Coole Park, 1929
I meditate upon a swallow's flight,
Upon a aged woman and her house,
A sycamore and lime-tree lost in night
Although that western cloud is luminous,
Great works constructed there in nature's spite
For scholars and for poets after us,
Thoughts long knitted into a single thought,
A dance-like glory that those walls begot.
There Hyde before he had beaten into prose
That noble blade the Muses buckled on,
There one that ruffled in a manly pose
For all his timid heart, there that slow man,
That meditative man, John Synge, and those
Impetuous men, Shawe-Taylor and Hugh Lane,
Found pride established in humility,
A scene well Set and excellent company.
They came like swallows and like swallows went,
And yet a woman's powerful character
Could keep a Swallow to its first intent;
And half a dozen in formation there,
That seemed to whirl upon a compass-point,
Found certainty upon the dreaming air,
The intellectual sweetness of those lines
That cut through time or cross it withershins.
Here, traveller, scholar, poet, take your stand
When all those rooms and passages are gone,
When nettles wave upon a shapeless mound
And saplings root among the broken stone,
And dedicate - eyes bent upon the ground,
Back turned upon the brightness of the sun
And all the sensuality of the shade -
A moment's memory to that laurelled head.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Related quotes
The Municipal Gallery Revisited
AROUND me the images of thirty years:
An ambush; pilgrims at the water-side;
Casement upon trial, half hidden by the bars,
Guarded; Griffith staring in hysterical pride;
Kevin O'Higgins' countenance that wears
A gentle questioning look that cannot hide
A soul incapable of remorse or rest;
A revolutionary soldier kneeling to be blessed;
An Abbot or Archbishop with an upraised hand
Blessing the Tricolour. 'This is not,' I say,
'The dead Ireland of my youth, but an Ireland
The poets have imagined, terrible and gay.'
Before a woman's portrait suddenly I stand,
Beautiful and gentle in her Venetian way.
I met her all but fifty years ago
For twenty minutes in some studio.
III
Heart-smitten with emotion I Sink down,
My heart recovering with covered eyes;
Wherever I had looked I had looked upon
My permanent or impermanent images:
Augusta Gregory's son; her sister's son,
Hugh Lane, 'onlie begetter' of all these;
Hazel Lavery living and dying, that tale
As though some ballad-singer had sung it all;
Mancini's portrait of Augusta Gregory,
'Greatest since Rembrandt,' according to John Synge;
A great ebullient portrait certainly;
But where is the brush that could show anything
Of all that pride and that humility?
And I am in despair that time may bring
Approved patterns of women or of men
But not that selfsame excellence again.
My mediaeval knees lack health until they bend,
But in that woman, in that household where
Honour had lived so long, all lacking found.
Childless I thought, 'My children may find here
Deep-rooted things,' but never foresaw its end,
And now that end has come I have not wept;
No fox can foul the lair the badger swept --
VI
(An image out of Spenser and the common tongue).
John Synge, I and Augusta Gregory, thought
All that we did, all that we said or sang
Must come from contact with the soil, from that
Contact everything Antaeus-like grew strong.
We three alone in modern times had brought
Everything down to that sole test again,
Dream of the noble and the beggar-man.
VII
And here's John Synge himself, that rooted man,
'Forgetting human words,' a grave deep face.
You that would judge me, do not judge alone
This book or that, come to this hallowed place
Where my friends' portraits hang and look thereon;
Ireland's history in their lineaments trace;
Think where man's glory most begins and ends,
And say my glory was I had such friends.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Dementia
My mother forgot how to swallow.
Before that, she lost my face and my name,
erased from her memory by sickness and age.
Her nurses complained she took too long to feed
They wanted a peg and a tube for the deed
My mother forgot how to swallow
She forgot her late spouse, disremembered her vow.
With the loss of the past there is no here and now.
Once she read to my child, then my girl read to her-
Until all the sounds were a meaningless blur
My mother forgot how to swallow
Jesus and Mary and her patron saint
would loved to have helped her, so weak and so faint,
but she had forgotten the simplest prayer -
the beads in her hand little use to her here.
My mother forgot how to swallow
The night nurses found her while making their round
She was cold to the touch, no pulse to be found
She stared, eyes wide open, at the cross on the wall
Perhaps the Messiah had come after all.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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I Swallow
I swallow pride,
I swallow guilt,
I swallow everything he spilt.
I wipe away the remnants of,
What is left of both our love.
I swallow all that is not seen,
I swallow every broken dream,
I swallow when I want to scream,
This by itself is magic.
I swallow if just for his likes,
I swallow and it’s tragic.
