A Desolate Shore
A desolate shore,
The sinister seduction of the Moon,
The menace of the irreclaimable Sea.
Flaunting, tawdry and grim,
From cloud to cloud along her beat,
Leering her battered and inveterate leer,
She signals where he prowls in the dark alone,
Her horrible old man,
Mumbling old oaths and warming
His villainous old bones with villainous talk -
The secrets of their grisly housekeeping
Since they went out upon the pad
In the first twilight of self-conscious Time:
Growling, hideous and hoarse,
Tales of unnumbered Ships,
Goodly and strong, Companions of the Advance,
In some vile alley of the night
Waylaid and bludgeoned -
Dead.
Deep cellared in primeval ooze,
Ruined, dishonoured, spoiled,
They lie where the lean water-worm
Crawls free of their secrets, and their broken sides
Bulge with the slime of life. Thus they abide,
Thus fouled and desecrate,
The summons of the Trumpet, and the while
These Twain, their murderers,
Unravined, imperturbable, unsubdued,
Hang at the heels of their children--She aloft
As in the shining streets,
He as in ambush at some accomplice door.
The stalwart Ships,
The beautiful and bold adventurers!
Stationed out yonder in the isle,
The tall Policeman,
Flashing his bull's-eye, as he peers
About him in the ancient vacancy,
Tells them this way is safety--this way home.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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London Voluntaries IV: Out of the Poisonous East
Out of the poisonous East,
Over a continent of blight,
Like a maleficent Influence released
From the most squalid cellerage of hell,
The Wind-Fiend, the abominable--
The Hangman Wind that tortures temper and light--
Comes slouching, sullen and obscene,
Hard on the skirts of the embittered night;
And in a cloud unclean
Of excremental humours, roused to strife
By the operation of some ruinous change,
Wherever his evil mandate run and range,
Into a dire intensity of life,
A craftsman at his bench, he settles down
To the grim job of throttling London Town.
So, by a jealous lightlessness beset
That might have oppressed the dragons of old time
Crunching and groping in the abysmal slime,
A cave of cut-throat thoughts and villainous dreams,
Hag-rid and crying with cold and dirt and wet,
The afflicted City. prone from mark to mark
In shameful occultation, seems
A nightmare labryrinthine, dim and drifting,
With wavering gulfs and antic heights, and shifting,
Rent in the stuff of a material dark,
Wherein the lamplight, scattered and sick and pale,
Shows like the leper's living blotch of bale:
Uncoiling monstrous into street on street
Paven with perils, teeming with mischance,
Where man and beast go blindfold and in dread,
Working with oaths and threats and faltering feet
Somewhither in the hideousness ahead;
Working through wicked airs and deadly dews
That make the laden robber grin askance
At the good places in his black romance,
And the poor, loitering harlot rather choose
Go pinched and pined to bed
Than lurk and shiver and curse her wretched way
From arch to arch, scouting some threepenny prey.
Forgot his dawns and far-flushed afterglows,
His green garlands and windy eyots forgot,
The old Father-River flows,
His watchfires cores of menace in the gloom,
As he came oozing from the Pit, and bore,
Sunk in his filthily transfigured sides,
Shoals of dishonoured dead to tumble and rot
In the squalor of the universal shore:
His voices sounding through the gruesome air
As from the Ferry where the Boat of Doom
With her blaspheming cargo reels and rides:
The while his children, the brave ships,
No more adventurous and fair,
Nor tripping it light of heel as home-bound brides,
But infamously enchanted,
Huddle together in the foul eclipse,
Or feel their course by inches desperately,
As through a tangle of alleys murder-haunted,
From sinister reach to reach out -- out -- to sea.
And Death the while --
Death with his well-worn, lean, professional smile,
Death in his threadbare working trim--
Comes to your bedside, unannounced and bland,
And with expert, inevitable hand
Feels at your windpipe, fingers you in the lung,
Or flicks the clot well into the labouring heart:
Thus signifying unto old and young,
However hard of mouth or wild of whim,
'Tis time -- 'tis time by his ancient watch -- to part
From books and women and talk and drink and art.
