The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: CX
THE OASIS OF SIDI KHALED
How the earth burns! Each pebble underfoot
Is as a living thing with power to wound.
The white sand quivers, and the footfall mute
Of the slow camels strikes but gives no sound,
As though they walked on flame, not solid ground.
'Tis noon, and the beasts' shadows even have fled
Back to their feet, and there is fire around
And fire beneath, and overhead the sun.
Pitiful heaven! What is this we view?
Tall trees, a river, pools, where swallows fly,
Thickets of oleander where doves coo,
Shades, deep as midnight, greenness for tired eyes.
Hark, how the light winds in the palm--tops sigh.
Oh this is rest. Oh this is paradise.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Dragon In My Soul
Fire,
It burns in all of us,
It burns deep in my soul,
I fell it when I'm told no,
Fire,
or you would not under stand,
That you are to young,
Flame brakes,
out like wild fire,
I look at the world in away that most adults are blind to,
I sit in my corner,
day,
night,
hoping.
Hoping that I will be free,
free from my age,
Cinders start to flame,
I look at the earth,
poisoned,
Fire,
poisoned by the adults,
Fire,
The government is a place that the idiots go,
Fire,
to control us,
Fire burns deep,
They make bad decisions,
Fire
Pass laws that make no sense,
Fire
but we have to listen,
Fire
we have to do,
Then the fire burns,
My soul is ablaze,
Anger,
Hate,
Sadness,
Fire,
I understand what you are saying,
That's why I argue,
Fire,
louder,
Fire,
Until I am yelling,
Until the fire is flaming out of my mouth,
Coming from my lungs,
My soul is on fire,
Anger,
hate,
sadness,
poem by Shadrach Knight
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fire Burns! Fire Burns!
If you like you can enquire
There are rings of fire
There are hearts on fire
There are desert, grass and bush fires
Burning with a red hot rage on a different stage
They burn and mature that one can only admire
O! Fire O! Fire
My heart is on fire
Inside my soul a little flame has transpired
Have my words mis-fired while I speak of fire?
Fire burns like a scorching red-hot sun
And when fire burns its impact is sometimes no fun
Fire burns! Fire burns!
People die, people cry, people sigh
Fire run, run and run
Let's take turns to run before we turn into a bun
When you play with fire your hands will burn
When you lay with fire, heads will surely turn
Fire burns! Fire burns!
A hand pulls a gun and fires
A man goes to work and gets fired
And while I tire, I ask myself am I a liar?
For I speak of the uncontrollable forest fires
That cannot be announced by any town crier
A little spark
A brittle panic attack
A burning flame
A red-hot blaze
In seconds fire can take out an entire space
Fire burns! Fire burns!
And while the fire transpires
I can see the fire in your eyes
A hot passionate desire that flies and flies
And the fire burns and burns
Run, run and run for heads will turn
And the heat will rise like the scorching sun
Fire burns! Fire burns!
I ask silently for a ceasefire
For fire only ignites to inspire more misery
And out of that misery are born some high fliers
Run, run and run for heads will turn
And whatever burns can never be undone
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Will Always Return
I hear the wind call your name
It calls me back home again
It sparks up the fire - a flame that still burns
Oh it's to you I'll always return
I still feel your breath on my skin
I hear your voice deep within
The sound of my lover - a feeling so strong
It's to you - I'll always belong
Now I know it's true
My every road leads to you
And in the hour of darkness darlin'
Your light gets me through
Wanna swim in your river - be warmed by your sun
Bathe in your waters - cos you are the one
I can't stand the distance - I can't dream alone
I can't wait to see you - Ya I'm on my way home
Oh I hear the wind call your name
The sound that leads me home again
It sparks up the fire - a flame that still burns
Oh, it's to you - I will always return
song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Midnight Kisses
Midnight Kisses
Date: March 12,2011
Breathing slow, breathing deep
‘Cross the sea of slumber creep
Mists aglow with hidden fire
Sheets the bed with fresh desire
In the shadows of midnight's keep
The blaze is quickened, in flurried sleep
A haunting breath of flash and flame
Creeping ‘round the window pane
Scents that stain the pillow case
On the river of silence race
Swallowed up by raging need
Storms the crown, to plant the seed
Behind the shade of fevered dreams
Piercing truth, in stillness screams
Secrets locked beneath the skin
In visions ripe to trickle in
Broken whispers flutter by
Painting promise on the sky
Naked flesh begins to yearn
As passion flares, the body burns
Trapped in a subconscious mind
The light of day will never find
A fire as hot as is this bliss
Drowning in a midnight kiss
************************************* ********
Copyright © 2011 Leria Hawkins, All Rights Reserved
poem by Leria Hawkins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In A Time Of Dearth
Before me,
On either side of me,
I see sand.
