Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XXXI
The booths were shut. The Fair was at an end,
And the crowd gone with multitudinous feet
Noisily home, or lingering still to spend
At Café doors or at the turn of the street
In twos and threes its laughter with good--night.
All turned to silence. Even my heart had peace
As, self--possessed and freed from its vain fright,
I found myself once more upon the quays.
I stopped before the theatre grown dark,
With its extinguished lamps and blank repose
A scene of melancholy sad to mark,
Made sadder too by the white moon which rose
Behind it virginal with vaporous wings,
Aloof and careless of all earthly things.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Related quotes
Last Night
It was all dark:
not that i expected light at night,
the sound of a lingering silence,
echoes reverberating from without,
last night is gone!
When i could see no more,
than the darkness of evil.
When i could hear no more,
than the sounds of the devils laughter
last night is gone
Upon the rock, i watered my plant.
On dry pastures, i cast my seed.
Unto the swine, i gave out my pearl
and all in vain that i toiled.
for it was all dark last night.
In the darkness of night, i am captived
by the light of dawn, i am freed.
Yesterday i was lost, today i am found.
The night is gone, last night is gone.
In the darkness of the world,
humanity is captived.
By the light of Christ,
Man kind is free.
At the fall of man, we were lost
On the day of salvation, we were found
The fallen is restored, last night is gone!
poem by Timothy muggaga
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To Any Dead Officer
Well, how are things in Heaven? I wish you’d say,
Because I’d like to know that you’re all right.
Tell me, have you found everlasting day,
Or been sucked in by everlasting night?
For when I shut my eyes your face shows plain;
I hear you make some cheery old remark—
I can rebuild you in my brain,
Though you’ve gone out patrolling in the dark.
You hated tours of trenches; you were proud
Of nothing more than having good years to spend;
Longed to get home and join the careless crowd
Of chaps who work in peace with Time for friend.
That’s all washed out now. You’re beyond the wire:
No earthly chance can send you crawling back;
You’ve finished with machine-gun fire—
Knocked over in a hopeless dud-attack.
Somehow I always thought you’d get done in,
Because you were so desperate keen to live:
You were all out to try and save your skin,
Well knowing how much the world had got to give.
You joked at shells and talked the usual ‘shop,’
Stuck to your dirty job and did it fine:
With ‘Jesus Christ! when will it stop?
Three years ... It’s hell unless we break their line.’
So when they told me you’d been left for dead
I wouldn’t believe them, feeling it must be true.
Next week the bloody Roll of Honour said
‘Wounded and missing’—(That’s the thing to do
When lads are left in shell-holes dying slow,
With nothing but blank sky and wounds that ache,
Moaning for water till they know
It’s night, and then it’s not worth while to wake!)
. . . .
Good-bye, old lad! Remember me to God,
And tell Him that our Politicians swear
They won’t give in till Prussian Rule’s been trod
Under the Heel of England ... Are you there?...
Yes ... and the War won’t end for at least two years;
But we’ve got stacks of men ... I’m blind with tears,
Staring into the dark. Cheerio!
I wish they’d killed you in a decent show.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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The Lost Embassy
THE lilies lean to the white, white rose,
The sweet limes send to the blossomed trees,
Soft kisses borne by the golden bees--
And all the world is alive, awake,
And glad to the heart for the summer's sake.
From her tower window the Princess leant,
Where the white light butterflies came and went;
She dropped soft kisses by twos and threes:
'White butterflies mine, will you carry these
To my Prince in prison? for they, who knows,
May break the spell that has held him close
And wake him and win him to stand up free
And laugh--in the sun--with me!'
White lilies, gold in the golden sun,
White Princess, gold in your golden gown--
Far off lies the sad, enchanted town!
Bright wings, light wings, white wings that tire,
Though they carry the flower of the heart's desire--
Will you trust to these, too white, too slight
To bring back the fruit of heart's delight?
All round and about the spell-bound town
The ways are dusty, the woods are brown;
There are no green coverts, no welcoming flowers
For little weary butterfly wings,
No dew, no lilies, no glad live things.
'Neath the sky of steel and the brazen sun
White wings, kiss-laden, dropped one by one:
By twos and threes they dropped by the way,
And only one reached the grim, gray tower
Where, witched from his kingdom, the poor Prince lay--
One poor tired butterfly, smirched and gray
With the dust of the town and the weary way,
And it lit on the Prince's hand and died.
'Bright wings, light wings, white wings,' he cried
'You, only you, might have lived and borne
My prayer to my love in her tower forlorn,
And brought back the kiss that could set me free--
She might have broken the spell that lies
On my foolish heart and my foolish eyes--
But no live butterflies come my way!'