And you go humbly after him
To a mean suburban lodging: on the way
To what or where
Not Death, who is old and very wise, can say:
And you -- how should you care
So long as, unreclaimed of hell,
The Wind-Fiend, the insufferable,
Thus vicious and thus patient, sits him down
To the black job of burking London Town?
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Largo E Mesto
Out of the poisonous East,
Over a continent of blight,
Like a maleficent Influence released
From the most squalid cellerage of hell,
The Wind-Fiend, the abominable-
The Hangman Wind that tortures temper and light-
Comes slouching, sullen and obscene,
Hard on the skirts of the embittered night;
And in a cloud unclean
Of excremental humours, roused to strife
By the operation of some ruinous change,
Wherever his evil mandate run and range,
Into a dire intensity of life,
A craftsman at his bench, he settles down
To the grim job of throttling London Town.
So, by a jealous lightlessness beset
That might have oppressed the dragons of old time
Crunching and groping in the abysmal slime,
A cave of cut-throat thoughts and villainous dreams,
Hag-rid and crying with cold and dirt and wet,
The afflicted City. prone from mark to mark
In shameful occultation, seems
A nightmare labryrinthine, dim and drifting,
With wavering gulfs and antic heights, and shifting,
Rent in the stuff of a material dark,
Wherein the lamplight, scattered and sick and pale,
Shows like the leper's living blotch of bale:
Uncoiling monstrous into street on street
Paven with perils, teeming with mischance,
Where man and beast go blindfold and in dread,
Working with oaths and threats and faltering feet
Somewhither in the hideousness ahead;
Working through wicked airs and deadly dews
That make the laden robber grin askance
At the good places in his black romance,
And the poor, loitering harlot rather choose
Go pinched and pined to bed
Than lurk and shiver and curse her wretched way
From arch to arch, scouting some threepenny prey.
Forgot his dawns and far-flushed afterglows,
His green garlands and windy eyots forgot,
The old Father-River flows,
His watchfires cores of menace in the gloom,
As he came oozing from the Pit, and bore,
Sunk in his filthily transfigured sides,
Shoals of dishonoured dead to tumble and rot
In the squalor of the universal shore:
His voices sounding through the gruesome air
As from the Ferry where the Boat of Doom
With her blaspheming cargo reels and rides:
The while his children, the brave ships,
No more adventurous and fair,
Nor tripping it light of heel as home-bound brides,
But infamously enchanted,
Huddle together in the foul eclipse,
Or feel their course by inches desperately,
As through a tangle of alleys murder-haunted,
From sinister reach to reach out - out - to sea.
And Death the while -
Death with his well-worn, lean, professional smile,
Death in his threadbare working trim-
Comes to your bedside, unannounced and bland,
And with expert, inevitable hand
Feels at your windpipe, fingers you in the lung,
Or flicks the clot well into the labouring heart:
Thus signifying unto old and young,
However hard of mouth or wild of whim,
'Tis time - 'tis time by his ancient watch - to part
From books and women and talk and drink and art.
And you go humbly after him
To a mean suburban lodging: on the way
To what or where
Not Death, who is old and very wise, can say:
And you - how should you care
So long as, unreclaimed of hell,
The Wind-Fiend, the insufferable,
Thus vicious and thus patient, sits him down
To the black job of burking London Town?
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Life of a Cloud
Warming thermals whisper as they rise,
To tell us they are soon to bring to view
In cooler air aloft before your eyes:
A gentle wisp to counterpoint the blue.
Powder puffs emerge to grant her grace
That further bloom as would for stately tree, and
Yield a sight that calls for our embrace:
Another cloud anew above the lea.
Cruising forth, she yearns for ageless life.
O how her hopes will soon be dashed in vain,
For up there in the cold she courts her strife,
To fade away as drops of closing rain.
