Those Words Were Uttered As In Pensive Mood
THOSE words were uttered as in pensive mood
We turned, departing from that solemn sight:
A contrast and reproach to gross delight,
And life's unspiritual pleasures daily wooed!
But now upon this thought I cannot brood;
It is unstable as a dream of night;
Nor will I praise a cloud, however bright,
Disparaging Man's gifts, and proper food.
Grove, isle, with every shape of sky-built dome,
Though clad in colours beautiful and pure,
Find in the heart of man no natural home:
The immortal Mind craves objects that endure:
These cleave to it; from these it cannot roam,
Nor they from it: their fellowship is secure.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Related quotes
Magic in different style
She is on screen and just few inches away
Spelling magic in different style al the way
I sink with all happiness in a day
She is simply wonderful and standing at bay
I might have not taken note of her
If she was just normal and had nothing to offer
But here she stood exceptionally in unique position
All smiles in one direction to raise lot many questions
I slipped into past history of ancient era
Where even saint had lost concentration
I thought of my being as poor human being
She was there for all praise from me as king
I am aware of natural beauty in person
Some are looked nice with many reasons
But here she stood as marvelous art
All body parts engraved from marble parts
She laughed at when I praised with words
This was just excuse for looking forward
I failed to grasp her mood in time
Shivered within and crumbled sometimes
"Will you be my perfect man" she uttered
The situation was now fully altered
The whole scene was slipping away from my grip
I thought I may fall down on earth for early sleep
It happens sometimes when unusual things happen
Your minds runs faster and sometimes sharpen
So many things shape up there after even
As such things are taking place all of sudden
I am elated at the words spoken
I thought about them as token
But no, she was serious enough to accept
Me as her dream man in mind and to be kept
I am lucky person to find a beauty with brain
Even though to find a beautiful lady is not my aim
She must be as natural as possible
To stay for ever without crating any troubles
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Sonnet LXIII: Inclusiveness
The changing guests, each in a different mood,
Sit at the roadside table and arise:
And every life among them in like wise
Is a soul's board set daily with new food.
What man has bent o'er his son's sleep, to brood
How that face shall watch his when cold it lies?—
Or thought, as his own mother kissed his eyes,
Of what her kiss was when his father wooed?
May not this ancient room thou sitt'st in dwell
In separate living souls for joy or pain?
Nay, all its corners may be painted plain
Where Heaven shows pictures of some life spent well;
And may be stamped, a memory all in vain,
Upon the sight of lidless eyes in Hell.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Strange Kind Of Love
I once thought I had the love of God in my heart;
a feeling of oneness in which everyone is a part.
But as time went by and the days passed
that feeling of oneness did not really last.
I would search inside my heart to try and find
the love of God I thought had been left behind.
But as I looked eagerly there like a bloodhound
what I seemed to come across was less profound.
Then in the darkness of my mind I began to see a light;
It was coming and going, unsteady, to my inner sight.
The longer that I looked at it in wonder each day,
it seemed to speak to me without any words to say.
I would often marvel in awe how this could be
a spark of faith and hope from deep inside me.
So each day I would praise God in my heart with love
dedicating all action, words and thought to Him above.
The Love of God returned it seemed in some way
as a feeling of oneness swelled in my heart to play.
Life seemed sweet, almost as if too good to be true
and many things that were old appeared to be new.
I began also to know things which before went over my head
and to fathom the mysteries of what in books had been read.
It was in daily life experiences though that the truth shined through
as my mind was refined to witness what the Others taught and knew.
I would grasp and revel in subtle things which were lofty and divine
and then go about each day as if I was drunk on some kind of wine.
Everything all around seemed to be holy and possessed a hidden light,
encompassing all creatures and objects, that was revealed to my sight.
poem by George Krokos
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Aurobindo-21-Savitri-Book -2
An appreciation on Savitri-
Book II The Book of the Traveller of the Worlds
Canto III The Glory and the Fall of Life
Words within inverted commas are Aurobindo's
'This, once a star of bright remote idea
Or imagination's comet trail of dream,
Took now a close shape of reality.'
'The quintessence glowed of Life's supreme delight'
'The protean images of the World-Force
Have drawn the strength to be, the will to last
From a deep ocean of dynamic peace.'