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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A Single Woman
Artist: Nina Simone
Album: Single Woman
Song Title: Single Woman
I live alone.
That hasn't always been easy to do.
But just a single woman;
Some times as night the walls talk back to me.
They seem to say
Wasn't yesterday, a better day.
Always alone at home or in a crowd;
A single woman out on a private cloud;
Caught in a world few people understand.
I am what I am.only one single woman.
There was a timeI can't remember when.
The house was full of love but then again
It might have been imaginations plan,
Just to help along,
One single Woman.
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From The Short Story What The Swallows Did
Swallow, swallow, neighbor swallow,
Starting on your autumn flight,
Pause a moment at my window,
Twitter softly your good-night;
For the summer days are over,
All your duties are well done,
And the happy homes you builded
Have grown empty, one by one.
Swallow, swallow, neighbor swallow,
Are you ready for your flight?
Are all the feather cloaks completed?
Are the little caps all right?
Are the young wings strong and steady
For the journey through the sky?
Come again in early spring-time;
And till then, good-by, good-by!
poem by Louisa May Alcott
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The Opening in the Sky to Heaven
in the eyes of the swallows
the sky winds its way into
a mysterious golden
- cool luminous opening
to where heaven is
on and on the excited swallows
would sing wishing one day
it would be able to explore
what is inside
on and on the swallows would sing
as they cruise the sky
delighting all earth's inhabitants
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Nature and Woman
Nature and woman
Both are weakness for man
One sheds tear
Another is made to bear
One is ready to offer
Another is ready to suffer
Both identical but different in approach
Noble thoughts for sacrifice as such
Nature is kind
So is the woman very much blind
Gives everything for slight pretext
Without thinking what will be next
Nature has everything in abundance
Women have character by chance
Both stand for giving away the pride
Come closer when wish to confide
Women are worth to be adored
So is the nature to be explored
One may dedicate for whole life
Another may bless for future life
So do we need to be grateful?
Think of wisely and remain faithful
Do nothing contrary to cause harm
When they both are ready to welcome
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Slow Dance
Its a slow dance
Take a little time for some romance
Come a little closer baby, slow dance
Whisperin the words I want to hear
Its been a long night
Now my head is on your shoulder and its so right
Your sweet and gentle kisses on these closin eyes
Tonight I will be dreaming of you
(*) when I saw you for the first time
I never thought that this could be
I never thought youd come my way
I never thought Id hear you say dance with me
Now its a slow dance
Repeat (*)
Now its a slow song
Seems that Ive been waiting for it so long
Waiting for this moment and someone like you
To make all my dreams come true
Someone like you, oh baby
song performed by by Carpenters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letter to Prof Wole Soyinka
to the stone that sharpens axe,
kudos.
to the stone that grinds pepper,
kudos.
to the bird that swallows snake,
kudos.
to the woman who swallows man,
kudos.
to the man who swallows lion,
kudos.
to the hunter who returns
from exploit, when the day breaks,
kudos!
poem by Stephen Olufemi Omolara
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A Walk Within A Dream
I saw a building old as days
With countless rooms laid within
Walls with cracks and ivy rose
From the earth before me
Slowly I entered that place
Air ran heavy, thick to my lungs
With each taken step
I walked the rooms and halls
Some bare stripped of life
Others as though never touched
Some like a memory kept
Where instruments of music
Lay dust covered, silent
Still brought a song to thought
I saw paintings and pictures
Rich in a veil of colour
Like all the seasons held at once
A beauty found, celebrated
Then a sadness felt
In the shadowed halls
Empty with a loneliness
Another room had windows
Where a wind whistled through
I heard a birdsong carried
It passed in a second step
I thought no more of it
I descended and climbed stairs
Became lost and yet found
I knew this place well
However strange it came to me
Yes I knew this place
I felt the walls, ageless
I smelt the air, familiar
The ground beat to a pulse
A rhythm only I knew
On this my first visit
To that building which once rose
I felt at home, comforted
I looked back became held
As though I had never moved
The entrance still behind me
In spite of all the rooms and halls
Which I had walked
In spite of every step I counted
Numberless, countless, endless
I remained unmoved
Yet moved still moved
My eyes closed I felt myself pulled
Away from that old building
The rooms and walls
The cracks and the climbing ivy
That whistling wind
The music and colour
I awoke and thought
Had I walked a dream
Built upon my heart, soul, mind
Had I just walked myself
No answers came
I lay awake lost in thought
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Across the Road
To cross or not to cross
was all I thought
when I saw her face across the road.
Her eyes was set as though she lost her soul,
so lost like she is never in this world.
