A Day-Dream's Reflection
Chequer'd with woven shadows as I lay
Among the grass, blinking the watery gleam,
I saw an Echo-Spirit in his bay
Most idly floating in the noontide beam.
Slow heaved his filmy skiff, and fell, with sway
Of ocean's giant pulsing, and the Dream,
Buoyed like the young moon on a level stream
Of greenish vapour at decline of day,
Swam airily, watching the distant flocks
Of sea-gulls, whilst a foot in careless sweep
Touched the clear-trembling cool with tiny shocks,
Faint-circling; till at last he dropt asleep,
Lull'd by the hush-song of the glittering deep,
Lap-lapping drowsily the heated rocks.
poem by William Allingham
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He Miss The Old Town
He miss the old town by the ocean and he misses the smell of the sea
And in his moments of nostalgia in fancy he hear and see
The silver gulls above the wide beach in small flocks they call as they fly
And the soft pipings of the sooty oystercatchers echo in the clear morning sky.
He was a young man of the sixties and young men they age and grow old
All year round he rode the big surf waves in a wet suit to keep out the cold
Till he wandered far from the ocean fell in love, married and settled down
An ageing dad with teenage daughters he lives in a big inland Town.
He is out of practice for surfing and he lives far from the ocean shore
A champion young surfer of the sixties perhaps he will surf never more
You can take the man from the ocean but the ocean does not leave the man
Though far from the roar of the surf waves he well may live out his time span.
He miss the old town by the ocean though he now might feel a stranger there
A champion young surfer of the late sixties till lust for wander it took him to elsehwere
in his imaginings he rides the big waves and on his face the ocean spray
And at heart he is a coastal person though from there he lives far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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 Cried Again
The little tear that fell down my cheek
drew an ocean to the people below
they swam and swam untill they go tired
then they went to the black of their homes
they cried themselves to sleep that night
in the heat of the night they did sleep
awaiting the sandman to come give them their dreams
and to dream a dream of the deep
the depth of the waters hidden inside my tears
creating the ocean of which they do swim
without them ill die a slow suicide
the droubt of the midst of my tears
waiting just waiting for the tears of the night
awaiting the pain of my cries
as if i dont cry ill simply just die
so i must keep bringng the tears
but tonight i tried to cry again
bringing the emotions of the past
watching and waiting, watching and waiting
of the little peoples dreaming to last
but they did not appear from the mist of my tears
they did not attract to the swimming
as if they had entered the door of my heart
swimming off all of the good feelings
stay little ones swim off my dreams, swim as if never felt water
my tears are now gone and no misses all along
just a smile blessed into deep slumber
poem by Kristinahh KIMBER
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O City, Look the Eastward Way
O CITY, look the Eastward way!
Beyond thy roofs of shadowy red and grey
Floats like a lily on the airy stream,
Radiant and vast, a cloud,
Around whose billowy head
Splendour from out the glooming West is shed
As if it were not ever to take flight,—
And on its edge of gleam
In the clear blue of waning afternoon,
Faint as a spirit slipping from the shroud,
Faint, and yet gathering light,
The Moon.
O city, dream and pray!
This is thy evensong at close of day.
poem by Enid Derham
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Moonlight Memories
Sweet and sad
moon light always beads
the lace with memory leads
in my teens
my hormones oozed out
as I curl out
in the moon lit night
as I grew up
my dreams and loves
all blazed in the cool moon
my blood boiled blushed with delight
all the fantasies
all the sweetest memories
romantic webs knit across
the full moon sky with millions stars.
the nights were awake
when she peeped inside
I loved her in watery beds
silvery threads woven in filmy sheds
yet, she weighed upon my nights
when my mother breathed that night
just that night and nomore right
as she blazed at distant sight
I waited till midnight
to relieve motherless plight
at the courtyard bereft
of lovely mother's gait.
the shroud of moon light
now fell upon me tight
it choked me breathless
freezing attractions gayless
I still wonder at full moon nights
if my mother did come out of the grave
and did she engrave her love upon the pave
did the wintry dews make her shiver
and did she cry and groan in fever
the icy night evoked further
terrible sights of dead ones dear
Still, I could not bury the delicate mother
banishing the memories of full moon weather.
poem by Lalitha Iyer
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Winter Evening At Home
Fair Moon, that at the chilly day's decline
Of sharp December through my cottage pane
Dost lovely look, smiling, though in thy wane!
In thought, to scenes, serene and still as thine,
Wanders my heart, whilst I by turns survey
Thee slowly wheeling on thy evening way;
And this my fire, whose dim, unequal light,
Just glimmering, bids each shadowy image fall
Sombrous and strange upon the darkening wall,
Ere the clear tapers chase the deepening night!
