bone and skin ... lovers hold hands ... tossing
Their heads ... tangled in hair ... tied to earth
... with skin and glue
But their skin is the same as yours
Coming in for the world to see
They can sit at the table, too
The same blood as you and me
Speak very softly .. hold my hand ... someone is
Sleeping ... in my bed ... priests pass by ...
Worms crawl in ... one dreams to be ... one dream
For all
His skin is the same as yours
Is he not made the same as you?
And some have fallen down
And blood spilled on the ground
Work, work,work
Till his life is doneu
The old man .. is at our door ... and hes
Knocking ... knocking ... as his neighbors weep
... each day repeats ... are we nothing in your
Eyes? ... someone answer, someone answer ... this
Rusted garden gate ... can barely even stand ...
Their work is over now ... and rest will be at
Hand
Is their skin not the same as yours?
Can they sit at the table to drink
Cool water
Cool wateru
And his lungs are filled with rain...
And the waters rushing in...
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Paper Boat On A Murky River
on your hand is a paper boat
you made last night
on a rainy day like this
you put on a gray rain coat
the river rises
perfect for your scheme
you put the boat gently
on the brown water
white paper boat
carried by this murkiness
your hands push
the paper boat leaves
tonight you sleep on
the wooden floor
it is mahogany brown and you
become the paper boat
sailing inside your dream
the floor becomes the big river
your thoughts become the wind
your eyes become two moons
the room is as dark as the night
the dream is so alive like a mother's song.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Pinch of Salt
When a dream is born in you
With a sudden clamorous pain,
When you know the dream is true
And lovely, with no flaw nor stain,
O then, be careful, or with sudden clutch
You'll hurt the delicate thing you prize so much.
Dreams are like a bird that mocks,
Flirting the feathers of his tail.
When you seize at the salt-box,
Over the hedge you'll see him sail.
Old birds are neither caught with salt nor chaff:
They watch you from the apple bough and laugh.
Poet, never chase the dream.
Laugh yourself, and turn away.
Mask your hunger; let it seem
Small matter if he come or stay;
But when he nestles in your hand at last,
Close up your fingers tight and hold him fast.
poem by Robert Graves
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Happy
I wanna look behind your eyes
And gently brush the hair back from the face
Cause baby I just realized
Seeing you there in that light
It's better to be kind than right
And I'm about to bridge this kiss between us
Cuz baby I'm ready to dig in
Ready for more than skin on skin
This is where love begins
So I say
I'm gonna tell you you're my man
Cuz it makes you happy
I wanna rush to hold your hand
Y'know it makes me happy
I'm gonna love you best I can
cuz I know it makes you happy
I know I've made some big mistakes
I learned the hardest lessons that way
So adios to foolish pride
I've got nothing left to hide
I stand here open wide
And everything inside of me is saying
Baby I'm ready to dig in
Ready for more than skin on skin
This is where love begins
So I say
I'm gonna tell you you're my man
Cuz it makes you happy
I wanna rush to hold your hand
It makes me so happy
I'm gonna love you best I can
Cuz I know it makes you happy
Oh, y'know I'll make you happy
And I wanna see you happy
I want us to be happy
And we're going to be happy
Cuz baby I'm ready to dig in
Ready for more than skin on skin
This is where love begins
I wanna rush to hold your hand
I wanna see you happy
I'm gonna love you best I can
Cuz y'know it makes you happy
Oh, y'know I'll make you happy
Y'know I wanna see you happy
I'm gonna tell you you're my man
I wanna hear you laughing
I wanna rush to hold your hand
And I love your smile
I'm gonna love you best I can
Cuz that's what makes me happy
Oh y'know I'll make you happy
And I want us to be happy
I'm gonna tell you you're my man
I wanna rush to hold your hand
I'm gonna love you best I can
Cuz I know it makes you happy
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Never Know
Sun still stone
Watching
We walk by them and hear voices yeah
No one ever stops to talk of things we'd rather do
They never did