She never minded her shadow on the ground...
her watch as if to melt under her stare,
tic tacked not faster than her heartbeat
for she thought her head was on her feet-
At last, she looked my way
and her pretty face paled.
Suddenly she stood still as though
she gasped some air from death to life...
I can't escape her stare.
To cross or not to cross, I never thought
when across the road she merely stood
nearly meeting her shadow on the ground.
I closed my eyes- I heard the sound
of her crying heart, I found
myself walking away with the woman on my side.
It pained to see her that way cry...
just because I couldn't cross the road for her.
It pained to watch her die.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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Choked
Trees above her, below her, to each side of her
Fog obstructing her view, where should she be?
She cannot tell what day it is any more than she can tell what time it is
Which way should she turn?
The fog swallows her feet
When she thinks she has found the right path, she sees an opening...
Then the fog swallows it
She has been misled again
...and again
......and again
She screams, she’s tired; she is choked by the fog, betrayed by the trees
Feels like she’s been here forever
Trees that don’t talk back anymore
No one is there to guide her
She is lost
The trees and fog are making her second guess every step she makes
Mocking her, humiliating her, laughing at her
At one time she thought they would lead her
Following each way the breeze decided to sway the trees
Going with the fog because where there is fog there is water
Water leads her to place she needs to be
If only the fog was not so thick
if only the trees would talk again
If....If....IF! !
If only she was not lost
The trees and the fog swallows her
Then spits her out when she is nothing more
Nothing is left
Besides a new start
God! Please help me!
poem by Ashley Joyce Forbus
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The Swallows
AH! swallows, is it so?
Did loving lingering summer, whose slow pace
Tarried among late blossoms, loth to go,
Gather the darkening cloud-wraps round her face
And weep herself away in last week's rain?
Can no new sunlight waken her again?
'Yes,' one pale rose a-blow
Has answered from the trellised lane;
The flickering swallows answer 'No.'
From out the dim grey sky
The arrowy swarm breaks forth and specks the air,
While, one by one, birds wheel and float and fly,
And now are gone, then suddenly are there;
Till lo, the heavens are empty of them all.
Oh, fly, fly south, from leaves that fade and fall,
From shivering flowers that die;
Free swallows, fly from winter's thrall,
Ye who can give the gloom good-bye.
But what for us who stay
To hear the winds and watch the boughs grow black,
And in the soddened mornings, day by day,
Count what lost sweets bestrew the nightly track
Of frost-foot winter trampling towards his throne?
Swallows, who have the sunlight for your own,
Fly on your sunward way;
For you has January buds new blown,
For us the snows and gloom and grey.
On, on, beyond our reach,
Swallows, with but your longing for a guide:
Let the hills rise, let the waves tear the beach,
Ye will not balk your course nor turn aside,
But find the palms and twitter in the sun.
And well for them whose eager wings have won
The longed for goal of flight;
But what of them in twilights dun
Who long, but have no wings for flight?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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ThE pAiN..........
I'll swallow the pain of being misunderstood.
I'll swallow the pain of being no good.
I'll just swallow the pain of not fitting in.
I'll just swallow the pain of not deserving.
I'll swallow the pain of hiding myself.
I'll swallow the pain of having no help.
I'll just swallow the pain of being constantly hurt.
I'll just swallow the pain of being thought as a nerd.
I'll swallow the pain of breaking my heart.
And in all of my dreams, with sorrow I'll part........
poem by Urmila Reghunath
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Heart Turns To Stone
The days and nights you sit around wondering where can
She be
Hoping that she might appear, out of nowhere
But you fail to see
All the hurt inside, the wounded pride
Ooh what she went through for you
You cheated and lied, as her love slowly died
And her heart just broke in two
When she was with you, all along
Behind you right or wrong
She tried to hold on, hold on
But you went too far, and shes gone
And now its over and her heart turns to stone
No time for pity, when her heart turns to stone
She cries a little as her heart turns to stone
Shes that kind of woman
Shell do fine on her own
What you thought was a game
A game you were winning
Wouldnt go your way
Now youve lost what you had
And your back to the beginning
Its the price you have to pay
When she was with you, all along
Behind you right or wrong
She tried to hold on, hold on
But you went too far, and shes gone
And now its over and her heart turns to stone
No time for pity, when her heart turns to stone
She cries a little as her heart turns to stone
Shes that kind of woman
Shell get by on her own
She hides the pain
But her heart turns to stone
No time for pity
When her heart turns to stone
She cries sometimes
As her heart turns to stone
Shes that kind of woman
Shell get by on her own
Yeah its over
And her heart turns to stone
Dont look for pity now
When her heart turns to stone
Listen to her cry
Listen to her cry
Shes a woman now
Ooh its a sad thing to see
To see a heart turn to stone
The heart of a woman
A heart turned to stone
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The three is growing now
From another land
From another aid of a hand
Where dry seasons is like fall
Where the bushes are green and tall
The tree is growing now
Into the sea and out of the sunset
Where great tides are known to set
Where the wind blow as hard and cold
I see no rain, or loam of soil to call gold
But the tree is growing now
Fro and to the blue of the cloud
Where the storm is as loud
The heart weeps and sleeps as fair
The children are as timid as au pair
But the tree is growing now
Into the cemetery and out of the ground
Where the death is as lavish as soothing sound
The lost is moaned, and the living is brave
The woman is running to ease her grave
But the tree is growing now
From the birth of a child
Where he play his part as mild
The world was sweet as a lime
And the years, days, with all the time
But the tree is still growing now
poem by william Dadeah Jr.
