Attadale, West Highlands
A black and glassy float, opaque and still,
The loch, at furthest ebb supine in sleep,
Reversing, mirrored in its luminous deep
The calm grey skies; the solemn spurs of hill;
Heather, and corn, and wisps of loitering haze;
The wee white cots, black-hatted, plumed with smoke;
The braes beyond--and when the ripple awoke,
They wavered with the jarred and wavering glaze.
The air was hushed and dreamy. Evermore
A noise of running water whispered near.
A straggling crow called high and thin. A bird
Trilled from the birch-leaves. Round the shingled shore,
Yellow with weed, there wandered, vague and clear,
Strange vowels, mysterious gutturals, idly heard.
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
At Queensferry
The blackbird sang, the skies were clear and clean
We bowled along a road that curved a spine
Superbly sinuous and serpentine
Thro' silent symphonies of summer green.
Sudden the Forth came on us--sad of mien,
No cloud to colour it, no breeze to line:
A sheet of dark, dull glass, without a sign
Of life or death, two spits of sand between.
Water and sky merged blank in mist together,
The Fort loomed spectral, and the Guardship's spars
Traced vague, black shadows on the shimmery glaze:
We felt the dim, strange years, the grey, strange weather,
The still, strange land, unvexed of sun or stars,
Where Lancelot rides clanking thro' the haze.
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Black Crow
He sees the stormy anger of the world
And wants no part of it at all
And as the weeping leaves of autumn curl
He feels the savage winter call
See far below the dust of conflict settles on the hill
Where there was no escape before
And as he spreads his wings and soars up to another level
He brings the icy prophecies of war
Black crow, black crow, tell me where you really go
When you fly into the sunset, high in evening sky,
Black crow, black crow, tell me what you really know
Will we flourish in this hurricane, or will we fall and die?
While children lose their souls and so much more
To ragged armies of the field
A vicious fanfare cries appeasing hungry savages
To trigger that their fate is surely sealed
I wonder where that black crow sleeps as day beckons the night
Or if he even sleeps at all
I wonder what he thinks of all the human traffic far below
Thats struggled on the road so, so long
Tell me black crow, black crow (solely? ) you pass above
Understanding everything but you know nothing at all
Black crow black crow, tell me what you really know
Do you understand the pain that we feel down here at all
song performed by by Jamiroquai
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Chill
A shining coil of wind
Carried away the last leaves
Black Birds final calling
Upon Winters sleeves
Snowflakes slide
Laying comforters of white
Snow Angels rejoice
At rest come the night
Morning unbuttons
To a glassy grey glaze
Winters come calling
Through frost misted haze
poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Phases of the Moon
Once upon a time I heard
That the flying moon was a Phoenix bird;
Thus she sails through windy skies,
Thus in the willow's arms she lies;
Turn to the East or turn to the West
In many trees she makes her nest.
When she's but a pearly thread
Look among birch leaves overhead;
When she dies in yellow smoke
Look in a thunder-smitten oak;
But in May when the moon is full,
Bright as water and white as wool,
Look for her where she loves to be,
Asleep in a high magnolia tree.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Incendiary
Combined chemical cocktail flares awake,
Causing caliginous clouds to touch the skies,
Heated haze thickens into concentrate,
Of yellow, red and orange blaze surprise.
My vision opaque from soot black plumed smoke,
Which rises and mingles with the midnight,
As I fall to my knees, to gasp and choke,
Hands wrapped around throat, grasping so tight,
Still I shuffle on, towards the staircase,
In the small hope of freedom and escape,
Sliding down each step until the base,
Is reached, here I do make out a shape,
Through rokey fumed, flamed coiled doorframe,
Collapsing after they call out my name.
poem by Dale Mullock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sitting On The Shore
THE tide has ebbed away:
No more wild dashings 'gainst the adamant rocks,
Nor swayings amidst sea-weed false that mocks
The hues of gardens gay:
No laugh of little wavelets at their play:
No lucid pools reflecting heaven's clear brow--
Both storm and calm alike are ended now.
The rocks sit gray and lone:
The shifting sand is spread so smooth and dry,
That not a tide might ever have swept by
Stirring it with rude moan:
Only some weedy fragments idly thrown
To rot beneath the sky, tell what has been:
But Desolation's self has grown serene.
