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A Night-Piece

------The sky is overcast
With a continuous cloud of texture close,
Heavy and wan, all whitened by the Moon,
Which through that veil is indistinctly seen,
A dull, contracted circle, yielding light
So feebly spread, that not a shadow falls,
Chequering the ground--from rock, plant, tree, or tower.
At length a pleasant instantaneous gleam
Startles the pensive traveller while he treads
His lonesome path, with unobserving eye
Bent earthwards; he looks up--the clouds are split
Asunder,--and above his head he sees
The clear Moon, and the glory of the heavens.
There, in a black-blue vault she sails along,
Followed by multitudes of stars, that, small
And sharp, and bright, along the dark abyss
Drive as she drives: how fast they wheel away,
Yet vanish not!--the wind is in the tree,
But they are silent;--still they roll along
Immeasurably distant; and the vault,
Built round by those white clouds, enormous clouds,
Still deepens its unfathomable depth.
At length the Vision closes; and the mind,
Not undisturbed by the delight it feels,
Which slowly settles into peaceful calm,
Is left to muse upon the solemn scene.

poem by William Wordsworth
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An Imagination

intentionally i let my right hand hold my left hand
my left hand holds the branch of a tree that
holds some leaves,

my feet are on the trunk of a tree
beforehand i mentioned
there are clouds getting near us
fog that promise a cover

out there oceans sing
stars hang themselves upon a path of the horizon
all imaginary ceilings
where the moon behaves like one big chandelier

there are moment when stars and moon are simply themselves
as moon and stars without
self-imposed meanings and then all that we describe
is that it is the moon and they are the stars
no sauce for more words
nothing added nothing subtracted
faithful to the phenomenon of the stillness of what we see

to still this restlessness
we focus on what we have
a hand holding another hand
a head that looks upward to the heavens
a foot rooted like the roots of a tree
leaves falling like the wind

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tribal Rites (The Nighshade of Hues)

The nightshades of hue
Blacken the empty abyss

As the moon hangs low
With an eerie neon glow

A shadow moves across the
Barren land as the stars
Glisten in the dark

Thunder claps its roar energy
As the dark clouds creep across the moon

A lone owl hoots its eerie song
As it watches' the moon play hide and seek
With natures dark clouds of doom

The night is dark as the mist
Swirls around the abyss
That gapes at the edge of the cliff

The crackle of thunder crash's
Across the land booming from
One end of the abyss to other

And standing atop a hill
That views over the abyss
A lone figure stands

The wind whips at his clothing
Like a torrent of never ending lashings

His long shoulder length ebony hair
Swirling in the wind

He gazes towards the heavens
And sees the stars and moon
Beckoning to him to fly

But this earth bound body
Can only stand in this glories
Raging storm of the night

He sways to the rhythm of nature
As he recalls his brothers of the tribe
Teasing him of what's install for him

To gain his manhood his rights as a man
To live through this dark abyss
That has tested his father and his father before him
And it is now his turn to prove to the tribe he is a man

So as he stands alone
He embraces himself for natures test
The swirling winds and raging storms
A testament to his strength

As the dawn starts to break
He walks back to his tribe
Were he left a few days before
Just a boy now he returns a man

poem by Kaila George
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An Autumn Treasure-Trove

'Tis the time of the year's sundown, and flame
Hangs on the maple bough;
And June is the faded flower of a name;
The thin hedge hides not a singer now.
Yet rich am I; for my treasures be
The gold afloat in my willow-tree.

Sweet morn on the hillside dripping with dew,
Girded with blue and pearl,
Counts the leaves afloat in the streamlet too;
As the love-lorn heart of a wistful girl,
She sings while her soul brooding tearfully
Sees a dream of gold in the willow-tree.

All day pure white and saffron at eve,
Clouds awaiting the sun
Turn them at length to ghosts that leave
When the moon's white path is slowly run
Till the morning comes, and with joy for me
O'er my gold agleam in the willow-tree.