Scant and lacy speak her living span,
And fair among us could be brought to mourn,
But she was there to populate her clan:
From fallen tears, new daughters will be born.
Copyright © Mark R slaughter 2010
A cloudy sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
sky cloud sky cloud sky cloud sky
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Ocean Liner
They went down to the sea in ships,
In ships they went down to the sea.
In boats hewn of oak-tree strips,
In galleys with skin-sewn sails,
In triremes, caravels, brigs—
Frail, flimsily rolling rigs—
They went down where the huge wave rips,
Where the black storm lashes and hales.
They went down to the sea in ships,
To the sounding, sorrowing sea.
They go down to the sea—O me !—
What ships that outbrave the sea,
What ships that outrun the gale,
With a feather of steam for a sail
And a whirling shaft for an oar,
Are the ships that my brothers build
To carry me over the sea,
That my hand with treasures filled
May knock at the morrow's door !
Steel hulls impenetrable
To the waves that tease and pull,
Bright engines that answer the beat
Of their foam-slippered dancing feet,
Hot fires that shudder and drive,
Close-tended, untiring, sure—
Like queen-bees deep in the hive
Who labor and serve and endure:
All these are down below
Far under the slippery water,
While the babe sleeps soft in his bed,
And the banquet table is spread,
And my neighbor's laughing daughter
Trims her hair with a rose-red bow.
They went down to the sea in ships,
In ships they went down to the sea.
And the sea had a million lips
And she laughed in her throat for glee.
And. the floor of the sea was strewn
With tempest trophies dread,
And the deep-sea currents croon
As they wash through the bones of the dead.
But the ships that my brothers build—
Ah, they mock at the storm's mad rage;
And their burning hearts are thrilled
When he throws them his battle gauge.
On the sea-foam they lean for a pillow,
They drive without paddle or sail
Straight over the mountainous billow,
Straight on through the blustering gale !
Oh they shake out gay flags as they run,
Flags that flutter and gleam in the sun!
From the tip of their turrets above
They send news of the storm to the shore;
And they hear from afar through the roar,
Down the cloud-built aisles of the sky,
Some land-bound lady's cry
To her ocean-wandering love.
They go down to the sea in ships,
In ships they go down to the sea.
And my brothers, the masterful, free,
Fear no more the white foam of her lips,
They have won her, she harks to their wooing,
The love of ten thousand years,
The suing, the wild undoing,
The faith unto death, the tears.
Oh, their glory her song shall be;
Soft, soft is the kiss of her lips!
They go down to the sea in ships,
In ships they go down to the sea.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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The Ghosts of the Sea
The ghosts of the sunken ships remember the fog,
Reminiscent of the danger of a wild, mad dog.
Hidden it the darkness it came into the night,
everyone aboard the sailing ship became affright.
They lost their way in that thick cloud as they fell the rhythm of the waves,
They could hear the water as it crashed against the shore and the caves.
Before the sailor knew it they were in the sea among the rolling, foaming crests,
The deep sea was calling them as the waves broke across their breasts.
The high seas had taken another ship as it lay battered among the rocks, moving
slowly with tide,
Softly they could hear the whispering of the fog as it spoke to the ocean wide.
The ghosts of the sea beckon as the ocean becomes a sheet of glass,
The fog has lifted and the ghosts for the deep invite the ships who would dare pass.
poem by Ron Dawson
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Dark Crescent Moon Waves
Walking on the beach,
Staring at the sea of eternity
on how it is so serene at night,
watching the dark water is lit up by the crescent moon that is sunken
into the sea of life
Hearing the water crashing to the beach,
and seeing the swirling twilight sky is reflected on the dark water,
like it's the mirror to my soul
The push and pull of the waves,
is cursed by the black magic that moons hold
a curse that is so beautiful and so powerful
Like a picture in a sky
that is burn to my mind,
The dark mist of cloud covering the moon and sky like a blanket,
but sailing in the dark sea sky
Soon the sky of twilight fades away
as the phoenix's sun rise breaking through the clouds of dusk
and now the sea becomes in rage
as tides come down like god's hammer
and the sun's lights the sea in emerald green
The ocean is like another realm of life
where can it be beautiful and dangerous
poem by RyuOh Kenshin
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The Sea-Shore
I SHOULD like to dwell where the deep blue sea
Rock'd to and fro as tranquilly,
As if it were willing the halcyon's nest
Should shelter through summer its beautiful guest.