Afar the mountains rise,
And the broad estuary widens out,
All sunshine; wheeling round and round about
Seaward, a white bird flies.
A bird? Nay, seems it rather in these eyes
A spirit, o'er Eternity's dim sea
Calling--'Come thou where all we glad souls be.
O life, O silent shore,
Where we sit patient; O great sea beyond
To which we turn with solemn hope and fond,
But sorrowful no more:
A little while, and then we too shall soar
Like white-winged sea-birds into the Infinite Deep:
Till then, Thou, Father--wilt our spirits keep.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Departing of Gluskâp
It is so long ago; and men well-nigh
Forget what gladness was, and how the earth
Gave corn in plenty, and the rivers fish,
And the woods meat, before he went away.
His going was on this wise.
All the works
And words and ways of men and beasts became
Evil, and all their thoughts continually
Were but of evil. Then he made a feast.
Upon the shore that is beside the sea
That takes the setting sun, he ordered it,
And called the beasts thereto. Only the men
He called not, seeing them evil utterly.
He fed the panther's crafty brood, and filled
The lean wolf's hunger; from the hollow tree
His honey stayed the bear's terrific jaws;
And the brown rabbit couched at peace, within
The circling shadow of the eagle's wings.
And when the feast was done he told them all
That now, because their ways were evil grown,
On that same day he must depart from them,
And they should look upon his face no more.
Then all the beasts were very sorrowful.
It was near sunset, and the wind was still,
And down the yellow shore a thin wave washed
Slowly; and Gluskâp launched his birch canoe,
And spread his yellow sail, and moved from shore,
Though no wind followed, streaming in the sail,
Or roughening the clear waters after him.
And all the beasts stood by the shore, and watched.
Then to the west appeared a long red trail
Over the wave; and Gluskâp sailed and sang
Till the canoe grew little, like a bird,
And black, and vanished in the shining trail.
And when the beasts could see his form no more,
They still could hear him, singing as he sailed,
And still they listened, hanging down their heads
In long row, where the thin wave washed and fled.
But when the sound of singing died, and when
They lifted up their voices in their grief,
Lo! on the mouth of every beast a strange
New tongue! Then rose they all and fled apart,
Nor met again in council from that day.
poem by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Crow On The Cradle
(from the soundtrack to no nukes; peformed live by jackson browne with graham nash & david lindley)
The sheeps in the meadow
The cows in the corn
Now is the time for a child to be born
Hell laugh at the moon
And cry for the sun
And if its a boy hell carry a gun
Sang the crow on the cradle
And if it should be that this babys a girl
Never you mind if her hair doesnt curl
With rings on her fingers
And bells on her toes
And a bomber above her wherever she goes
Sang the crow on the cradle
The crow on the cradle
The black and the white
Somebodys baby is born for a fight
The crow on the cradle
The white and the black
Somebodys baby is not coming back
Sang the crow on the cradle
Your mother and father will sweat and theyll slave
To build you a coffin and dig you a grave
Hush-a-bye little one, never you weep
For weve got a toy that can put you to sleep
Sang the crow on the cradle
Bring me my gun, and Ill shoot that bird dead
Thats what your mother and father once said
The crow on the cradle, what can we do
Ah, this is a thing that Ill leave up to you
Sang the crow on the cradle
Sang the crow on the cradle
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Hare And The Fox
The fox lay still by the birch-tree's root
In the heather.
The hare was running with nimble foot
O'er the heather.
Was ever brighter a sunshine-day,
Before, behind me, and every way,
O'er the heather!
The fox laughed low by the birch-tree's root
In the heather.
The hare was running with daring foot
O'er the heather.
I am so happy for everything!
Hallo! Why go you with mighty spring
O'er the heather?
The fox lay hid by the birch-tree's root
In the heather.
The hare dashed to him with reckless foot
O'er the heather.
May God have mercy, but this is queer! --
Good gracious, how dare you dance so here
O'er the heather?
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Out Of The Noise
Glued to the kerbstone, staring.
Frozen at the stop-sign too.
See that crazy suicide mongrel.
Hes going to try to cross that avenue.
Old dog of experience,
Ripping through the black and yellow cabs,
Dodging rickshaws and the bicycle boys.
Hes got his mind on someone elses dinner --
Over the road, round the corner, out of the noise.