The lilacs that blew on the breast of May
Are an old and lost delight;
And the rose lies ruined in his careless way
As the wind turns the poplars underwhite,
Yet richer am I for the autumn; see
All my misty gold in the willow-tree.

poem by Eugene Field
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A Magical Day

I am truly enchanted with this day
there are messages of love
from poets and poetesses far away
then there is the sun- my love
In this big baby blue sky
bringing me so much happiness
I smile and I sigh
what else can I say or do
today is most fabulous, yes it's true
the weather is clear and bright
laying low on the horizon
are streaks of clouds, frothy white
mother nature planned a special show
the moon is here, bathing in the sunlight,
beholding the beauty of nature
for he cannot see it in the night
the tree maidens wear pretty gowns
In colours of orange, red, gold and green
dance and swirl with the morning breeze
this is a most enchanting, delightful scene
oh my close your eyes, what a sight!
some tree maidens are undressing
for the sun and moon's delight
the moon kisses me goodbye
after this spectacular show
then I am left to bathe
in the sun's loving glow

poem by Rachel Nichols
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The Final Painting

The white cloud passed over the land
there is sea always round the land
the sky is blue always above the cloud
the cloud in the blue continues to move
- nothing is limited by the canvas or frame -
the white cloud can be pictured like any
other clouds or like a fist of wool
or a white fur rose
The white cloud passes a shadow across
the landscape and so there is a passing greyness
The grey and the white both envelop
the watcher until he too is drawn into the picture
It is all a journey from a room through a door
down stairs and out into the street
The cloud could possess the house
The watchers have a mutual confidence
with the approaching string of white clouds
It is beyond spoken words what they are
silently mouthing to the sky
There was no mystery in this - only the firm
outline of people in overcoats on a hillside
and the line of clouds above them
The sky is blue The cloud white with touches
of grey - the rest - the landscape below -
can be left to the imagination
The whole painting quietly dissolved itself
into its surrounding clouds

poem by Lee Harwood
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Celestial Warfare

The sun has fallen to rest,
And the moon shows up to play,
Clouds glaze the skies,
Racing with the arctic winds,
Attacking the lunar sphere,
Skies turn to black,
It seems the moon has died,
'What fallacy is this! ',
the Moon exclaims,
Reflected light piercing through the clouds,
'I will not leave this plane! '
Stars join in the brawl,
Flash of light radiates the earth,
a Star victim to the clouds.

Sun
The lantern of earth awakes,
Moon and Stars flee,
this Solar star perforates the Clouds,
Its sword a burning flame,
the Clouds counter with thickening,
the Sun struggles to maintain,
And unleashes its true prowess,
a Red Giant is formed,
the Clouds meet their demise,
the giant grasps them,
With its mighty flair,
Hungry for growth,
It turns on the moon,
David vs. Goliath,
Darkness falls upon our earth,
Cloudless skies raining Red,
the Moon has killed itself.

poem by Brandon Griffee
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Songs Of The Sky

In a sky of layered clouds,
dawn becomes a rainbow,
moving through the spectrum
toward the day.

In a sky of always blue,
no clouds ride the wind:
the sun burns brightly,
high and hot and long.

In a sky of may grays,
clouds crash, explode and roar;
rain-filled winds sweep across the prairie.

In a sky of many blues,
clouds dance on the wind;
and endless and quixotic
Rohrschach test.

In a sky of always gray,
no clouds seem to move;
overcast blots out imagination.

In a sky of cold, cold blue,
gray clouds scrape the treetops;
harbingers of winter storms to come.

Beneath a sky of darkening gray,
the prairie grasses rustle
on the small, forgotten farms
of what could've been
and was.

In a sky of mottled gray,
cold rains fall, now and then;
the seasons struggle
for control of April.

In a sky of broken gray,
cold winds precede the rains;
and before long
the darkened clouds re-gather.

In a sky as clear as glass,
and blue from top to bottom,
sultry days of August
slowly drift into September.

In a twi-lit noon-time sky,
this annular eclipse
leaves us just a
ring around the moon.

In a sky of many clouds,
sunset's an inferno;
ablaze, in this,
my father's final twilight.

In a sky that slowly burns,
the clouds of fire fade
and leave a darker beauty
to hold the night.

poem by William Kruse
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Sonnet: The Haloed-Moon

God shows a moon with aureole sheen,
Full-round haloed with greenish-pinkish light,
A phenomenon I have rarely seen!
The unseen sun still makes the moon look bright.

