The Refusal of Charon
Why look the distant mountains
So gloomy and so drear?
Are rain clouds passing o’er them,
Or is the tempest near?
No shadow of the tempest
Is there, nor wind nor rain—
’Tis Charon that is passing by,
With all his gloomy train.
The young men march before him,
In all their strength and pride;
The tender little infants,
They totter by his side;
The old men walk behind him,
And earnestly they pray—
Both old and young imploring him
To grant some brief delay.
‘O Charon! halt, we pray thee,
Beside some little town,
Or near some sparkling fountain,
Where the waters wimple down!
The old will drink and be refreshed,
The young the disc will fling,
And the tender little children
Pluck flowers beside the spring.’
‘I will not stay my journey,
Nor halt by any town,
Near any sparkling fountain,
Where the waters wimple down:
The mothers coming to the well
Would know the babes they bore,
The wives would clasp their husbands,
Nor could I part them more.’
poem by William Edmondstoune Aytoun
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Related quotes
Red Rain
Red rain is coming down
Red rain
Red rain is pouring down
Pouring down all over me
I am standing up at the waters edge in my dream
I cannot make a single sound as you scream
It cant be that cold, the ground is still warm to touch
This place is so quiet, sensing that storm
Red rain is coming down
Red rain
Red rain is pouring down
Pouring down all over me
Well Ive seen them buried in a sheltered place in this town
They tell you that this rain can sting, and look down
There is no blood around see no sign of pain
Hay ay ay no pain
Seeing no red at all, see no rain
Red rain is coming down
Red rain
Red rain is pouring down
Pouring down all over me
Red rain-
Putting the pressure on much harder now
To return again and again
Just let the red rain splash you
Let the rain fall on your skin
I come to you defences down
With the trust of a child
Red rain is coming down
Red rain
Red rain is pouring down
Pouring down all over me
And I cant watch any more
No more denial
Its so hard to lay down in all of this
Red rain is coming down
Red rain is pouring down
Red rain is coming down all over me
I see it
Red rain is coming down
Red rain is pouring down
Red rain is coming down all over me
Im bathing in it
Red rain coming down
Red rain is coming down
Red rain is coming down all over me
Im begging you
Red rain coming down
Red rain coming down
Red rain coming down
Red rain coming down
Over me in the red red sea
Over me
Over me
Red rain
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rain Tolls
And the rain sounded like hail,
From the rooftops - a galvanized frailty
To whom does the rain toll?
The marred corners are baying prudently,
And soon the thunder would crash like the foliage,
For whom does the rain fall?
Then all the people who basked underneath the rain,
From puddles, the images hang loose from the terrain,
To whom does the murk of the wind call?
The cold monsoon blusters,
And the trees sprawl to their forefathers,
Tell me underneath the pouring savagery, for whom does the wind stall?
A chasm waiting to be filled,
By the zenith that scampers throughout the fields,
I am bludgeoned by the wind as it scrolls
The sun failed to resurface – collapsed blatancy
As the clouds tender with rain graced ardently
Dullard as it would appear, the rain proceeds to sear
And by the dying moments of the rain,
The slivers of sleeping restive waters breathe
To give life to one more tempest – in me.
poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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A Prayer
may all the good old people of this world
have a happy death,
may not the young die at their young age
may those who pray for death
be enlightened to choose life
and live in peace in an actualized self,
may all those who have forgotten prayer
pray, and may all those who still pray
pray some more to learn to pray
and pray earnestly that all
prayers through God's Holy Will
be heard and granted.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Memorial Day
Memories of those who are no longer here
are shared by millions who hold them dear.
Their faces so young that stay in the mind
of parents and wives and husbands that find
their loved ones were taken so young in their years.
Their children were left too young to cry tears,
never knowing their fathers or seeing their smile
or having them there as they walk down the aisle.
No war's ever worth their great sacrifice,
fought with their lives, they paid the great price.
And now we take time just one day a year
and pray somehow, somewhere they can hear
we miss them and honor them in memory
and hope their children's lives will turn out to be
ones that are filled with love and with peace.