The winds are cold and the skies are gray,
And all the lilies died yesterday;
The Princess leans from her steel-wrought tower
To watch for her butterflies hour by hour.
Poor little Princess, you watch in vain!
Butterflies die where the green wood browns,
And kisses sent to enchanted towns
Never come home again.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Bridal Eve
GOOD-NIGHT, my Heart, my Heart, good-night--
Oh, good and dear and fair,
With lips of life and eyes of light
And roses in your hair.
To-morrow brings the other crown,
The orange blossoms, Sweet,
And then the rose will be cast down
With lilies at your feet.
But in your soul a garden stands
Where fair the white rose blows--
God, teach my foolish clumsy hands
The way to tend my rose.
That in the white-rose garden still
The lily may bloom fair
God help my heart and soul and will
To keep the lily there.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Perfidy
Hollow rang the house when I knocked on the door,
And I lingered on the threshold with my hand
Upraised to knock and knock once more:
Listening for the sound of her feet across the floor,
Hollow re-echoed my heart.
The low-hung lamps stretched down the road
With shadows drifting underneath,
With a music of soft, melodious feet
Quickening my hope as I hastened to meet
The low-hung light of her eyes.
The golden lamps down the street went out,
The last car trailed the night behind;
And I in the darkness wandered about
With a flutter of hope and of dark-shut doubt
In the dying lamp of my love.
Two brown ponies trotting slowly
Stopped at a dim-lit trough to drink:
The dark van drummed down the distance slowly;
While the city stars so dim and holy
Drew nearer to search through the streets.
A hastening car swept shameful past,
I saw her hid in the shadow,
I saw her step to the curb, and fast
Run to the silent door, where last
I had stood with my hand uplifted.
She clung to the door in her haste to enter,
Entered, and quickly cast
It shut behind her, leaving the street aghast.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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A London Thoroughfare. 2 A.M.
They have watered the street,
It shines in the glare of lamps,
Cold, white lamps,
And lies
Like a slow-moving river,
Barred with silver and black.
Cabs go down it,
One,
And then another,
Between them I hear the shuffling of feet.
Tramps doze on the window-ledges,
Night-walkers pass along the sidewalks.
The city is squalid and sinister,
With the silver-barred street in the midst,
Slow-moving,
A river leading nowhere.
Opposite my window,
The moon cuts,
Clear and round,
Through the plum-coloured night.
She cannot light the city:
It is too bright.
It has white lamps,
And glitters coldly.
I stand in the window and watch the
moon.
She is thin and lustreless,
But I love her.
I know the moon,
And this is an alien city.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Good Samaritan
The sun shone through the window as I lay down on your carpet
Staring at the speakers - pretending to be tortured
And I never moved a muscle
No, I never moved a muscle
The sunlight turned to shadows, and the minutes turned to hours
Somebody turned the lights on, there was conversation, laughter
And you know just what I'm after - you know just what I'm after
You will look at me, and your curiosity is gonna get the better of you, will get the better of you
Standing next to me now - she's in the air I breathe
She says, "I'm marrying a rich man but he still thinks I'm a virgin
So I need a little action, I need a little fun
I need a good Samaritan, good Samaritan, good Samaritan, good Samaritan"
We raged around our cages until all the doors lay open
Then we fell upon each other in the fury and the frenzy
And we fought like Gods of Thunder - and we played like fives 'n under
And the only screams that mattered turn to whispers in my ear
You're my good Samaritan, you're my good Samaritan, you're my good Samaritan, you're my good Samaritan
Walking down the street - they make such a lovely couple
And she freezes when she sees me - but she don't have to worry
Cos I needed something deeper - I needed something longer
She said, "People who are weaker, need people who are stronger"
And I don't know what possessed you, was I just a one night stand
And not your good Samaritan, good Samaritan, good Samaritan, good Samaritan.
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Silence is Broken!
Solace falls
On wings of
Laughter
Made sadder
By their
Silence
It’s deafening,
This laughter,
Reveling In its own
Absence,
Then laughter
No longer
Crying now
In silence
Tears
Falling
In the
Vertical
Corridors
Of eternity
Never to
Stop.
But then!
Oh joy!
And then,
Like
Silver bells
Ringing
Across a
Deep Void
An angel,
Laughing
Bringing joy
Once more
To the
World.
White Space
I was dreaming of a white space
Had interposed itself between us two-
A blank wall; neither dark nor light
No recrimination there but silence
The silence that falls only at night.
Silence gone to snowy hazards
Like the shadows made from deeper blue-
And invisible but slippery edges,
As blindly groping in the darkness
To reach the haven- but you're not there yet.