A pitch-black cloud just stands above the moon;
The latter sails behind it to vanish;
The eclipsed moon is back in full view soon;
My heart is filled with joy that can’t perish.

The cloud looks like black month of September,
The end of which will bring new hope again;
This glorious vision, I will remember,
For like promotion delayed, so is rain!

God speaks to me so strangely from the sky;
I pray He must do so until I die.

poem by John Celes
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There's A Dark Cloud Over My Head

There is a dark cloud over my head
With every move i make, every step i take
It keeps following me
Lord you know i want to free
Dark clouds, dark clouds, dark clouds
Now as the rain begins to fall, i feel so small
I'm always getting wet with the rain of prejudice
Look there is a mist of discrimation
And the fog of injustice
Dark clouds, dark clouds, dark clouds hanging over my head
Lord you know i want to be free
It's hard to look through the thickness of the clouds
Standing under the dark clouds the sun never shines
As my eyes glist for a brighter tomorrow
My sisters and brothers are filled with sorrow
Dark clouds, dark clouds, dark clouds
Why do they keep following me
Lord you know i want to be free
This cloud kept many of our people down
This cloud has kept us bound
Our head hanging to the ground
A cloud of sorrow and pain
A cloud of loneiness and despair
Wondering does anyone care
Now as i look beyond the horizon with the telescope
Of my mind
It was fantastic what i've found
If you can look beyond your dark cloud, sorrow and pain
You will see a star shining so near, yet it seems so far
Beyond your dark clouds, there is a galaxy of deterination
There is a star of i am somebody and it's shining
For the whole world to see
Let's load up our spaceship of education
Put our satellite into orbit, let's speed on to culture
Proudness
Gravitation of ignorance will never hold me down
There's no time for malfunction in our dreams
For many years our focus was ecliped
Eclipse we were inferior, eclipse we couldn't make it
Couldn't go to the same school
We can see clearly now my sisters and brothers
Let's walk in the light, let's fuel up with knowledge
Independence, awareness
Yes use the telescope of your mind
The satellite of youe soul
The orbit of your heart
To reach that certain star, no matter how near or far

poem by Leon Thomas Lee
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Here Comes The Moon

Everybodys talking up a storm
Act like they dont notice it
But here it is and here it comes . . .
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon.
Impulse always quickens when its full
As it turns my head around me
Yes it does and here it comes
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon.
Gods gift I see thats moving up there into the night . . .
Though dark the mirror in the sky reflects us our light:
Looks like a little brother to the sun
Or mother to the stars at night
And here it is and here it comes
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon.
Breath is always taken when its new
Enhance upon the clouds around it
Yes it is and here it comes
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon.

song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Three Ponds in Hellbrunn

The First

Around the flowers the blowflies reel,
Around the pale flowers on dull flood,
Go away! Go away! The air burns!
In the depth the fervor of putrefaction glows!
The pasture weeps, the silence stares,
A sultry vapor brews on the waters.
Go away! Go away! It is the place
For black toads' disgusting rut.

The Second

Images of clouds, flowers, and people
Sing, sing, joyful world!
Smiling innocence reflects you -
Everything it likes becomes heavenly!
It amicably transforms darkness into light,
Distant things become near! O joyful you!
Sun, clouds, flowers and people
Breathe the peace of God in you.

The Third

The waters shimmer greenish-blue
And calmly the cypresses breathe,
The evening sounds bell-deep -
Then the depth grows immeasurably.
The moon rises, the night turns blue,
Blossoms in the reflection of the floods -
An enigmatic Sphinx face,
On which my heart wants to bleed to death.

poem by Georg Trakl
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Southampton Castle

INSCRIBED TO THE MARQUIS OF LANSDOWNE.