So in their futures 'Memorial Days' will cease.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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This Gloomy Northern Day
THIS gloomy northern day,
Or this yet gloomier night,
Has moved a something high
In my cold heart; and I,
That do not often pray,
Would pray to-night.
And first on Thee I call
For bread, O God of might!
Enough of bread for all, -
That through the famished town
Cold hunger may lie down
With none to-night.
I pray for hope no less,
Strong-sinewed hope, O Lord,
That to the struggling young
May preach with brazen tongue
Stout Labour, high success,
And bright reward.
And last, O Lord, I pray
For hearts resigned and bold
To trudge the dusty way -
Hearts stored with song and joke
And warmer than a cloak
Against the cold.
If nothing else he had,
He who has this, has all.
This comforts under pain;
This, through the stinging rain,
Keeps ragamuffin glad
Behind the wall.
This makes the sanded inn
A palace for a Prince,
And this, when griefs begin
And cruel fate annoys,
Can bring to mind the joys
Of ages since.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Passing away, saith the World
Passing away, saith the World, passing away:
Chances, beauty and youth, sapp'd day by day:
Thy life never continueth in one stay.
Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark hair changing to grey
That hath won neither laurel nor bay?
I shall clothe myself in Spring and bud in May:
Thou, root-stricken, shalt not rebuild thy decay
On my bosom for aye.
Then I answer'd: Yea.
Passing away, saith my Soul, passing away:
With its burden of fear and hope, of labour and play,
Hearken what the past doth witness and say:
Rust in thy gold, a moth is in thine array,
A canker is in thy bud, thy leaf must decay.
At midnight, at cockcrow, at morning, one certain day
Lo, the Bridegroom shall come and shall not delay:
Watch thou and pray.
Then I answer'd: Yea.
Passing away, saith my God, passing away:
Winter passeth after the long delay:
New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray,
Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven's May.
Though I tarry, wait for Me, trust Me, watch and pray.
Arise, come away, night is past and lo it is day,
My love, My sister, My spouse, thou shalt hear Me say.
Then I answer'd: Yea.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Denied
The winds came out of the west one day,
And hurried the clouds before them;
And drove the shadows and mists away,
And over the mountains bore them.
And I wept, 'Oh, wind, blow into my mind,
Blow into my soul and heart,
And scatter the clouds that hang lile shrouds,
And make the shadows depart.'
The rain came out of th eleaden skies
And beat on the earth's cold bosom.
It said to the sleeping grass, 'Arise, '
And the young buds sprang in blossom.
And I wept in pain, 'Oh, blessed rain,
Beat into my heart to-day;
Thaw out the snows that are chilling it so,
Till it blossoms in hope, I pray.'
The sunshine fell on the bare-armed trees,
In a wonderful sheen of glory;
And the young leaves rustled and sang to the breeze,
And whispered a love-fraught story.
And 'Sun, oh, shine on this heart of mine,
And woo it to life, ' I cried;
But the wind, and sun, and rain, each one
The coveted boon denied
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Visit Malaysia Year Poem - The Women of Sibu (Sibu Town, Sarawak)
I love this little town
where mothers love
their children like a
divine gift from the heavens
a sparkling jewel they cannot part
a part of themselves
two lovers no one could
tear apart without causing
the live-till-you-die pain
have you ever seen
a 60s something woman
who had died for hours but
still lied there with a body stiffened
with the propensity to love and to give
the most tender care to a child?
a gesture she had carried all
through her life. from her son to
daughter, grand daughter and
great grand daughter that even death
could not take away
that stamp of care that everybody longs for
that reassuraing touch that warms us
up to ourselves,
the tender touch of unconditional love that
helps us sleep better
death freezes a love
without taking away
the signature of its capacity
to warm up the hearts of children
that woman lying there wordless
and soon a feast for worms
i love this little town
where mothers love their children
till they are up to a ripe old age
as if they are still their new gifts
from the heavens, fresh out of
the first born maternity room
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Deep In The Motherlode
Get out of the way fat man. you got something to do
Go fill up your hands till theyre shining up at you.
You gotta get out while theres gold in the air
Its falling like water, coming down from the hills.