Ah, from violet-peace to dynamic peace..blissful
'Our human ignorance moves towards the Truth
That Nescience may become omniscient,
Transmuted instincts shape to divine thoughts,
Thoughts house infallible immortal sight
And Nature climb towards God's identity.'
'The light of God she has parted from his dark
To test the savour of bare opposites.'
A boon of grandeur to an ignorant life
'Heaven's joys might have been earth's if earth were pure.
There could have reached our divinised sense and heart
Some natural felicity's bright extreme,
Some thrill of Supernature's absolutes: '
Earth's destiny as per divine play plays on day and night
'All strengths could laugh and sport on earth's hard roads
And never feel her cruel edge of pain, '
Only'The voice of Time' sang of the Immortal's joy; '
'Only to be was a supreme delight,
Life was a happy laughter of the soul
And Joy was king with Love for minister.'
'The ruler there is one with all he rules;
To him who serves with a free equal heart
'His service a spiritual sovereignty.'...
............My consciousness this moment,
O'Guru, I'm in awe....in invincible heights
Ineffable Thee embellishing poetic creation
My inquisitive apprehension, erring Thee may opine
May thereso, let Savitri in my self arise
Aroused thereso be knowledge and fortune
poem by Indira Renganathan
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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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Home, Sweet Home
Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;
A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain;
Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again!
The birds singing gayly, that come at my call --
Give me them -- and the peace of mind, dearer than all!
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild,
And feel that my mother now thinks of her child,
As she looks on that moon from our own cottage door
Thro' the woodbine, whose fragrance shall cheer me no more.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
How sweet 'tis to sit 'neath a fond father's smile,
And the caress of a mother to soothe and beguile!
Let others delight mid new pleasures to roam,
But give me, oh, give me, the pleasures of home.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
To thee I'll return, overburdened with care;
The heart's dearest solace will smile on me there;
No more from that cottage again will I roam;
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.
Home, home, sweet, sweet, home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!
poem by John Howard Payne
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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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Night visions
I do not fear the dark, my eyes
adjust so that I can see.
The beauties which would otherwise
be hidden by the night from me.
To walk abroad alone by night
seems only natural to me
Quite different from brighter light
the sun provides consistently.
It is a different world by night
the garish colours of the day.
Have been replaced by black and white
as beautiful in their own way.
As anything you see by day
The muted colours softening
harsh outlines in a subtle way
Moving shadows intertwining.
Produce in me serenity
A mood the quietness inspires
I stroll enwrapped in reverie
as often as my heart desires
I can look back nostalgically
recalling how thing used to be
or look ahead and try to see
what the future holds for me.
I see the darkness as a friend
For me it holds no mystery
I know for sure I can depend
upon the quiet night to be.
A time when I can meditate
and view my world quite differently.
Which will let me appreciate
all of the beauty which I see.
Although some people fear the night
and find the silence frightening.
To walk by night is my delight
I find the quietness soothing.
11-Oct-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Home 2
Fair was the morning, fair our tempers, and
We had seen nothing fairer than that land,
Though strange, and the untrodden snow that made
Wild of the tame, casting out all that was
Not wild and rustic and old; and we were glad.
Fair too was afternoon, and first to pass
Were we that league of snow, next the north wind.
There was nothing to return for, except need,
And yet we sang nor ever stopped for speed,
As we did often with the start behind.
Faster still strode we when we came in sight
Of the cold roofs where we must spend the night.
Happy we had not been there, nor could be,
Though we had tasted sleep and food and fellowship
Together long.
'How quick', to someone's lip
The words came, 'will the beaten horse run home!'
The word 'home' raised a smile in us all three,
And one repeated it, smiling just so
That all knew what he meant and none would say.
Between three counties far apart that lay
We were divided and looked strangely each
At the other, and we knew we were not friends
But fellows in a union that ends
With the necessity for it, as it ought.
Never a word was spoken, not a thought
Was thought, of what the look meant with the word
'Home' as we walked and watched the sunset blurred.
And then to me the word, only the word,
'Homesick', as it were playfully occurred:
No more.
If I should ever more admit
Than the mere word I could not endure it
For a day longer: this captivity
Must somehow come to an end, else I should be
Another man, as often now I seem,
Or this life be only an evil dream.
poem by Edward Thomas
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The Clean Plater
Some singers sing of ladies' eyes,
And some of ladies lips,
Refined ones praise their ladylike ways,
And course ones hymn their hips.