Though I would wall myself with silence
And spend my life as one, not two-
Before I'd hurt another being,
Sometimes intentions brick the dam up
Before the devastation's seen.
poem by Patti Masterman
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Twos and Threes
Relationships live or die
from the Threes and Twos;
You and I
may love our best;
your needs
my needs
may meld or clash;
but as long as we're
the Twos
we will fail;
and the relationship
will delve down the deeps.
Yours vs. Mine
Right vs. Wrong
Your Family,
My Family,
Your View
My View,
Your Needs,
My Needs:
stuck in the Twos.
The Three is You and I
and understanding that
there is another person
in the relationship;
The US.
Then we see
that sometimes we have to
value US
more than
than You and Me.
What shall prevail:
the irritation over
the tooth paste tube,
the unmade bed
the chores or we Three?
Is Happiness
the sacrifice
for Three
we learn to make?
Yes it is.
The Three
you me and the kids
Us and our family
not versus,
but additions to
the love
we want to add to our lives.
The Three comprehends
that all belong in this tapestry.
No outsiders here.
No insiders either.
Nations too,
practice Two:
Us vs. Them
Good vs Bad
Foreigners vs Us
God with Us and
not with Them.
Civilizations thrive or die
by the Threes and Twos.
So do We.
So practice
Three
not Two;
You might
be
happier.
But then again
that is just my view.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Get Off Of My Cloud
(mick jagger and keith richards)
I live in an apartment on the ninety-ninth floor of my block
And I sit at home looking out the window
Imagining the world has stopped
Then in flies a guy whos all dressed up like a union jack
And says, Ive won five pounds if I have his kind of detergent pack
I say, hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Dont hang around cause twos a crowd
On my cloud baby
The telephone is ringing,
I say, hi, its me. who is it there on the line?
A voice says, hi, hello, how are you?
Well, I guess Im doin fine
He says, its three a.m., theres too much noise
Dont you people ever wanna go to bed?
Just cause you feel so good, do you have
To drive me out of my head?
I say, hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Dont hang around cause twos a crowd
On my cloud baby
I was sick and tired, fed up with this,
And decided to take a drive downtown
It was so very quiet and peaceful
There was nobody, not a soul around
I laid myself out, I was so tired and I started to dream
In the morning the parking tickets were just like
A flag stuck on my window screen
I say, hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Dont hang around cause twos a crowd
On my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Hey! you! get off of my cloud
Dont hang around cause twos a crowd
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mr. What's-His-Name
They called him Mr. What's-his-name:
From where he was, or why he came,
Or when, or what he found to do,
Nobody in the city knew.
He lived, it seemed, shut up alone
In a low hovel of his own;
There cooked his meals and made his bed,
Careless of all his neighbors said.
His neighbors, too, said many things
Expressive of grave wonderings,
Since none of them had ever been
Within his doors, or peered therein.
In fact, grown watchful, they became
Assured that Mr. What's-his-name
Was up to something wrong--indeed,
Small doubt of it, we all agreed.
At night were heard strange noises there,
When honest people everywhere
Had long retired; and his light
Was often seen to burn all night.
He left his house but seldom--then
Would always hurry back again,
As though he feared some stranger's knock,
Finding him gone, might burst the lock.
Beside, he carried, every day,
At the one hour he went away,
A basket, with the contents hid
Beneath its woven willow lid.
And so we grew to greatly blame
This wary Mr. What's-his-name,
And look on him with such distrust
His actions seemed to sanction just.
But when he died--he died one day--
Dropped in the street while on his way
To that old wretched hut of his--
You'll think it strange--perhaps it is--
But when we lifted him, and past
The threshold of his home at last,
No man of all the crowd but stepped
With reverence,--Aye, _quailed_ and _wept_!
What was it? Just a shriek of pain
I pray to never hear again--
A withered woman, old and bowed,
That fell and crawled and cried aloud--
And kissed the dead man's matted hair--
Lifted his face and kissed him there--
Called to him, as she clutched his hand,
In words no one could understand.
Insane? Yes.--Well, we, searching, found
An unsigned letter, in a round
Free hand, within the dead man's breast:
'Look to my mother--_I'm_ at rest.
You'll find my money safely hid
Under the lining of the lid
Of my work-basket. It is hers,
And God will bless her ministers!'
And some day--though he died unknown--
If through the City by the Throne
I walk, all cleansed of earthly shame,
I'll ask for Mr. What's-his-name.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Sign On The Window
Sign on the window says lonely,
Sign on the door said no company allowed,
Sign on the street says y dont own me,
Sign on the porch says threes a crowd,
Sign on the porch says threes a crowd.