Go west young man
Earn a dollar a day just like your family said.
Youre rolling your days right on into the night
The head of the lines going way out of sight.
Go west young man like your family said
All along the wagons
All along the dusty trail.
Seventeen years not over a day
Like children in the wild.
Your mothers milk still wet on your face
And no one to pray for your safe journey home.
Out beyond the desert
Across the mountains by the fall.
Servants who leave their masters house
Are walking all the way.
The golden fields that beckoned you
Are darkened by the years.
Go west young man
If you knew then what you know today
Youd be back where you started a happier man
And leave all the glory to those who have remained.
So go west young man
Go west young man, like your family said.
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Street Only Knew Your Name
Your street, rich street or poor
You should always be sure of your street
There's a place in your heart,
When you know from the start
And you can't be complete without a street
Keep movin' on, just like a train
Sometimes you gotta look back to the street again
Would you prefer all those castles in spain
Or a view of the street from your window pane
When you were young, so young
So very very young
When you were young, so young
So very very young
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name, oh your precious name, precious name
There was walter and joy, kate and roy
All hung around the corner lamplight
Get together sing some songs
Like boppin' the blues - you make me feel alright
That was long before fortune and fame
No such thing as a star when you've played that game
Everyone knew who everyone was
There was no preference in the street no, no
When you were young, so young
So very very young
When you were young, so young
So very very young
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name, oh your precious name
And you walked around in the heart of town
Listening for that sound
And you walk around in the heart of town
Listening for that sound
Blue suede shoes, it was the blue suede shoes
When you were young, so young
So very very young
When you were young, so young
So very very young
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name
And the street only knew your name
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sweet Guinevere
Sweet guinevere youre off to the coal town tonight
And your young brother ernies up in pittsburgh pa
You know mother loves you, and dads in the mine
So dont go to the coal town, guinevere, if youre kind
She loves a young man and he lives in the town
He leaves the house early for he works underground
He makes a good wage for a coal miners son
And shes a bit pretty, just turned twenty-one
Sweet guinevere youre off to the coal town tonight
And your young brother ernies up in pittsburgh pa
You know mother loves you, and dads in the mine
So dont go to the coal town, guinevere, shut the blind
She knows her good mothers not feelin no pain
She remembers an explosion and the black falling rain
She paints her thin lips in her dewy-eyed way
Then she says to the daughter, dear daughter I pray
Sweet guinevere youre off to the coal town tonight
And your young brother ernies up in pittsburgh pa
You know mother loves you, and dads in the mine
So dont go to the coal town, guinevere, if youre kind
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Memories Of Lost Youth
When I was a young boy many decades ago
I thought babies like flowers in the gardens did grow
That's what I was told and what I did believe
Children have their innocence and are not hard to deceive.
I yearn for the innocence that I had then
Something that I lost in the World of men
Lost innocence we cannot hope to regain
Though fond memories of childhood we always retain.
When I was a young boy with joy I recall
The great tits young in the dark cavity in the stone wall
I did hear them chirp though them I could not see
The mysteries of Nature a wonder to me.
The winter was cold with frost wind rain and snow
And the river bank high in the old fields did flow
But Spring brought her birdsong her wildflowers and green
And Nature's great beauty for all to be seen.
My innocence died like the flowers of the Spring
But memories of lost youth a beautiful thing
The passing of time has left me looking gray
And a different World I live in today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Passing Through
I saw jesus on the cross on a hill called calvary
Do you hate mankind for what they done to you?
He said, talk of love not hate, things to do - its getting late.
Ive so little time and Im only passing through.
Passing through, passing through.
Sometimes happy, sometimes blue,
Glad that I ran into you.
Tell the people that you saw me passing through.
I saw adam leave the garden with an apple in his hand,
I said now youre out, what are you going to do?
Plant some crops and pray for rain, maybe raise a little cane.
Im an orphan now, and Im only passing through.
Passing through, passing through ...
I was with washington at valley ford, shivering in the snow.
I said, how come the men here suffer like they do?
Men will suffer, men will fight, even die for what is right
Even though they know theyre only passing through
Passing through, passing through ...