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The Pride of a Woman
The pride of a woman lies in the bare root of her soul,
The content of her character and the switch in her strole,
The greatest once wrote with not a single lie,
That she danced like she got diamond at the meetings of her thighs,
You can see in her face a phenomenal woman none the less,
With her pride brightly shining shaming all she don’t impress,
The pride of a woman lies in the steal barrier that guards her heart,
All other emotions showing but protects that special part,
The pride of a woman lies in the place that tells her what she’ll be,
Her character, her strole, her face, her soul, in you and all in me.
By: Breanna Givens
poem by Breanna Givens
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Inexplicable.
The night was cold but still and clear.
As I patrolled the riverside.
I felt a sudden twinge of fear.
Quite suddenly I was terrified.
It was a strange experience.
I saw no reason for my fear.
It went against my common sense
When I thought I saw appear.
Two figure from the distant past.
A sailor and his light of love.
Fear for the moment held me fast.
Although I tried I could not move.
The sailor struck her on the head
with some heavy implement.
To make quite sure that she was dead.
Another blow more violent.
Then he made off and left her there.
He had done what he intended to.
Whilst I was forced to stand and stare.
There was nothing I could do,
When I could move I went to where.
I had seen her body fall
Her battered body was not there.
There was no blood no sign at all.
When I regained my self control.
Of course I double checked the scene.
Then carried on with my patrol.
Convinced myself that I had been.
Confused by some trick of the light.
It's possible I might have been.
But I won't forget that night
nor what I thought that I had seen.
The memory still bothered me.
When I retired I found the time.
To study local history.
I found a record of the crime.
A woman's body had been found
Beside the waters of the Tyne.
Just left abandoned on the ground
She died in eighteen twenty nine.
Was I transported back in time?
On that cold evening long ago
.Was I a witness to that foul crime?
I cannot say I do not know.
Though I remember vividly.
The murder scene I thought I saw.
A trick of light most probably.
Though I shall wonder evermore.
Tuesday,07 February 2012
Http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Im Just A Woman
(ronnie scott/ steve wolfe)
Producer for bonnie: hugh murphy
**Im just a woman
You are the only man
I need you always
You need me now and then
Im just a woman
You are the only man
Im just your puppet
You make me dance and sing
You know I love it
Letting you pull my string
Im just a woman
You are the only man
*and I know if you choose
Yon can throw me away
Like some old shoe
But as long as youre there
From the bottom or my heart
I dont care
I m just the lover
You want along the way
I try to do it
But you always start to play
Im just a woman
You are the only man
*repeat
Im just a woman, ooh
Im just a woman, ooh
And there are times you really show
What s in your heart and then I know
No matter what yon do I cant let go
Of any part of your love
**repeat
*repeat
Im just a woman, ooh
Im just a woman, ooh
Im just a woman
You are the only man
Im just a woman
Said Im just a woman
Im just a woman
You are the only man
Said Im just a woman
Im just a woman just a woman
You are the only man
Just a woman, ooh
Said Im just a woman
Im just a woman
You are the only man
Im just a woman
I said Im just a woman
And you are the only man
Yeah yeah
Im just a woman
You are the only man
Im just a woman
Said Im just a woman
Im just a woman
Youre, youre the only man
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poet And Woman
Woman, you are incomplete without poet,
Poet, you are also imperfect without woman.
The soil is incomple without the root of trees,
The sky is incomple without the clouds,
stars or the shining Moon,
The river is dead without the dancing of waves,
And, the poet's heart is a desert without a woman's love.
The forest is incomplete without the wild animals,
The sun is lost in darkness without its light,
The trees are but a row of emptiness-
without the chirping of the birds,
And, a woman is but half without a poet's imagination.
poem by Nazmul Haque
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