Her and her boyfriend went to california,
Her and her boyfriend done changed their tune.
My best friend said, now didn I warn ya,
Brighton girls are like the moon,
Brighton girls are like the moon.
Looks like a-nothing but rain . . .
Sure gonna be wet tonight on main street . . .
Hope that it dont sleet.
Build me a cabin in utah,
Marry me a wife, catch rainbow trout,
Have a bunch of kids who call me pa,
That must be what its all about,
That must be what its all about.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Creation of the Moon
The man cut his throat and left his head there.
The others went to get it.
When they got there they put the head in a sack.
Farther on the head fell out onto the ground.
They put the head back in the sack.
Farther on the head fell out again.
Around the first sack they put a second one that
was thicker.
But the head fell out just the same.
It should be explained that they were taking the head
to show to the others.
They did not put the head back in the sack.
They left it in the middle of the road.
They went away.
They crossed the river.
But the head followed them.
They climbed up a tree full of fruit
to see whether it would go past.
The head stopped at the foot of the tree
and asked them for some fruit.
So the men shook the tree.
The head went to get the fruit.
Then it asked for some more.
So the men shook the tree
so that the fruit fell into the water.
The head said it couldn't get the fruit from there.
So the men threw the fruit a long way
to make the head go a long way to get it so they could go.
While the head was getting the fruit
the men got down from the tree and went on.
The head came back and looked at the tree
and didn't see anybody
so went on rolling down the road.
The men had stopped to wait
to see whether the head would follow them.
They saw the head come rolling.
They ran.
They got to their hut they told the others that the head
was rolling after them and to shut the door.
All the huts were closed tight.
When it got there the head commanded them to open the doors.
The owners would not open them because they were afraid.
So the head started to think what it would turn into.
If it turned into water they would drink it.
If it turned into earth they would walk on it.
If it turned into a house they would live in it.
If it turned into a steer they would kill it and eat it.
If it turned into a cow they would milk it.
If it turned into a bean they would cook it.
If it turned into the sun
When men were cold it would heat them.
If it turned into rain the grass would grow and the
animals would crop it.
So it thought, and it said, "I will turn into the moon."
It called, "Open the doors, I want to get my things."
They would not open them.
The head cried. It called out, "At least give me
my two balls of twine."
They threw out the two balls of twine through a hole.
It took them and threw them into the sky.
It asked them to throw it a little stick too
to roll the thread around so it could climb up.
Then it said, "I can climb, I am going to the sky."
It started to climb.
The men opened the doors right away.
The head went on climbing.
The men shouted, "You going to the sky, head?"
It didn't answer.
As soon as it got to the Sun
it turned into the Moon.
Toward evening the Moon was white, it was beautiful.
And the men were surprised
to see that the head had turned into the Moon.
Death of Dusk
The sun resigns,
bleeds out the vestiges –
remnants of the day.
Exsanguination edges into twilight:
red-brown hangs;
upwards darkens:
blue-brown,
blue-black,
death-black,
disquiet – furtive,
like ghoul-ridden fog.
A sombre moon assumes its role,
gushing silver-white lymph upon the muted scape –
a prequel of supernatural undertones
to chill the scene,
ice the spine,
kill the brain –
we have unnerved the very firmament.
But now a shadow closing down the globe:
dinosaurian cloud shrouds the moon glaze,
claims the late hour –
declared in a dying crow caw.
I, the hidden owl
– nemesis of claustrophobic minds –
awake! for mammal flesh –
fresh, jerking out its warmth in dance of death.
Rock-still I perch in sculptured oneness
with my crooked night-tree,
emanating nocturnal allure.
Together we scowl
together we play the dark
upon the land and sky
and mind
while you lie as dead in your box.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark
dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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In The Middle Of The Crowd
in the middle of the crowd
where there is so much noise
all mouths talking
with no one listening
all arms and hands
moving and shouting
and all feet walking to
and fro like grandfather's
clock's mechanical pendulum
when the world seems to be
crowded not just with people
but with words
dishonest words and other
things that we do not really mean
why not try the silence of the stars
outside this crowd
on the grass, soft, soft grass
with the wind, cool cool winds
why not try the silence of the stars
under the sky
why not spend a little time with
the moon
let us try silence for a while
who knows
this world may still have peace
who knows
our overbeating hearts may
find its needed rest
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Virtue and Vice
SHE was so good, and he was so bad
A very pretty time they had!
A pretty time, and it lasted long:
Which of the two was more in the wrong?