What if God shuffled by
One day we might say
We're angry not afraid
Like breathing just to breathe
That we might find some reason
But there's much to go round
That's what's wrong with the world
Don't lose the dreams inside your head
They're only there until you're dead
Dream
Lying on the roof
Counting
The stars that fill the sky
Wondering why
Someone out there really isn't looking back down on me
You never know
So much space to believe
Only when you're small
A moment follows the cause
There's no one but you see
Hey there the moon is chasing me
And I worried if I looked away she'd be gone
Don't lose the dreams inside your head
They're only there until you're dead
Dream
Oh oh oh la la la
One day fill your brain
With no cares in the world
The mellow tune come to play
She's all mine just for a day
And there's no time to waste
In the play of this game
Don't lose the dreams inside your head
They're only there until you're dead
Dream
Unforgiveable down
It won't be so long now
Out of the darkness comes light
Like a flash
You think you can you think you can
Sometimes that is the problem
Dream
Is it your dream
Dream
Spilling on being
And he fell on them
And every day should be a good day to die
Oh oh fall down
It won't be so long now
I do love I'll hand love
I find it hard to explain
How I got here
I think I can I think I can
but then again I will falter
dream
I think I can I think I can
I think I can I think I can
Oh dream
Little darling
Dream
Spilling on being
We fell from them
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band from Busted Stuff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wanting
She can't help it
The wanting of him
A simple glimpse
Across a crowd
She hides her smile
As her imagination
Goes
Into
Overdrive
Goosebumps rise
Along her flesh
Somewhere deep
A quickening begins
Her heartbeat accelerates
Her blood warms and
Begins to pulsate
As she
Holds on
Always
Yearning
Wondering
If he kissed her
Would she moan
As his mouth consumed her
Enslaved her
As his hands touched her
Caressed her flesh
His nearness makes it difficult to breathe
All of her wishes
To melt into him
Reach out and
Touch
A glimpse of her
Across a room
Leaves
Him
Wanting
Wanting to
Reach out and touch
To hold her face in his hands
Brush the tip of his thumb
Across her soft lips
Caress her skin
Let his hand travel
Travel
Across her throat
Feel her pulse
As it glides
To the back of her head
Grab a fist full of raven hair
Tilt her head back
Look into her languid eyes
Her parted lips
And trace kisses along her flesh
As she forgets
How to breathe
Their wanting of each other
Is hidden well
In the ease and flow
Of a crowded room
Maybe neither knowing
Neither certain
Both aware of the other
Both
Wanting.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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The New Wife and the Old
Dark the halls, and cold the feast,
Gone the bridemaids, gone the priest.
All is over, all is done,
Twain of yesterday are one!
Blooming girl and manhood gray,
Autumn in the arms of May!
Hushed within and hushed without,
Dancing feet and wrestlers' shout;
Dies the bonfire on the hill;
All is dark and all is still,
Save the starlight, save the breeze
Moaning through the graveyard trees,
And the great sea-waves below,
Pulse of the midnight beating slow.
From the brief dream of a bride
She hath wakened, at his side.
With half-uttered shriek and start,-
Feels she not his beating heart?
And the pressure of his arm,
And his breathing near and warm?
Lightly from the bridal bed
Springs that fair dishevelled head,
And a feeling, new, intense,
Half of shame, half innocence,
Maiden fear and wonder speaks
Through her lips and changing cheeks.
From the oaken mantel glowing,
Faintest light the lamp is throwing
On the mirror's antique mould,
High-backed chair, and wainscot old,
And, through faded curtains stealing,
His dark sleeping face revealing.
Listless lies the strong man there,
Silver-streaked his careless hair;
Lips of love have left no trace
On that hard and haughty face;
And that forehead's knitted thought
Love's soft hand hath not unwrought.
'Yet,' she sighs, 'he loves me well,
More than these calm lips will tell.
Stooping to my lowly state,
He hath made me rich and great,
And I bless him, though he be
Hard and stern to all save me!'