The Oxford Book of English Verse
Is lush with lyrics tender;
A poet, I guess, is more or less
Preoccupied with gender.
Yet I, though custom call me crude,
Prefer to sing in praise of food.
Food,
Yes, food,
Just any old kind of food.
Pheasant is pleasant, of course,
And terrapin, too, is tasty,
Lobster I freely endorse,
In pate or patty or pasty.
But there's nothing the matter with butter,
And nothing the matter with jam,
And the warmest greetings I utter
To the ham and the yam and the clam.
For they're food,
All food,
And I think very fondly of food.
Through I'm broody at times
When bothered by rhymes,
I brood
On food.
Some painters paint the sapphire sea,
And some the gathering storm.
Others portray young lambs at play,
But most, the female form.
“Twas trite in that primeval dawn
When painting got its start,
That a lady with her garments on
Is Life, but is she Art?
By undraped nymphs
I am not wooed;
I'd rather painters painted food.
Food,
Just food,
Just any old kind of food.
Go purloin a sirloin, my pet,
If you'd win a devotion incredible;
And asparagus tips vinaigrette,
Or anything else that is edible.
Bring salad or sausage or scrapple,
A berry or even a beet.
Bring an oyster, an egg, or an apple,
As long as it's something to eat.
If it's food,
It's food;
Never mind what kind of food.
When I ponder my mind
I consistently find
It is glued
On food.
poem by Ogden Nash
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Love Has A Mind Of Its Own
Think about me and you
Think of all the changes weve
Been through
The laughter an the tears, the
Years together
Little did we both know
When we fell we gave up all control
Though times get hard
Were strong enough to carry on
cause
Love has a mind of its own
It moves in its own circles
And it roams where it will roam
Love has a mind of its own
It holds our lives together
Youre my heart, youre my home
(I) stayed awake last night
Told myself that this time we were
Through
That passion wasnt pair, my heart
Had changed
But then in the morning light
The feeling cut me like a knife
And then I knew
I couldnt walk away from you
cause
Love has a mind of its own
It moves in its own circles
And it roams where it will roam
Love has a mind of its own
It holds our lives together
Youre my heart, youre my home
We can drive ourselves so far apart
The world gets in between
Before you know, the distance grows
Till never we lose sight of the dream
But the wonder of it all
Is how love will survive
It never fails to keep us going
It never fails to keep us alive
cause
Love has a mind of its own
It moves in its own circles
And it roams where it will roam
Love has a mind of its own
It holds our lives together
Youre my heart, youre my home
Love has a mind of its own
It moves in its own circles
And it roams where it will roam
Love has a mind of its own
It holds our lives together
Youre my heart, youre my home
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Want To Come Home
I simply can't cope.
I've lost all hope.
Where did it go?
Through the rain and snow
I've walked head high,
And reached to the sky.
Nothing I've not tried,
‘Til the spirit died.
How can I go on?
The cloak to don
Of life and struggle,
And mess and muddle.
My mind is clear,
When Universe is near.
But this earthly tread
Has turned to dread,
Of each new day,
When my head I lay
On pillow at night,
With blinkered sight.
Not like my home
Where I can roam
The Universal Heaven,
Shed this load "unleaven",
And laugh and sing and dance,
Exploring every chance,
With bated breath, wide eyes
That scan, and uttered sighs
With anticipation for the next event,
Which will ever be sent,
Energy not of this world,
And language needing no spoken word.
Can I come home,
Forever to roam,
Those dimensions I know,
Unlike these seeds I sow,
On this earthly plain,
That bring nought but pain?
I need to fly free,
Unfettered to be.
Come and take me home.
I want to come home!
poem by Rosi Caswell
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Ballad of Our Love...
oh so pure is the projection of this dream
my only dream – upon our past…
I’m giving birth to how our love
would have been life’s most tender home
and to how gracefully our souls
would have been blessed…
and I am painting you the picture
of our passion and delight
and I am rhyming you our every day and night…
come, hold my hand, my man, my mate
it’s not too late…it’s not too late…
here are our mountains and our moors
our savage bushlands and our shores…
here is the forest of our weightless
wondrous Mays…
oh so pure is the projection of this dream
my only dream – upon our past…
you are my pride, my boy, my guide
and I’m your womangirl, your brumby
I’m your butterfly, your dawn
your fawn, your bride…
come, hold my hand, my man, my mate
it’s not too late…it’s not too late…
here is our house, our cherished haven
here’s our kitchen, here’s our bed…
this is the bright and brilliant ballad
of the words we would have said…
oh so pure is the projection of this dream
my only dream – upon our past…
these are our children, see them smile
while they are playing in the yard…
this is the everlasting thruth
I’m gently laying in the lightrose of your heart…
poem by Rikki Keller
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Sunset on the Spire
All that I dream
By day or night
Lives in that stream
Of lovely light.