If I turn the corner of my house,
I see sand,
Long, brown
Lines and levels of flat
Sand.
If I could only see a caravan
Heave over the edge of it:
The camels wobbling and swaying,
Stepping like ostriches,
With rocking palanquins
Whose curtains conceal
Languors and faintnesses,
Muslins tossed aside,
And a disorder of cushions.
The swinging curtains would pique and solace me.
But I only see sand,
Long, brown sand -
Sand.
If I could only see a herd of Arab horses
Galloping,
Their manes and tails pulled straight
By the speed of their going;
Their bodies sleek and round
Like bellying sails.
They would beat the sand with their fore feet,
And scatter it with their hind feet,
So that it whirled in a cloud of orange,
And the sun through it
Was clip-edged, without rays, and dun.
But I only see sand,
Long, brown, hot sand -
Sand.
If I could only see a mirage,
Blue-white at the horizon,
With palm-trees about it;
Tall, windless palm-trees, grouped about a-glitter.
If I could strain toward it,
And think of the water creeping round my ankles,
Tickling under my knees,
Leeching up my sides,
Spreading over my back.
But I only feel the grinding beneath my feet.
And I only see sand,
Long, dry sand,
Scorching sand -
Sand.
If a sand-storm would only come
And spit against my windows,
Snapping upon them, and ringing their vibrations;
Swirling over the roof;
Seeping under the door-jamb;
Suffocating me and making me struggle for air.
But I only see sand -
Sand lying dead in the sun.
Lines and lines of sand -
Sand.
I will paste newspapers over the windows to shut out the sand;
I will fit them into one another, and fasten the corners.
Then I will strike matches
And read of politics and murders and festivals
Three years old.
But I shall not see the sand any more,
And I can read
While my matches last.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Quest For Fire
I time when dinosaurs walked the earth
When the land was swamp adn caves where home
In an age when prize possession was fire
To search for landscapes men would roam
Then the tribes they came to steel the fire
And the wolves they howled into the night
As they fought a viscious angry battle
To save the power of warmth and light
Drawn by quest for fire
They searched all through the land
Drawn by quest for fire
Discovery of man
And they thought that when the embers died away
That the flame of life had burnt and died
Didnt know the sparks that made the fire
Were made by rubbing stick and stone
So they ploughed through forest and swamps of danger
And they fought the cannibal tribes and beasts
In the search to find another fire
To regain the power of light and heat
Drawn by quest for fire
They searched across the land
Drawn by quest for fire
Discovery of man
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Vigil
THE rain is falling on the roof,
And no sound else disturbs the wife,
Except the trees and winds at strife,
Now near at hand and now aloof;
But listening, leaning evermore,
She waits a knock upon the door.
Her hair is braided round her head;
Her eyes are large and fierce and bright;
Her shapely throat is soft and white;
And on her mouth there burns the red
Of that rich, storied gem that shone
Upon the breast of Prester John.
Upon the couch her husband lies.
How is it that he lies so still?
Why sleeps he there so pale and chill,
The lamplight on his lidded eyes?
Has she not fire, and more than fire
To thrill his flesh with hot desire?
Anon she lifts her rounded arms
As though to feel that she is free;
And her large eyes exultantly
Light up, as when the dawn-glow charms
With roseate lights that gleam and glance
Twin pools to sudden radiance.
The rain is falling on the roof;
Yet, though her ears are open wide,
There is no other sound outside —
No fall of foot, nor tramp of hoof.
And on his couch with lidded eyes
The husband, cold and pallid, lies.
The midnight sky is wild and black
And drenches earth with ceaseless tears;
And now it seems to her she hears
Hoof-strokes upon the sodden track;
And now she rises, sweet as sin,
To let the late night-strayer in.
The lamplight gleams upon his face,
And glistens on his reddened spur;
He stretches out his arms to her
And folds her in a rude embrace. . . .
How can it be the husband lies
So still, with heavy-lidded eyes?
Perchance he neither sees nor hears,
And sleeps unmoved by chance or change.
And yet. . . .and yet, it seems so strange —
If he be dead there should be tears.
Not love nor smiles, nor midnight bliss,
Nor mouths that marry in a kiss.
The loud winds thrust upon the door,
The raindrops plash against the roof,
The trickles from a waterproof
Make little pools upon the floor;
No foe between, no more apart,
They stand, heart throbbing back to heart.
Anon she says: 'He died this morn.
He did not die a whit too soon;
Life's day, alas, makes towards its noon.