I was with franklin roosevelts side on the night before he died.
He said, one world must come out of world war two (ah, the fool)
Yankee, russian, white or tan, he said, a man is still a man.
Were all on one road, and were only passing through.
Passing through, passing through ...
(lets do it one more time)
Passing through, passing through ...
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Death of the Flowers
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread;
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,
And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.
Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?
Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours.
The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago,
And the brier-rose and the orchids died amid the summer glow;
But on the hills the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,
And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood,
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen.
And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come,
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home;
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still,
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore,
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died,
The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side.
In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf,
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief:
Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours,
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Nightingale Dropping
born to be a star, champion to any race, cloth to
fine victory, as the bastion of strength rise into the
sparkling sky, where the highest goal is to fly
the rain pours my hand and body giggling the narrow
of the eye i see, where the trembling skin touches
my whether skin, waiting the cooled heart bits to
end
the mastery of the moon cover the shadow of the
night clouds, moving to hide in the confetti’s of wind
that crumple the chime of a wishing bell as it echo in
a distance heart apart
come journey with me, travel and ride in my winged
song of praise, for know not the blind can see; but
an eye that tell of the beauty of a nightingale melody,
for the harmony of the harp witness the soul
immortality
turn me not and lead me to go, the air that breathe is
no where to sink, as the sky fall into the ground
and kiss the blissfulness of each passing hour has
something to play; nay! let the rise come in a
sweeping death of a returning scent of home
let the young flesh move for a while, like a seagull
of wings nestle in the surfing wave to stay, wonder
as it kites in the nightingale night it flies.......
poem by Antonio Liao
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Young Man's Town
You wake up one morning and it's passed you by.
You don't know when and you don't know why.
You feel like an old memory hangin' round.
And man, you've gotta face it, it's a young man's town.
You knew this day was comin' all along.
So why bitch and moan and say they done you wrong?
Just teach 'em what you know an' pass it on down,
'Cause man, you gotta face it, it's a young man's town.
Chorus:
It's a young man's town,
Full of young man's dreams.
And all God's children
Gotta learn to spread their wings.
Sometimes you gotta stand back,
And watch 'em burn it to the ground,
Even though you built it,
It's a young man's town.
You always seem to be the last to know.
Man, that's just the way that the story goes.
There's nothin' you can do when the fields have turned brown.
Man, you gotta face it, it's a young man's town.
Chorus:
It's a young man's town,
Full of young man's dreams.
And all God's children
Gotta learn to spread their wings.
Sometimes you gotta stand back,
And watch 'em burn it to the ground,
Even though you built it,
It's a young man's town.
Sometimes you gotta stand back,
And watch 'em burn it to the ground.
Even though you built it,
It's a young man's town...
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Young Man's Town
You wake up one morning and it's passed you by.
You don't know when and you don't know why.
You feel like an old memory hangin' round.
And man, you've gotta face it, it's a young man's town.
You knew this day was comin' all along.
So why bitch and moan and say they done you wrong?
Just teach 'em what you know an' pass it on down,
'Cause man, you gotta face it, it's a young man's town.
Chorus:
It's a young man's town,
Full of young man's dreams.
And all God's children
Gotta learn to spread their wings.
Sometimes you gotta stand back,
And watch 'em burn it to the ground,
Even though you built it,
It's a young man's town.
You always seem to be the last to know.
Man, that's just the way that the story goes.
There's nothin' you can do when the fields have turned brown.
Man, you gotta face it, it's a young man's town.
Chorus:
It's a young man's town,
Full of young man's dreams.
And all God's children
Gotta learn to spread their wings.
Sometimes you gotta stand back,
And watch 'em burn it to the ground,
Even though you built it,
It's a young man's town.
Sometimes you gotta stand back,
And watch 'em burn it to the ground.
Even though you built it,
It's a young man's town...
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain
Rain,
the water that washes away
all our unborn sins,
cleansing the streets we walk
and the buildings we see.
Rain,
the falling waters of life
that lets the earth drink
when it is parched
from the sun's scorching rays.
Rain,
from showers to downpour
and any coming storm
within its waters
our heritage is born.