Here is the earth,
And there is the spire;
This is my hearth,
And that is my fire.
From the sun's dome
I am shouted proof
That this is my home,
And that is my roof.
Here is my food,
And here is my drink,
And I am wooed
From the moon's brink.
And the days go over,
And the nights end;
Here is my lover,
Here is my friend.
All that I
Can ever ask
Wears that sky
Like a thin gold mask.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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Natural Gift
See that girl walkin down the street
She looks like a prima donna
Shes a star in her head and the worlds at her feet
She looks at you twice and your heart skips a beat
She didnt learn it at high school or from a glossy magazine
You see shes a natural, she gotta natural gift
You gotta rise above your stupidity
Youre dumb but dont give in
You gotta rise above your station
Discover whats within
And with some luck and dedication and some careful manipulation
Everybody needs some inspiration
Everybody needs some motivation
Mix it up with some imagination
And use your natural gifts, you gotta natural gift
You got natural gifts
Ah, hey, hey, hey, ah, hey, hey
And use your natural gifts, you got natural gifts
You dont have to be a genius to find
All the hidden potential deep in your mind
You dont have to know about nuclear physics
Know all the formulas and vital statistics
You dont have to be an intellectual, you dont have to be a scientist
To use your natural gifts, you got natural gifts, yeh
Use your natural gifts, you got natural gifts
You gotta stop this depression youre in now
Stop this emotional rift, you need a psychological lift now
Everybody needs some inspiration, everybody needs some motivation
Mix it up with some imagination and use your natural gifts
There are bad people, mad people, bitter people, scared people
Wanna put you down and keep you in your place
But you gotta chance to break out, you gotta chance to get out
And use your natural gifts
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beautiful flowers
Gardens are supposed to house beautiful flowers
Pink, rose, red, yellow and in different colors
To appease and please troubled mankind
Love and joy in abundance to find
”beauty and flowers are joy for ever”
Their fragrance and memory may stay forever
Try not to touch them to fade away fast
It presents beautiful picture totally in contrast
They can’t please us at all if remain barren
That stage is never appreciated in life even
We may err in committing mistakes but learn too
Such is tragedy of life and can be termed as true
Our Mind may sometimes fluctuate and wonder
Yet we have to think carefully and sum up as under
'Beauty and flowers are meant to see'
Allow to boom in their natural way and keep them free
Beauty may be lost if we fiddle with their growth
It is combination of shyness and seclusion or as both
Idea should never invade our mind to threaten their existence
Look at as lover of nature from the safe distance
Some of the natural objects are meant to be protected
No one may come forward and remind us how to be acted
But one thing is sure that we must have considerate observation
As they have always remained our source of inspiration
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Boy And the Angel, The
Morning, evening, noon and night,
``Praise God!; sang Theocrite.
Then to his poor trade he turned,
Whereby the daily meal was earned.
Hard he laboured, long and well;
O'er his work the boy's curls fell.
But ever, at each period,
He stopped and sang, ``Praise God!''
Then back again his curls he threw,
And cheerful turned to work anew.
Said Blaise, the listening monk, ``Well done;
``I doubt not thou art heard, my son:
``As well as if thy voice to-day
``Were praising God, the Pope's great way.
``This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome
``Praises God from Peter's dome.''
Said Theocrite, ``Would God that I
``Might praise him, that great way, and die!''
Night passed, day shone,
And Theocrite was gone.
With God a day endures alway,
A thousand years are but a day.
God said in heaven, ``Nor day nor night
``Now brings the voice of my delight.''
Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth,
Spread his wings and sank to earth;
Entered, in flesh, the empty cell,
Lived there, and played the craftsman well;
And morning, evening, noon and night,
Praised God in place of Theocrite.
And from a boy, to youth he grew:
The man put off the stripling's hue:
The man matured and fell away
Into the season of decay:
And ever o'er the trade he bent,
And ever lived on earth content.