The moonlight is without; and I could lose
An hour to gaze, though Taste and Splendour here,
As in a lustrous fairy palace, reign!
Regardless of the lights that blaze within,
I look upon the wide and silent sea,
That in the shadowy moonbeam sleeps:
How still,
Nor heard to murmur, or to move, it lies;
Shining in Fancy's eye, like the soft gleam,
The eve of pleasant yesterdays!
The clouds
Have all sunk westward, and the host of stars
Seem in their watches set, as gazing on;
While night's fair empress, sole and beautiful,
Holds her illustrious course through the mid heavens
Supreme, the spectacle, for such she looks,
Of gazing worlds!
How different is the scene
That lies beneath this arched window's height!
The town, that murmured through the busy day,
Is hushed; the roofs one solemn breadth of shade
Veils; but the towers, and taper spires above,
The pinnets, and the gray embattled walls,
And masts that throng around the southern pier,
Shine all distinct in light; and mark, remote,
O'er yonder elms, St Mary's modest fane.
Oh! if such views may please, to me they shine
How more attractive! but few years have passed,
Since there I saw youth, health, and happiness,
All circling round an aged sire, whose hairs
Are now in peace gone down; he was to me
A friend, and almost with a father's smile
Hung o'er my infant Muse. The cheerful voice
Of fellowship, the song of harmony,
And mirth, and wit, were there.
That scene is passed:
Cold death and separation have dissolved
The evening circle of once-happy friends!
So has it ever fared, and so must fare,
With all! I see the moonlight watery tract
That shines far off, beneath the forest-shades:
What seems it, but the mirror of that tide,
Which noiseless, 'mid the changes of the world,
Holds its inevitable course, the tide
Of years departing; to the distant eye
Still seeming motionless, though hurrying on
From morn till midnight, bearing, as it flows,
The sails of pleasurable barks! These gleam
To-day, to-morrow other passing sails
Catch the like sunshine of the vernal morn.
Our pleasant days are as the moon's brief light
On the pale ripple, passing as it shines!
But shall the pensive bard for this lament,
Who knows how transitory are all worlds
Before His eye who made them!
Cease the strain;
And welcome still the social intercourse
That soothes the world's loud jarring, till the hour
When, universal darkness wrapping all
This nether scene, a light from heaven shall stream
Through clouds dividing, and a voice be heard:
Here only pure and lasting bliss is found!

poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Eveleen's Bower

Oh! weep for the hour,
When to Eveleen's bower,
The Lord of the Valley with false vows came;
The moon hid her light,
From the heavens that night,
And wept behind her clouds o'er the maiden's shame.

The clouds pass'd soon
From the chaste cold moon,
And heaven smiled again with her vestal flame;
But none will see the day,
When the clouds shall pass away,
Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame.

The white snow lay
On the narrow path-way,
When the Lord of the Valley cross'd over the moor;
And many a deep print
On the white snow's tint
Show'd the track of his footstep to Eveleen's door.

The next sun's ray
Soon melted away
Every trace on the path where the false Lord came;
But there's a light above,
Which alone can remove
That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame.

poem by Thomas Moore
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When The Wind Met The Moon

It was a dark night
Clouds filled the sky.
The moon could not shine through the thickness of the clouds.
No matter how hard she tried,
She could not glimmer through.
The wind felt sorry for the moon.
He saw how hard the moon was trying
So the wind blew to move the clouds from in front of her.
Then the moon shared its magnificent beauty with the world.

poem by Torence Lavender
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Playing Golf at Midnight

Playing golf in the moonlight,
at midnight, at night, when light
cannot be trusted, when sight
deceives, it can’t be right.

He drives the sphere with the craters
like the moon, white like the moon,
orbiting like the moon; soon
it will collide with grass or sand, and

the black night will swallow the white
moon and the driving sphere
and no one will know where
went the white and where went the black
and why.

And after the ball has divorced its tee
and after the moon laughs
and retires behind the roofs
of the neighborhood houses,
the silence of the green
and the heartbreaking loveliness
of the green emerge and converge
and here in the suburban
wilderness, the only home he has,
he sees for the first time
how clouds absorb
and disperse
the light of the moon.

poem by Sonny Rainshine
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October Day

The bright white clouds against the blue
are moving slowly, passing through.
Their shadows cast upon the ground
move slowly too without a sound.
The winter sunshine’s slanted rays.
Join in the game and seem to chase
the shadows which the clouds have cast
Shining brightly when they’ve passed.
The sky is clear unbroken blue.
It feels a little warmer too.
A little sunshine does I find
lift up my spirits change my mind
about the way I view the day
I do not like it when it’s grey.

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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On the clouds, having my walk..