15 August 2012
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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March Horse Fair Day
The morning has a heavy winter chill
And dark rain clouds move over Clara hill
And the old man says that the rain will bucket down
As he stands holding his horse in the Square at Millstreet Town.
In Ireland on March the first the sun doesn't often shine
In fact the day is seldom ever fine
Old February till latter March remain
You take your hat and coat expecting rain.
Near 10 A.M. it makes a heavy shower
And it keeps on raining maybe for an hour
And horses and their owners soaked right to the skin
But rain doesn't worry tough horse loving men.
The deals were clinched with hand slap and hand shake
Your bond your word and your word you would not break
The Town Square packed with people young and old
And deals were done and many horses sold.
And people there from many walks of life
The travelling man with his children and wife,
And the man who owns forty acres of moor
By any standards he's considered poor.
And wealthy farmer down south for the day
To buy good horse and make the journey pay
And horses changed hands when the deals were made
And Uptown pubs were doing a roaring trade.
My thoughts return to happier days gone by
When I was younger and a school going boy
And March horse fair was always school free day
The better memories with us tend to stay.
And I too went to Millstreet old Town Square
For to watch the dealings and the barterings there,
The slap of hands, the handshakes deals were done
And old friendships renewed and new friendships were won.
A nip of winter in the morning air
As people made their way to the horse fair
A shame about the weather some did say
But rain or sleet did not keep them away.
A time of year between winter and spring
Too cold and early yet for birds to sing
Old February till latter March remain
And you take your hat and coat expecting rain.
The morning has a heavy winter chill
And dark rain clouds move over Clara hill
And the old man says that the rain will bucket down
As he stands holding his horse in the Square at Millstreet town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Little Homes
We have heard the cheering, brothers,
We have heard the martial peal;
We have seen the soldiers marching
And the glint of sun and steel.
We have heard the songs, the shouting;
But, while forth the soldier roams,
Who has heard the weeping, brothers,
In the Little Homes?
We have seen the gay processions
And the careless, laughing crowds.;
We have seen the banners waving
Out against the peaceful clouds;
Yet, while colors proudly flutter
Over noble spires and domes,
Who has seen the mourning, brothers,
In the Little Homes?
From the Little Homes that nestle
Where the smiling fields sweep wide,
From the Little Homes that huddle
In the city, side by side,
They have called the eager fighters
Men who went with smiles and cheers;
Pride of wives and pride of mothers,
Choking back the tears!
Women of the little homesteads,
Women of the city slums,
They are waiting, ever waiting;
And the sound of muffled drums
In some stricken Home is echoed,
Where grey Grief is guest to-day.
And to-morrow? Nay, the others
Still must wait - and pray.
What the Little Homes shall suffer,
What the Little Homes shall pay
Must be more than sturdy fighters,
More than women's grief to-day.
In the years that follow after,
Be our battles won or lost,
In the Little Homes, my brothers,
They shall pay the cost.
They shall pay the cost of glory,
They shall pay the price of peace,
Years and many long years after
All the sounds of battle cease.
When the sword is sheathed - or broken
When the battle flag is furled,
Still the Little Homes must suffer
Over all the World.
Have you seen the old grey mothers
Smiling to the ringing cheers?
Have you seen the young wives striving
Bravely to hold back the tears?
Have you seen the young girl marching
By her soldier-lover's side?
Have you, seen our country's women
All aglow with pride?
Then, shall we think shame, my brothers,
To give thanks upon our knees
That the land we love should hold them
Wives and mothers such as these?
Women who still hide their sorrow
As their soldiers march away,
Turning brave and steadfast faces
To the light of day?
Oh, the Little Homes are Cheerful
Little Homes that know no pride
But the pride of sacrificing
Loved ones to the battle tide!
They are many, many brothers,
And their sacrifice is great.
Shrines are they and sacred places,
Where the women wait.
Aye, the Little Homes are holy
At the closing of the day,
When young wives must face their sorrow,
When grey mothers kneel to pray,
Facing, all alone, dread visions
Of the land the soldier roams,
Then God heed the sobbing, brothers,
In the Little Homes.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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