Lives down in some cool, cool basement --
Sharing with a family of bouncy, ratty little guys
Works to a discipline of ritual undertakings --
Sleep, eat, and gentle exercise
Old dog of experience,
Ripping through the black and yellow cabs,
Dodging rickshaws and the bicycle boys.
Hes got his mind on someone elses dinner --
Over the road, round the corner, out of the noise.
Some towns I know, he could end up in a restaurant --
Wrong side of a table for two.
Its enough to send him running, running for cover.
Back into traffic, whats a poor dog to do?
Old mutt of experience,
Ripping through the black and yellow cabs,
Dodging rickshaws and the bicycle boys.
Hes got his mind on someone elses dinner --
Over the road, round the corner, out of the noise.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Yellow Billed Spoonbill
By the lake shore in the shallows where the waters are still
He walks in water to his knees the white bird with yellow legs and long yellow spoon like bill
With his bill in the water as he walk moving from side to side
His prey water insects, crustaceans and tiny fish in the water weed hide.
He and his partner build their nest on a high branch of a tree
On her nest of sticks she lays four white eggs though sometimes two or three
They both take care of their young a bird devoted to fatherhood as well as to his mate
Food from their stomachs to their nestlings they do regurgitate.
On river rapids never seen the still waters they need
Birds of the inland lakes and dams in the shallows they feed
Of humans 'twould be fair to say they have a healthy fear
To a human standing on the shore they never venture near.
Yellow billed or yellow legged spoonbill are names they are known by
On the lake I see one yesterday he did seem rather shy
With his long yellow bill moving from side to side in the shallows he shuffled up and down
The shiest of the water birds in the big park by the Town.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Fiddler
In a little Hungarian cafe
Men and women are drinking
Yellow wine in tall goblets.
Through the milky haze of the smoke,
The fiddler, under-sized, blond,
Leans to his violin
As to the breast of a woman.
Red hair kindles to fire
On the black of his coat-sleeve,
Where his white thin hand
Trembles and dives,
Like a sliver of moonlight,
When wind has broken the water.
poem by Lola Ridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Shades of Grey
Black is the color of the night
Grey is the shadow of you I sight
White is the shirt you wear
Black is your suit I declare
White is the wall you lean against
Grey is our path I sensed
Black is the memory I lost
Black is the road we never crossed
Grey is the prospect of the day
Grey is the taxi driving away
Black is the truth to never find you
Black is everything I can't undo
Black is my room without light
White is my color of hope in spite
Grey is the circle around my heart
Black is the truth like a work of art
© 2011
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Sky Watcher
Black rolls the phantom chimney-smoke
Beneath the wintry moon;
For miles on miles, by sound unbroke,
The world lies wrapt in its ermine cloak,
And the night's icy swoon
Sways earthward in great brimming wells
Of luminous, frosty particles.
Far up the roadway, drifted deep,
Where frost-etched fences gleam;
Beneath the sky's wan, shimmering sleep
My solitary way I keep
Across the world's white dream;
The only living moving thing
In all this mighty slumbering.
Up in the eastern range of hill,
The thin wood spectrally
Stirs in its sleep and then is still
(Like querulous age) at the wind's will.
My shadow doggedly
Follows my footsteps where I go,
A grotesque giant on the snow.
Out where the river's arms are wound,
And icy sedges cling,
There comes to me as in a swound
A far-off clear, thin, vibrant sound,--
The distant hammering
Of frost-elves as they come and go,
Forging, in silver chains, his woe.
I stand upon the hill's bleak crest
And note the far night world:
The mighty lake whose passionate breast,
Manacled into arctic rest,
In shrouded sleep is furled:
The steely heavens whose wondrous host
Wheel white from flaming coast to coast.
Then down the night's dim luminous ways,
Meseems they come once more,
Those great star-watchers of old days
The lonely, calm-ones, whose still gaze,
On old-time, orient shore,
Dreamed in the wheeling sons of light,
The awful secrets of earth's night.
They come, those lofty ones of old,
And take me by the hand,
And call me brother; ages rolled
Are but a smoke-mist; kindred-souled,
They lift me to their band;
Like lights that from pale starbeams shine,
Their clear eyes look with peace on mine.
In language of no common kind
These watchers speak to me;
Their thoughts the depths of heaven find
Like plummets true. It were a kind
Of immortality
To spend with them one holy hour,
And know their love and grasp their power.