Yet thy still orb, seen through the freezing haze,
Shines calm and clear without; and whilst I gaze,
I think, around me in this twilight room,
I but remark mortality's sad gloom;
Whilst hope and joy cloudless and soft appear,
In the sweet beam that lights thy distant sphere.
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Looking-Glass River
Smooth it glides upon its travel,
Here a wimple, there a gleam--
O the clean gravel!
O the smooth stream!
Sailing blossoms, silver fishes,
Pave pools as clear as air--
How a child wishes
To live down there!
We can see our colored faces
Floating on the shaken pool
Down in cool places,
Dim and very cool;
Till a wind or water wrinkle,
Dipping marten, plumping trout,
Spreads in a twinkle
And blots all out.
See the rings pursue each other;
All below grows black as night,
Just as if mother
Had blown out the light!
Patience, children, just a minute--
See the spreading circles die;
The stream and all in it
Will clear by-and-by.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Green-Water Stream
To reach the Yellow-Flowered River
Go by the Green-Water Stream.
A thousand twists and turns of mountain
But the way there can’t be many miles.
The sound of water falling over rocks
And deep colour among pines.
Gently green floating water-plants.
Bright the mirrored reeds and rushes.
I am a lover of true quietness.
Watching the flow of clear water
I dream of sitting on the uncarved rock
casting a line on the endless stream.
poem by Wang Wei
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Dream
Because her eyes were far too deep
And holy for a laugh to leap
Across the brink where sorrow tried
To drown within the amber tide;
Because the looks, whose ripples kissed
The trembling lids through tender mist,
Were dazzled with a radiant gleam--
Because of this I called her 'Dream.'
Because the roses growing wild
About her features when she smiled
Were ever dewed with tears that fell
With tenderness ineffable;
Because her lips might spill a kiss
That, dripping in a world like this,
Would tincture death's myrrh-bitter stream
To sweetness--so I called her 'Dream.'
Because I could not understand
The magic touches of a hand
That seemed, beneath her strange control,
To smooth the plumage of the soul
And calm it, till, with folded wings,
It half forgot its flutterings,
And, nestled in her palm, did seem
To trill a song that called her 'Dream.'
Because I saw her, in a sleep
As dark and desolate and deep
And fleeting as the taunting night
That flings a vision of delight
To some lorn martyr as he lies
In slumber ere the day he dies--
Because she vanished like a gleam
Of glory, do I call her 'Dream.'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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I Am in Need of Music
I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!
There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Sonnet (1928)
I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!
There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Sonnet
I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!
There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Scythe Song
MOWERS, weary and brown, and blithe,
What is the word methinks ye know,
Endless over-word that the Scythe
Sings to the blades of the grass below?
Scythes that swing in the grass and clover,
Something, still, they say as they pass;
What is the word that, over and over,
Sings the Scythe to the flowers and grass?
Hush, ah hush, the Scythes are saying,
Hush, and heed not, and fall asleep;
Hush, they say to the grasses swaying;
Hush, they sing to the clover deep!
Hush—’t is the lullaby Time is singing—
Hush, and heed not, for all things pass;
Hush, ah hush! and the Scythes are swinging
Over the clover, over the grass!
poem by Andrew Lang
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Tz'u No. 2 (Wine Joy)
To the tune "As in a Dream"
I have long remembered
the pavilion
on the stream
the falling sun
so deep in wine
we did not know
the way home
how pleasure spent
late returning
the skiff
thoughtless
entered
a lotus deep place
and struggling through
struggling through
we scared up
from the sand
gulls and herons.
poem by Li Ching Chao
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I've a Secret to Tell Thee
I've a secret to tell thee, but hush! not here --
Oh! not where the world its vigil keeps:
I'll seek, to whisper it in thine ear,
Some shore where the Spirit of Silence sleeps;
Where Summer's wave unmurmuring dies,
Nor fay can hear the fountain's gush;
Where, if but a note her night-bird sighs,
The rose saith, chidingly, "Hush, sweet, hush!"
There, amid the deep silence of that hour,
When stars can be heard in ocean dip,
Thyself shall, under some rosy bower,
Sit mute, with thy finger on thy lip:
Like him, the boy, who born among
The flowers that on the Nile-stream blush,
Sits ever thus -- his only song
To earth and heaven, "Hush, all, hush!"
poem by Thomas Moore
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Sonnet 06
(to a brook near the village of Corston.)
As thus I bend me o'er thy babbling stream
And watch thy current, Memory's hand pourtrays
The faint form'd scenes of the departed days,
Like the far forest by the moon's pale beam
Dimly descried yet lovely. I have worn
Upon thy banks the live-long hour away,
When sportive Childhood wantoned thro' the day,
Joy'd at the opening splendour of the morn,
Or as the twilight darken'd, heaved the sigh
Thinking of distant home; as down my cheek
At the fond thought slow stealing on, would speak
The silent eloquence of the full eye.