He should have died when love was born.
He should have died long since. And now
Kiss me again — my mouth, my brow!'
poem by Roderic Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Voices Of The Night : The Beleaguered City
I have read, in some old, marvellous tale,
Some legend strange and vague,
That a midnight host of spectres pale
Beleaguered the walls of Prague.
Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.
White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
The river flowed between.
No other voice nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like banners clasped the air,
As clouds with clouds embrace.
But when the old cathedral bell
Proclaimed the morning prayer,
The white pavilions rose and fell
On the alarmed air.
Down the broad valley fast and far
The troubled army fled;
Up rose the glorious morning star,
The ghastly host was dead.
I have read, in the marvellous heart of man,
That strange and mystic scroll,
That an army of phantoms vast and wan
Beleaguer the human soul.
Encamped beside Life's rushing stream,
In Fancy's misty light,
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam
Portentous through the night.
Upon its midnight battle-ground
The spectral camp is seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
Flows the River of Life between.
No other voice nor sound is there,
In the army of the grave;
No other challenge breaks the air,
But the rushing of Life's wave.
And when the solemn and deep churchbell
Entreats the soul to pray,
The midnight phantoms feel the spell,
The shadows sweep away.
Down the broad Vale of Tears afar
The spectral camp is fled;
Faith shineth as a morning star,
Our ghastly fears are dead.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beleaguered City, The
I have read, in some old, marvellous tale,
Some legend strange and vague,
That a midnight host of spectres pale
Beleaguered the walls of Prague.
Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.
White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
The river flowed between.
No other voice nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like banners clasped the air,
As clouds with clouds embrace.
But when the old cathedral bell
Proclaimed the morning prayer,
The white pavilions rose and fell
On the alarmed air.
Down the broad valley fast and far
The troubled army fled;
Up rose the glorious morning star,
The ghastly host was dead.
I have read, in the marvellous heart of man,
That strange and mystic scroll,
That an army of phantoms vast and wan
Beleaguer the human soul.
Encamped beside Life's rushing stream,
In Fancy's misty light,
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam
Portentous through the night.
Upon its midnight battle-ground
The spectral camp is seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
Flows the River of Life between.
No other voice nor sound is there,
In the army of the grave;
No other challenge breaks the air,
But the rushing of Life's wave.
And when the solemn and deep churchbell
Entreats the soul to pray,
The midnight phantoms feel the spell,
The shadows sweep away.
Down the broad Vale of Tears afar
The spectral camp is fled;
Faith shineth as a morning star,
Our ghastly fears are dead.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Have A Baptism
God’s truth will out and must be preached
Till earth’s four corners have been reached
“My Ghost and Flame shall be outpoured –Joel.2: 28
Receive my child”, thus says The Lord
The bible’s here for man to read
God welcomes all to on Christ to feed –Jn.6: 51
Throughout the flock He spreads The Flame –Lk.12: 50
To guide to heal purge of shame
God’s word is meat to babies tough
Water baptism’s not enough
If endless life is man’s desire
He must receive God’s Ghost & Fire –Jn.3: 6
The Fire of Christ refines till pure
Consumes our ills none else can cure –Heb.12: 29
Burning the chaff midst Jesus’ wheat –Mt.3: 12
Bringing the foe beneath our feet
By grace God’s Holy Ghost is here
Spirit & Flame have none to fear
When safe and sound in Jesus’ hand
The truth we truly understand
God’s Fire burns deep cleansing the heart
Consuming dross from every part
Salvation comes the truth to give
When through The Flame again we’ll live –Gen.3: 24
God’s Fire brings death upon its knees
Who holds the truth receives the keys
Eternal life body and soul
For those in Christ The Flame’s made whole
We need The Fire to win life’s race
But pure of heart will see God’s face
One thing in Christ we need the most
Fire baptism with His Holy Ghost…
poem by Michael P. Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bitter Love
down from the branches fall the leaves,
a wanness comes on all the trees,
the summers done;
and into his last house in heaven,
now goes the sun.
sharp frost destroys the tender sprays,
birds are cold in these short days,
the Nightengale
is grieving that the fire of heaven
is now grown pale.
the swollen river rushes on
past meadows whence the green has gone,
the golden sun
has filled our world.snow falls by day
the nights are numb.
about me all the world is stark,
and i am burning; in my heart
there is a fire
a living flame in me, the maid
of my desire
your kisses, fuel my fire,
your tender touches, flaming higher.
the light of light
dwells in your eyes; divinity
is in your sight.
greek fire can be extingwished
by bitter wine; my fire is fed
on other meat.
yea, even the bitterness of love
is bitter sweet
poem by Brian Saling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Open Casket Affinity
The fire he sees
Is brighter than any other he's seen before
It's brilliant and bright and it burns deep and red and all at once he's in love.