Carefully, I step on clouds
Trying to keep self very light.
I let the air to freely flow
Am deeply breathing
Nice.. and.. slow.
Hard to feel the air, it barely moves
Where is the wind? It doesn't blow!
Warm and powerless
I feel so light
That clouds are moving me
From the left, .. to the right
Letting things happen,
I do not fight.
Happily follow my clouds
Walk, jump, run and roll on white white
fluffy clouds
All of a sudden everything stops.
Me too:
I watch the blue bue sky
And slowly raise and open wide
my palms.
Inside,
The left one
eyes opened
My King once a Prince
The right palm
my treasured little princess
almost a Queen..
Amazed, but not afraid
They look around and smile.
Why? ! ?
Because they know,
I won't let go.

poem by Elena Sandu
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The Vision: (Katia: Easter Sunday, 1916)

She had a vision in the dark
Ere the first lark from nest took flight;
She saw her own son from fierce strife
Win to new Life and new Delight.

The clouds were tattered round his head
As sore bested he fought his foe,
Where in the conflict he was ta'en
And slain -- she did not see it so.

She saw indeed his bitter case
In that sad place, parched, without shade,
And how her Christian Knight must fall
In Paynim thrall, should Heaven not aid.

But now what light burns in the cloud?
What voices loud against his ear?
St. Andrew and St. Patrick ride
Close by his side; St. George is near.

His banner floats upon the breeze,
Like a gold fleece it wraps him round --
So, cap-à-pie from head to knee,
His enemy he strikes to ground.

He's won the day, he's won the day!
See the light play upon his brow!
Brave in his armour and upright
The Christian Knight is riding now.

She had that vision of her son
When by the moon asleep she lay --
And woke to singing birds and dew,
And knew that it was Easter Day.

poem by Katharine Tynan
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Moon Bathers

Falls from her heaven the Moon, and stars sink
burning
Into the sea where blackness rims the sea,
Silently quenched. Faint light that the waves hold
Is only light remaining; yet still gleam
The sands where those now-sleeping young moon-bathers
Came dripping out of the sea and from their arms
Shook flakes of light, dancing on the foamy edge
Of quiet waves. They were all things of light
Tossed from the sea to dance under the Moon —
Her nuns, dancing within her dying round,
Clear limbs and breasts silvered with Moon and waves
And quick with windlike mood and body's joy,
Withdrawn from alien vows, by wave and wind
Lightly absolved and lightly all forgetting.

An hour ago they left. Remains the gleam
Of their late motion on the salt sea-meadow,
As loveliest hues linger when the sun's gone
And float in the heavens and die in reedy pools —
So slowly, who shall say when light is gone?

poem by John Freeman
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The Hurricane

Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh,
I know thy breath in the burning sky!
And I wait, with a thrill in every vein,
For the coming of the hurricane!

And lo! on the wing of the heavy gales,
Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails;
Silent and slow, and terribly strong,
The mighty shadow is borne along,
Like the dark eternity to come;
While the world below, dismayed and dumb,
Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere
Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear.

They darken fast; and the golden blaze
Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze,
And he sends through the shade a funeral ray--
A glare that is neither night nor day,
A beam that touches, with hues of death,
The clouds above and the earth beneath.
To its covert glides the silent bird,
While the hurricane's distant voice is heard,
Uplifted among the mountains round,
And the forests hear and answer the sound.

He is come! he is come! do ye not behold
His ample robes on the wind unrolled?
Giant of air! we bid thee hail!--
How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale;
How his huge and writhing arms are bent,
To clasp the zone of the firmament,
And fold at length, in their dark embrace,
From mountain to mountain the visible space.

Darker--still darker! the whirlwinds bear
The dust of the plains to the middle air:
And hark to the crashing, long and loud,
Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud!
You may trace its path by the flashes that start
From the rapid wheels where'er they dart,
As the fire-bolts leap to the world below,
And flood the skies with a lurid glow.

What roar is that?--'tis the rain that breaks
In torrents away from the airy lakes,
Heavily poured on the shuddering ground,
And shedding a nameless horror round.
Ah! well known woods, and mountains, and skies,
With the very clouds!--ye are lost to my eyes.
I seek ye vainly, and see in your place
The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space,
A whirling ocean that fills the wall
Of the crystal heaven, and buries all.
And I, cut off from the world, remain
Alone with the terrible hurricane.

poem by William Cullen Bryant
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