He befouled in the slough of sin;
Or she whose piety pushed him in?
He found her yet more cold and staid
As wedded wife than courted maid:
She filled their home with freezing gloom;
He felt it dismal as a tomb:
Her steadfast mind disdained his toys
Of worldly pleasures, carnal joys;
Her heart firm-set on things above
Was frigid to his earthly love.
So he came staggering home at night;
Where she sat chilling, chaste, and white:
She smiled a scornful virtuous smile,
He flung good books with curses vile.
Fresh with the early morn she rose,
While he yet lay in a feverish doze:
She prayed for blessings from the Throne,
He called for “a hair of the dog” with a groan:
She blessed God for her strength to bear
The heavy load,—he ’gan to swear:
She sighed, would Heaven, ere yet too late,
Bring him to see his awful state!
The charity thus sweetly pressed
Made him rage like one possessed.
So she grew holier day by day,
While he grew all the other way.
She left him: she had done her part
To wean from sin his sinful heart,
But all in vain; her presence might
Make him a murderer some mad night.
Her family took her back, pure saint,
Serene in soul, above complaint:
The narrow path she strictly trod,
And went in triumph home to God:
While he into the Union fell,
Our halfway house on the road to Hell.
With which would you rather pass your life
The wicked husband or saintly wife?
poem by James Thomson
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Byblos
I saw her once before; she didnt turn me on.
One night she stopped to talk to pass the time.
And then I saw her eyes; her softly smiling glow,
We sat and talked all night at byblos.
She talked of feelings that I knew were true.
She painted me a picture using every shade of blue
It was light with laughter, at times it made me cry,
And now Ill never know just why I didnt ever try to hold her;
To squeeze her; to kiss her all night long, I never tried to please her.
Then, soon she had to go;
I sat there all alone
And thought of things she said
The whole day through.
And then I realized,
I never took the time
To find out where she lived
Or where to call.
I thought that I would see her
The next night,
Anticipating how Id set myself right.
Then, I went back to byblos;
I sat there and waited,
Feeling just a little nervous
And a little frustrated.
Then, soon, in she came, looking just the same
Oo, I could hardly wait to take her far from the game.
Then a person came in to the club
That I had to speak to
I explained the situation to her
And I thought she understood
But I guess she thought I was jiving her around
Cause when I looked for her, this is what I found
She was rapping with a real good friend of mine,
He was happening, I guess it was his time.
I really couldnt blame him, cause he was sad and lonely too.
But just talking to her did me so much good, I knew shed do him good too.
Then I went home and I got it on,
Sat down to write these words when I was finally alone.
And then, about halfway through I wondered if someone knew
Where she was, so I could give her a call,
And I found out that she was right down the hall,
Not too far away,
But thats ok, Ill just wait for the day when I can see her again
And spend some time.
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The White Rose
A lonely kid had no friends,
within his home his world ends.
He used to dream about colorful roses,
his love for roses was in heavy doses.
His nights filled with fears and tears,
days rolled like million years.
His mom took him to a rose garden one day,
she wanted to buy him a rose plant for his birthday.
The rose plants giggled about the boys face.
Their words wiped his happiness without a trace.
A dropp of his tear fell on a white rose's petal.
The petal turned red like a rare earth metal.
The plant pleaded him 'please don't cry'.
The words of the rose plant made him fly.
He took that plant to his garden.
From then his life was a gladden.
He took care of the white rose like a baby.
Loving that white rose was his full-time hobby.
His dreams and heart were filled with love.
His heart was pure like the whitest dove.
At an evening the rose looked dull and dry.
The kid was full of cry and wondering why,
he didn't stopped his painful weep,
that whole night he didn't sleep.
His tired eyes slept for a minute in a doze,
a voice in his dream told something about the rose,
the dawn broke with the rose blooming,
but the kid was gone missing.
He was never been found not even a hint.
His heart was beating under the roots of the rose plant.
Because in his dream he heard that,
the rose can live forever with a human heart.
So he left his heart and he depart.
poem by Vimal Kumar N
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Correct?
If the moon and the sun waged a war,
Who would win? The moon, I'm sure.
The sun would fight face to face,
Making sure everything was proper and in its place.
The sun would often stop and double check,
Just to make certain he was politically correct.
While the sun was being fair and safe,
The moon was off in a darkened place.
In the night, the moon slipped around
And hid behind the sun somehow.
The evening ended and the sun awoke.
He rose quickly as the morning broke.
The sun searched but could not find the moon,
And the sun was happy the war had ended so soon.
When the day turned dark and dark turned black,
The moon stabbed the sun in his well-meaning back.
poem by Richard Betts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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