It's only then he sees the girl it belongs to.
And then he reaches out;
His fingers dance over the flames;
But
The fire dulls and so does she
And she
Was nothing like the grim expression she wore;
She was life itself.
She was living, breathing, brilliant life
It was just a shame that she was no longer living.
But she breathed
She breathed and spoke and walked and slept
And she looked at him
Both with those lovely green eyes
And
With her fire burning behind her
And
Still
She did not live.
But she kissed him
And her kisses ached
The burning intensity which she gave them with
The fire both in her hair and in her kisses reminded him that she was burning
She was a flame
His flame
But in the same sense she was cold and not here and not so much broken as nothing at all.
Each time he saw her
He felt he was seeing a ghost
The ghost burned a dull flame
The fire's final whispers were like a sad sonnet to him;
This dead girl he loved was its ashes
After a slow path of destruction and recklessness
She lay in its wake
The ashes were the distance in her eyes;
The smoke her lies that slip her tongue unnoticed.
He felt he was staring straight in to a coffin
Her open casket;
And he was in love
With the flames
Sometimes forgetting the girl they belonged to.
The way she looks at him;
Wordless
She tells him
Let me go
And love me
Please
Love
Me
But then she's dancing all at once
And hardly moving at all
But the fire is burning
It's burning again and all at once she's both alive and living again;
And he see's the love in her eyes and all at once he understands
The city
She's gone
And she is in love.
poem by Dayna Mortimore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fire On The Willow
Weary beneath the Weaping Willow,
I lie so lonesome and secluded from the world.
Away from what's realtiy and the truth of life,
As my skitzophrenia engulfs me,
And burns away my once self like a wildfire.
Fire beneath the Willow Tree,
And no one gives a thought to my agonizing burns.
The fire consumes me, swallows me, eats me alive,
And I'm overzealous in my attempts to be quenched.
Completely alone and pleading for my life,
As the truculent fire leaps to the Willow.
The fire licks up the Willow Tree,
And flames creep into my eyes,
So all I may witness is Hell.
Hell inside myself blazes the world around me,
And nothing's as it seems to be.
All alone and incarserated in flames,
As fire burns up the Willow Tree.
Clouds That Cover The Sun
Clouds that cover the sun
A dark shadow over passing
An extinguished light
Gone from view
As days fade away
A sleeping world awakens
To the silver tinged beauty of
A silent summer night
Dreams come and go
Hidden messages in the sand
Across the dark of midnight
A shooting star moves
Bring lovers eyes with it
Encompassing and alluring
A kindled flame of childish hope
Burns bright and true
Destiny unfolded, untold
A book with no words
Black ink spattered and scattered
Across a wide spread world
Death of the beautiful and innocent
No fuel to feed the fire
Burning it self and destroying
Every thing else in the end
poem by Autumn Winds
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Black Horse Rider
For George Anthell
Between them is the land of broken colors,
the land that makes a mock of him
with miles.
He rides, he rides,
he passes through the flat
chrome wheatfields
cut by the plough of the river makers.
The hills are aslant,
the clay torsos, the hills,
the clay has a red wound,
it gapes.
The white roots cry,
there is a mute susurrus in the dark:
poppies, poppies are you not
their pain?
With hoof on flint and flint
the black horse
rides: black wind, black
against fire.
The black horse crooks his
forelegs, the hills split open,
his nostrils pour flame.
Snort, snort through miles,
O charger, through rock.
He drinks the mezas,
he burns his thin knees over
braziers of grass:
Ride, ride.
Sky is spilt water,
a silver hello is flung
from star to star.
Black horse breaks
fire underfoot and now
his mane is a burnt city,
his mouth churned ocean,
foam on his belly a constellation.
At last he tramples
the sand
behemoth
Asleep before the sea.
poem by Pierre Loving
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Red House
On the wide fields the water gleams like snow,
And snow like water pale beneath pale sky,
When old and burdened the white clouds are stooped low.
Sudden as thought, or startled near bird's cry,
The whiteness of first light on hills of snow
New dropped from skiey hills of tumbling white
Streams from the ridge to where the long woods lie;
And tall ridge-trees lift their soft crowns of white
Above slim bodies all black or flecked with snow.
By the tossed foam of the not yet frozen brook
Black pigs go straggling over fields of snow;
The air is full of snow, and starling and rook
Are blacker amid the myriad streams of light.
Warm as old fire the Red House burns yet bright
Beneath the unmelting snows of pine and larch,
While February moves as slow, as slow
As Spring might never come, never come March.