While she speaketh, falls the light
O'er her fingers small and white;
Gold and gem, and costly ring
Back the timid lustre fling,-
Love's selectest gifts, and rare,
His proud hand had fastened there.
Gratefully she marks the glow
From those tapering lines of snow;
Fondly o'er the sleeper bending
His black hair with golden blending,
In her soft and light caress,
Cheek and lip together press.
Ha!-that start of horror! why
That wild stare and wilder cry,
Full of terror, full of pain?
Is there madness in her brain?
Hark! that gasping, hoarse and low,
'Spare me,-spare me,-let me go!'
God have mercy!-icy cold
Spectral hands her own enfold,
Drawing silently from them
Love's fair gifts of gold and gem.
'Waken! save me!' still as death
At her side he slumbereth.
Ring and bracelet all are gone,
And that ice-cold hand withdrawn;
But she hears a murmur low,
Full of sweetness, full of woe,
Half a sigh and half a moan
'Fear not! give the dead her own!'
Ah!-the dead wife's voice she knows!
That cold hand whose pressure froze,
Once in warmest life had borne
Gem and band her own hath worn.
'Wake thee! wake thee!' Lo, his eyes
Open with a dull surprise.
In his arms the strong man folds her,
Closer to his breast he holds her;
Trembling limbs his own are meeting,
And he feels her heart's quick beating
'Nay, my dearest, why this fear?'
'Hush!' she saith, 'the dead is here!'
'Nay, a dream,-an idle dream.'
But before the lamp's pale gleam
Tremblingly her hand she raises.
There no more the diamond blazes,
Clasp of pearl, or ring of gold,-
'Ah!' she sighs, 'her hand was cold!'
Broken words of cheer he saith,
But his dark lip quivereth,
And as o'er the past he thinketh,
From his young wife's arms he shrinketh;
Can those soft arms round him lie,
Underneath his dead wife's eye?
She her fair young head can rest
Soothed and childlike on his breast,
And in trustful innocence
Draw new strength and courage thence;
He, the proud man, feels within
But the cowardice of sin!
She can murmur in her thought
Simple prayers her mother taught,
And His blessed angels call,
Whose great love is over all;
He, alone, in prayerless pride,
Meets the dark Past at her side!
One, who living shrank with dread
From his look, or word, or tread,
Unto whom her early grave
Was as freedom to the slave,
Moves him at this midnight hour,
With the dead's unconscious power!
Ah, the dead, the unforgot!
From their solemn homes of thought,
Where the cypress shadows blend
Darkly over foe and friend,
Or in love or sad rebuke,
Back upon the living look.
And the tenderest ones and weakest,
Who their wrongs have borne the meekest,
Lifting from those dark, still places,
Sweet and sad-remembered faces,
O'er the guilty hearts behind
An unwitting triumph find.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Siren's Cry
Thy silent maiden floats at sea,
Long golden hair flowing around her bod,
Nothing in her mind but a tale of love and woe,
As her tears fall to be lost in the sea,
Never to be seen again, but by those who whisper to she,
Whisper of a light so bright, that you cannot see the world,
The world that engulfs thy in horror of unreal wonders,
As water laps at thy feet, reaching, reaching for thy soul,
Crying the sirens cry to lure thee to her breast,
Her breast where thy silent maiden lay awaiting her lover’s hand,
Waiting for her tears to be dried with thy finger of love,
And still thy stand overcome by thy light of selfishness and want,
And still thy silent maiden lies out at sea,
Silver tears flowing from her closed eyes,
Arms out brushing backs of dolphins and whales,
Hair dancing in the waves,
As she sings her sirens song, pushing, pushing the water,
The waster that laps at thy feet, reaching, reaching for thy soul,
Water made of the sirens cry,
Luring thy to her breast, where thy silent maiden lay awaiting,
Awaiting her lovers hand to wipe away her tears,
And like so many before that have given their heart to her,
And that have become the foam that lines the sea,
Like those before,
Thou shall fall to the sirens cry.
By: Bethany Maxwell
September 18,2009
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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