When a plaining murmur like that of a song,
And a silvery line come the waves along:
Now bathing—now leaving the gentle shore,
Where shining sea-shells lay scattered o'er.
And children wandering along the strand,
With the eager eye and the busy hand,
Heaping the pebbles and green sea-weed,
Like treasures laid up for a time of need.
Or tempting the waves with their daring feet,
To launch, perhaps, some tiny fleet:
Mimicking those which bear afar
The wealth of trade—and the strength of war.
I should love, when the sun-set reddened the foam,
To watch the fisherman's boat come home,
With his well-filled net and glittering spoil:
Well has the noon-tide repaid its toil.
While the ships that lie in the distance away
Catch on their canvass the crimsoning ray;
Like fairy ships in the tales of old,
When the sails they spread were purple and gold.
Then the deep delight of the starry night,
With its shadowy depths and dreamy light:
When far away spreads the boundless sea,
As if it imaged infinity.
Let me hear the winds go singing by,
Lulling the waves with their melody:
While the moon like a mother watches their sleep,
And I ask no home but beside the deep.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Moon Reflects on Water
I thought that
'heart' was beautiful, pure and unbroken thing
My heart should be beautiful and bright too
I believe it is born to light his heart
Never only be the shadow of shining moon
in the dark night sky
My heart should..must be beautiful and bright, but..
it's not
Why I'm such a fool and proud one
My heart... like reflection moon on water, so small
like moon's hidden by the cloud
Even shining moon on gloomy night
could lose its charm
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Strange Happenings
Perpetual stasis
in blank stares.
Who was yawning to moon?
Balmy night will unlock
the secrets of graphic images.
Life casts a spell on you.
Like a round worm
in search of a ceramic cow.
Let me mix the money with fame.
The unfelt pleasure
of a crooked script –
in twilight zone. Every person
was wearing a cloud. Deftly
you break the urn of ashes
to find the stolen eyes.
poem by Satish Verma
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The Undiscovered Country
Man has explored all countries and all lands,
And made his own the secrets of each clime.
Now, ere the world has fully reached its prime,
The oval earth lies compassed with steel bands,
The seas are slaves to ships that touch all strands,
And even the haughty elements sublime
And bold, yield him their secrets for all time,
And speed like lackeys forth at his commands.
Still, though he search from shore to distant shore,
And no strange realms, no unlocated plains
Are left for his attainment and control,
Yet is there one more kingdom to explore.
Go, know thyself, O man! there yet remains
The undiscovered country of thy soul!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Night Secrets
Night Secrets…
No more my aching heart
As you sleep silent in my breast
Awakening in the night
I await your sweet caress
My aching, barren arms in vain
So many times I've wept
At night upon my pillow
While in my bed I slept
Night secrets in the darkness
Like dark, murky shadows
That linger in the night
The rain softly whispers
Through the wind and trees
Carrying my secrets
To the moon shining bright
Secrets kept deep within my heart
They whisper in the night
No one else may listen
There's no one else in sight
They echo through the evening
Those things I cannot share
My secrets whispering in the darkness
Like a breeze fluttering through air
Until then…
I'll wait my love
For your soft, caressing touch
With the stars softly glowing
Through the window in my room
I lie quietly in my bed
With the shadows of the night
Whispers flow in the breeze
Sending them gently to the moon
Until then…
I'll wait til you come again
When I can softly whisper in your ear
Those secrets that I carry
Sharing secrets...