Dim are the long past days, yet still they please
As thy soft sounds half heard, borne on the inconstant breeze.
poem by Robert Southey
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Midnight
Unfathomable Night! how dost thou sweep
Over the flooded earth, and darkly hide
The mighty city under thy full tide;
Making a silent palace for old Sleep,
Like his own temple under the hush'd deep,
Where all the busy day he doth abide,
And forth at the late dark, outspreadeth wide
His dusky wings, whence the cold waters sweep!
How peacefully the living millions lie!
Lull'd unto death beneath his poppy spells;
There is no breath—no living stir—no cry
No tread of foot—no song—no music-call—
Only the sound of melancholy bells—
The voice of Time—survivor of them all!
poem by Thomas Hood
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Ocean Song
Sing a little song,
Just an itty bitty ditty,
About the rolling boom
Of the ocean’s lull and gloom.
Sing a little song,
Hum a simple tune,
That reminds you of the sea
And all that she may be.
Sing a little song,
Tap an unknown beat,
To sway the stars above
And steal the ocean from her love.
Sing a little song,
A sweeter melody.
Let’s coax the waves to shore -
Inspiring new lore.
Sing a little song,
Create some fancy notes,
That tempt the moon to land,
And we’ll dance on golden sand.
Sing a little song,
Drum an unheard rhythm,
About the sea’s unending keen
And all that she has seen.
Sing a little song,
A peaceful lullaby,
That speaks of pleasant ages
And soothes the ocean’s rages.
poem by Robin Shuler
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Will To Love
It has often been my dream
To live with one who wasnt there
Like an ocean fish who swam upstream
Through nets, by hooks, and hungry bears.
When the water grew less deep
My fins were aching from the strain
Im swimming in my sleep
I know I cant go back again.
Got the will to love, the will to love.
Ill never lose it, never lose the will to love,
Never lose the will.
Its like something from up above.
I can be like a fire in the night
Always warm and giving off light
But there comes a time when I shine too bright
Oh, Im just a fire in the night.
And now my fins are in the air
And my bellys scraping on the rocks
I still think someone really cares
And Ill keep swimming till I stop.
Got the will to love, the will to love.
Ill never lose it, never lose the will to love,
Never lose the will.
Its like something from up above.
Im like a singer on the stage
With the golden lights and liquid rage
Down from the mountains to the sea
Cool running love keeps cleansing me.
It keeps my gills from getting dry
But it distorts things in my eyes
Sometimes I see what really isnt there
Like my true lover, and I care.
Got the will to love, the will to love.
Ill never lose it, never lose the will to love,
Never lose the will.
Its like something from up above.
Sometimes I ramble on and on
And I repeat myself till all my friends are gone
And get lost in snow and drown in rain
And never feel the same again.
I remember the ocean from where I came
Just one of millions all the same
But somewhere someone calls my name
Im a harpoon dodger, and I cant, wont be tamed.
Got the will to love, the will to love.
Ill never lose it, never lose the will to love,
Never lose the will.
Its like something from up above.
Baby, if I see boredom in your eyes
Ill know my river has run dry
But I wont turn back with that lonely tide
I bought that ticket and Ill take that ride.
If we meet along the way
Please sway beside me, let us sway together
Our tails together and our fins and mind
Well leave this water and let our scales shine
In the sun above and the sky below
So all the water and earth will know
It has often been my dream
To live with one who wasnt there.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sea-Piece
SUBLIME is thy prospect, thou proud-rolling Ocean,
And Fancy surveys thee with solemn delight;
When thy mountainous billows are wild in commotion,
And the tempest is rous'd by the spirits of night!
When the moon-beams thro' winter-clouds faintly appearing,
At intervals gleam on the dark-swelling wave;
And the mariner, dubious, now hoping, now fearing,
May hear the stern Genius of hurricanes rave!
But now, when thine anger has long been subsiding,
And the tempest has folded the might of its wing;
How clear is thy surface, in loveliness gliding,
For April has open'd the portals of spring!
Now soft on thy bosom the orient is beaming,
And tremulous breezes are waving thy breast;
On thy mirror the clouds and the shadows are streaming,
And morning and glory the picture have drest!
No gale but the balmy Favonian is blowing,
In coral-caves resting, the winds are asleep;
And, rich in the sun-beam, yon pendants are glowing,
That tinge with their colors the silvery deep!
Yet smile or be dreadful, thou still-changing Ocean,
Tremendous or lovely, resistless or still;
I view thee adoring, with hallow'd emotion,
The Pow'r that can hush or arouse thee at will!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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