Amid such snows, by generations haunted,
By echoes, memories and dreams enchanted,
Firm when dark winds through the night stamp and shout,
Brightest when time silvers the world all about,
That old house called _The Heart_ burns, burns, and still
Outbraves the mortal threat of the hanging hill.
poem by John Freeman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Riders
RHEIMS is down in fire and smoke,
The hour of God is at the stroke.
Round and round the ruined place,-
Jesu, Mary, give us grace!
There are two riders clad in mail,
Silver as the moon pale.
One is tall as a knight's spear,
The younger one is lowlier.
Small and slim and like a maid-
Steeds and riders cast no shade.
Who are then these cavaliers?
There was a sound as Heaven dropt tears.
Who are these that ride so light,
Soundless in the flaming light,
Where Rheims burns, that was given
By France to Mary, Queen of Heaven?
O our Rheims, our Rheims is down,
Naught is left of her renown.
Hist! what sound is in the breeze,
Like the sighing of forest trees?
Or a great wind, or an army,
Or the waves of the wild sea?
The tall knight rides fierce and fast
To the sound of a trumpet-blast.
The little knight in fire and flame,
Slender and soft as a dame,
Rides and is not far behind:
His long hair floats on the wind.
And ever the tramp of chivalry
Comes like the sound of the sea.
This is Michael rides abroad,
Prince of the army of God,
And this like a lily arrayed,
Is Joan, the blessed Maid.
Rheims is down in fire and smoke
And the hour of God's at the stroke.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet: My Heart Afire
There is a fire burning in my heart!
The world had sparked this flame incessantly;
I burn the midnight-oil well on my part,
And so the flame keeps rising endlessly.
The world unfair had set my heart afire;
I feel, it can’t be extinguished with ease;
And with it burn, my emotions, desire;
From time to time, it gives me mental peace.
In short a time, the flame has grown so tall!
Its brightness looks uniquely wonderful;
No water can put out the fire or stall;
Like forest-fire, it burns night-day awfully.
This fire I download in poetic style;
And already, it looks almost a file!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Garden Of Gethsemane
The place is fair and tranquil, Judaea’s cloudless sky
Smiles down on distant mountain, on glade and valley nigh,
And odorous winds bring fragrance from palm-tops darkly green,
And olive trees whose branches wave softly o’er the scene.
Whence comes the awe-struck feeling that fills the gazer’s breast,
The breath, quick-drawn and panting, the awe, the solemn rest?
What strange and holy magic seems earth and air to fill,
That worldly thoughts and feelings are now all hushed and still?
Ah! here, one solemn evening, in ages long gone by,
A mourner knelt and sorrowed beneath the starlit sky,
And He whose drops of anguish bedewed the sacred sod
Was Lord of earth and heaven, our Saviour and our God!
Hark to the mournful whispers from olive leaf and bough!
They fanned His aching temples, His damp and grief-struck brow;
Hark! how the soft winds murmur with low and grieving tone!
They heard His words of anguish, they heard each sigh and moan.
Alone in deepest agony, while tired apostles slept;
No one to share His vigil—weep with Him as He wept;
Before Him, clearly rising, the Cross, the dying pain,
And sins of hosts unnumbered whose souls He dies to gain.
O Garden of Gethsemane! the God-like lesson, then
Left as a precious token to suff’ring, sorrowing men,
Has breaking hearts oft strengthened, that else, so sharply tried,
Had sunk beneath sin’s burden and in despair had died.
O Garden of Gethsemane! “when pressed and sore afraid,”
May I in spirit enter beneath thine olive shade,
And, great though be my anguish, still, like that God-like One,
Submissive say: “Oh Father! Thy will, not mine, be done!”
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Vision quest
Wandering pine,
with rolled rug slung across her back
walked bare foot to feel the rich earth
beneath her feet.
The trees, high pines either side,
shielded the low sun casting shadows
bringing the ancestors.
Breaking through the pines
into crystal blue she laid her rug.
Calling on the four winds
North to prowling Bear
West to snarling Panther
East to breathing Moose
South to follow the doe eyed fawn
she began her vision quest
seated in a circle on the ground.
Cross legged she waited
stilled her mind
drew her quiet breath
and breathed the mountain air
slowly for the longest time.
Then it came.......
The rising...........
The oneness........
The wholeness.....
and The knowing
spreading through her
like the four winds.
There she stayed......
until the morning of the fourth day
when she rose quietly, rolled her rug
and descended through the pines;
with the rich earth beneath her feet
and the sound of running water at her side.
poem by Diana Rosser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!