With the one I love so dear
Until then I'll wait...
For my heart belongs to only you
poem by ANNE P LadeeAnne MURRAY
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Lost Dream
Its a beautiful dream
Like a crimson sun
On a milky blue sky
Birds flying to home
And myself in Rome
Its a beautiful dream
Like silver cloud line
To mounted dark cloud
Light kissing the head
And myself on rose bed
Its a beautiful dream
Like shining dew drop
On a lush green grass
Bright day smiling
And myself flying
Its a beautiful dream
Like a new born cub
In hands of young love
Tears flowing in joy
And myself with toys
Its a beautiful dream
Like a painless sleep
On a dry soft pillow
Night not slept slow
And myself out of flow
Its a beautiful dream
Like full moon night
On a artful dark sky
Dogs stopped scream
And myself out of dream
poem by Kranthi Pothineni
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Cloud Nine[Doin Fine]
Darling part of my life it wasnt very pretty. see, I was born and raised
In the slums of the city.it was a 1 room shack and slept 10 other children
Beside me.we hardly had enough food or room to sleep. it was hard times. i
Needed some thing to ease my troubled mind.
Listen, my father didnt know the meaning of work. he disrespected mama and
Treated us like dirt.i left home seeking a job that I never did find.depressed
And down hearted I took to cloud nine.
Im doin fine, up here, on cloud nine. listen 1 more time, Im doin fine, up
Here, on cloud nine.
Folks down there tell me, they say give your self a chance son dont let life
Pass you by,but the world of reality is a rat race where only the strongly
Survive.its a dog-eat-dog world and that aint no lie. it aint even safe no
More, to walk the streets at night.
Im doin fine, on cloud nine.
Let me tell you about cloud nine. cloud nine, you can be what you want to
Be,(cloud nine)you aint got no responsibilities,and every man,every man is
Free (cloud nine) your a million miles from reality, reality I wanna say upper,
Higher,upper, up, up and away.
I wanna say I love the life I live, and Im gonna live the life I love, up here
On cloud nine.
I, i, i, i, i, Im riding high on cloud nine.
Your as free as a bird in flight, (cloud nine)theres
No difference between day and night (cloud nine)its a world of love and
Harmony, (cloud nine) your a million miles from reality,reality wonna say
Upper,higher,upper, up,up and away. cloud nine you can be what you wanna
Be,(cloud nine)you aint got no responsibilities,(cloud nine)every man and his
Mind is free,your a million miles from reality, you can be what you wanna be.
Im feelin fine on cloud nine.
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dublin
The children play in the streets, they say
The children play in the streets
While the ships dock fast in Dublin Bay,
The children play in the streets.
Och aye, the blarney blunderbuss,
He's corked, and who's to blame?
'Tain't that his wee son with a pint,
Too soon to walk the same?
Across Ha'penny Bridge his Molly
Bends to scratch for coal,
And one last fire to celebrate:
Today she quits the dole.
But what of Barry? What of Shane?
Who'll give the tykes their bread,
With Pap in one dyke stone-cold drunk,
In the other Mam stone-cold dead?
The children play in the streets, they say
The children play in the streets
While the ships dock fast in Dublin Bay,
The children play in the streets.
In Deep Thought
In deep thought
as I walk
The world passes me by,
Then suddenly in a wink
I sit down and begin to cry.
To all my friends whom I said goodbye.
In deep thought
As I think,
Memories begin to appear.
Of all my friends
Whom I said goodbye
But suddenly, they now are here.
As life came easy,
Death came hard,
As it's faith last played card.
But then I smile
For friends do die
But their dreams die so hard.
In deep verse
As I speak,
The words they leave my mouth,
Of the memories that I thought
Formed into a cloud,
Shaped into a child.
They sit at my feet
And wisper in my ear
The secrets of being young.
But thern I smile
For their secrets are known
As my life becomes undone.
In deep stress
I finally confess
Of secrets I once had held,
I open up their door
That has been locked before
Being as deep as a wishing well.