And wrapt around with glad content,
I learn with soul serene,
Caught from the beauty that is blent
In earth, the heaven's luminous tent,
The frost-lit dreams between,
And something holier out of sight,
Glad visions of the infinite.
Then backward past the sere hill's breast,
The spectral moaning wood,
With great peace brooding in my breast,
I turn me toward the common rest
Of earth's worn brotherhood;
But as I pass, a sacred sign,
Each lays his holy lips on mine:--
Gives me the golden chrism of song,
Tips my hushed heart with fire;
Till high in heaven I hear that throng
Who march in mystic paths along,
Great Pleiades, The Lyre,
The Te-Deum of the ages swell,
To earth-tuned ear inaudible.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Black and White (Stream XV)
I have black thoughts,
It is a black day,
A day when the black dog
Coal black, hovers at my shoulder.
I shoulder the burden.
Deep in the black hole.
Black as a black hearted night.
Negative.
Stark.
Black and white.
I do not call my good days white days.
Why?
Or have white thoughts
On a white day,
When the white dog
Pure white sits upon my shoulder.
Which is unburdened.
Out of the pit,
Luxuriating in the bright white light;
White as the purest snow.
Positive.
For we live in a too white world
Maybe we should have grey days,
And light days.
Why should Black be negative and White poitive?
For me then, today is a grey day.
Maybe tomorrow will be a light day.
Copyright P H Brookes 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
One Black Bird Dead
three black birds high
up in the air
flying
playing this early morning
on their
swift wings
i heard a single shot from the
hill and one black bird fell
the other two birds continue
to fly away
so frightened
they continue flying away
from that hill
a man with a brown cap emerges
and picks a dead black bird
on the rocky ground
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Three Black Birds High Up In The Air
three black birds high
up in the air
flying
playing this early morning
on their
swift wings
i heard a single shot from the
hill and one black bird fell
the other two birds continue
to fly away
so frightened
they continue flying away
from that hill
a man with a brown cap emerges
and picks a dead black bird
on the rocky ground
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The ravens of Ecclesbourne
The dark shadow of a large corvus
A mere crow,
No'a bird far larger far more supreme,
The harbinger of doom so they say
As if cast from some dark dream.
The raven'
Mystical bird of days of yore,
Glides over me to find a resting place on the cliff
Just beyond the rugged shore.
The silence only broken by their occasional deep croak
A voice far deeper than of any crow that I have heard before.
Like some dark spirit
Free from the confines of the historical tower,
Their dark shadows only eclipsed
By the black clouds of a passing shower.
I stand and watch in fascination
Of their arial acrobatics high above,
Their dark shadows cross and re cross
As if dancing in mutual love.
The stately raven
A bird of legend and steeped in folk law,
Casts a shadow over the grey winter cliffs
A place where the raven reigns supreme and free forever more.
poem by Gordon Butchers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
At Black Clouds
I look at black clouds
Hear its noise very loud
Fully charged with stored water
Human beings wait for all needs to cater
Some how I have liked black color
It has special fragrance and odor
It has so much to show and attract
Of course with good nature and acts
How come these white silver linings?
Due to friction not clearly defining
How come it revolves around black clouds?
May there is opportune time for meeting ground
Black color leaves long lasting impression
There is no violation and transgression
It escapes unnoticed from world’s evil eyes
No one run after it and readily buys
Black has unique quality to store
Hide all treasures in belt to explore
Present to world all its high quality metal
Like beautiful rose with its fresh petals
I adore black for its retention quality
Its high potential and enormous ability
Not to feel bad even if said in open
It is accepted as fact in face of it even
I would give cent percent credit
Every living object has something to omit
They emit smoke disguised in black layer
We all are blind to prefer white and not to choose black as buyer
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Black was everything without any light (in answer to Ted Hughes)
Black was everything without any light,
in a endless night
until in the brain of the creating One
the miracles of life did come
and dazzling blazing light appeared,
the sky unfolded in a deep blue hue
under a yellow-white sun
and all in black space hanged,
the creatures, the plants and everything
on a planet called earth
where creatures dwell from the time
that the first one appeared and thereafter
from there birth
and no crow came from nightmare,
the evil hand or anywhere but from
the hand of the creator God
who thought and things became
from the sheer energy of His spoken words.
[From Crow (extract) Two legends by Ted Hughes.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!