They come to the surface
And they clear my mind
My brain now knows no crime.
But only that, of being alive.
In deep wonder as I sit
I begin to think and reflect
For people do die
And children do cry
But their dreams will always live.
And hopes they'll always give,
In deep thought, as I think.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Damaged
Damaged spirits cloud the land with light,
Darkness is delirious and nervous are the obese,
Nasty fat clots the body, darkness has entered.
Madly the magnificent preach their darkness,
Fat exits them, obesity cancelled others, not them,
For they legally define the obnoxious secrets.
Near a nimble cloud rains another cloud so dark,
The neighbourly clouds rain forming obese children,
Their fat collects always and forever, always in their life.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Sea Holds Many Secrets
The sea holds many secrets
in sleeping ship that lie below.
For centuries, thousands of ships and men
have met a watery grave.
Some have been lost to storms
that seem to come from nowhere,
while others to battles fought at sea.
Whatever reason they went down
their secrets went with them.
Now the sea holds many secrets
and is reluctant to let go of them.
11 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Secret
Secrets are good,
Secrets are bad,
I have a secret,
It may make you sad.
Secrets deep,
Secrets shallow,
It may be hard,
To swallow.
Secrets heavy,
Secrets light,
This is to be told,
At night.
Secrets kept,
Secrets told,
This secret,
Is very old.
Secrets of love,
Secrets of hate,
This secret,
Is great.
Secret love,
Secret hate,
My secret,
Is who,
I love.
A guy so sweet,
A guy so great.
A guy so fun,
A guy so nice.
This guy is different,
This guy is a dove.
This is the guy,
Who I love.
Different is great,
Different is sweet,
No one knows us,
So it's great.
This guy is lonely,
This guy is friendless.
I like him,
And he likes me.
No one talks to him,
No one talks to me.
We are the same,
We are different.
He doesn't know,
That I love him,
Cause he knows,
We're the same.
I've no love,
He's caught a dove.
He's had no love,
He taught me how to catch a dove.
He's tall and smart,
He's sweet and friendly,
He's nice and fun,
He's the sun.
I have a secret,
One that's free like a dove,
I have a secret,
That's all about love...
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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The Empty House
See this house, how dark it is
Beneath its vast-boughed trees!
Not one trembling leaflet cries
To that Watcher in the skies—
‘Remove, remove thy searching gaze,
Innocent of heaven’s ways,
Brood not, Moon, so wildly bright,
On secrets hidden from sight.’
‘Secrets,’ sighs the night-wind,
‘Vacancy is all I find;
Every keyhole I have made
Wails a summons, faint and sad,
No voice ever answers me,
Only vacancy.’
‘Once, once … ’ the cricket shrills,
And far and near the quiet fills
With its tiny voice, and then
Hush falls again.
Mute shadows creeping slow
Mark how the hours go.
Every stone is mouldering slow.
And the least winds that blow
Some minutest atom shake,
Some fretting ruin make
In roof and walls. How black it is
Beneath these thick boughed trees!
poem by Walter de la Mare
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Secrets
Written: stock aitken waterman
1a:
Still dont know how he got my number
Thought Id got him out of my life
But I agreed to see him just one time
Never thought Id fall for him twice
1b:
Ohh, youve gotta hear my confession
I believe its long overdue
I cant think of living without you
Id understand if thats what youd wanna do
Chorus:
There are
Secrets that you never know
Secrets in a private room
Secrets that I kept from you
Pillow talk in the afternoon
2:
Never wanted to hurt you
Didnt really want to deceive
I was so afraid if I told you
Your broken heart would force you to leave
I think I knew what I was doing
By falling into his arms again
I wish Id seen right through him
But Im telling you cos Im so ashamed
Chorus:
(repeat 2 times)
1b:
Chorus:
Secrets, secrets, secrets
Pillow talk in the afternoon
Chorus:
(repeat & fade)
song performed by by Kylie Minogue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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