(He did God's will; to him, all one
If on the earth or in the sun.)
God said, ``A praise is in mine ear;
``There is no doubt in it, no fear:
``So sing old worlds, and so
``New worlds that from my footstool go.
``Clearer loves sound other ways:
``I miss my little human praise.''
Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell
The flesh disguise, remained the cell.
'Twas Easter Day: he flew to Rome,
And paused above Saint Peter's dome.
In the tiring-room close by
The great outer gallery,
With his holy vestments dight,
Stood the new Pope, Theocrite:
And all his past career
Came back upon him clear,
Since when, a boy, he plied his trade,
Till on his life the sickness weighed;
And in his cell, when death drew near,
An angel in a dream brought cheer:
And rising from the sickness drear
He grew a priest, and now stood here.
To the East with praise he turned,
And on his sight the angel burned.
``I bore thee from thy craftsman's cell
``And set thee here; I did not well.
``Vainly I left my angel-sphere,
``Vain was thy dream of many a year.
``Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it dropped---
``Creation's chorus stopped!
``Go back and praise again
``The early way, while I remain.
``With that weak voice of our disdain,
``Take up creation's pausing strain.
``Back to the cell and poor employ:
``Resume the craftsman and the boy!''
Theocrite grew old at home;
A new Pope dwelt in Peter's dome.
One vanished as the other died:
They sought God side by side.
poem by Robert Browning
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A Soul Love
Its no use trying to fight
When a thought is a feeling like this
The way you make me feel
I am wasting my time in denial
I am sworn to a dream of you
A dream of you and I together
It’s a beautiful sight
I just it were more than a dream
More than words on paper
I just need to be with you
And have you with me
Its no use trying to fight
This is a feeling I cannot hide
I know all I need to know
I want you in my life
You are beautiful and I know
That will never change
I guess I have fallen for you
And this I can never hide
Its no use trying to fight anymore
Because you being in my heart
Have become a part of my life
And I love you, you are beautiful
I just wish your were more than a dream
To my life, right now, tonight
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Reflection Of Hope
They didn't grow inside of me
Next to my heart
But they have my genes
So they are my own
Most of them hug me, giggle
Clamor for attention
Beg for stories, except treats
want to sing and sleepover
In their world i built tradition
I am thanksgiving and Christmas
A memory maker serving cookies with praise
Encouraging their ambition
To them i am not slow but fashionable
A helper of homework who speaks strange words
They tell me i sound 'cool'
In their unstable world
I offer that rarely chance
In them i see myself
Two have my turned up nose
Another my moodiness my laugh
One has my passion for music
Still another my fascination of words
Some gather friends like flowers
A mirror of ME
Each one is a reflection of hope making rainbows
Where their own light shines
In this complicated world
I look to them with pride
They look to me with trust
This cherished brood is my treasure
I call them precious
THEY call me SISTER
poem by Anushka Arora
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The Boy and the Angel
Morning, evening, noon and night,: "Praise God!" sang Theocrite.
Then to his poor trade he turned,
Whereby the daily meal was earned.
Hard he laboured, long and well;
O'er his work the boy's curls fell.
But ever, at each period,
He stopped and sang, "Praise God!"
Then back again his curls he threw,
And cheerful turned to work anew.
Said Blaise, the listening monk, "Well done;
I doubt not thou art heard, my son:
As well as if thy voice to-day
Were praising God, the Pope's great way.
This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome
Praises God from Peter's dome."
Said Theocrite, "Would God that I
Might praise him, that great way, and die!"
Night passed, day shone,
And Theocrite was gone.
With God a day endures alway,
A thousand years are but a day.
God said in heaven, "Nor day nor night
Now brings the voice of my delight."
Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth
Spread his wings and sank to earth;
Entered, in flesh, the empty cell,
Lived there, and played the craftsman well;
And morning, evening, noon and night,
Praised God in place of Theocrite.
And from a boy, to youth he grew:
The man put off the stripling's hue:
The man matured and fell away
Into the season of decay:
And ever o'er the trade he bent,
And ever lived on earth content.
(He did God's will; to him, all one
If on the earth or in the sun.)
God said, "A praise is in mine ear;
There is no doubt in it, no fear:
So sing old worlds, and so
New worlds that from my footstool go.
Clearer loves sound other ways:
I miss my little human praise."
Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell
The flesh disguise, remained the cell.
'Twas Easter Day: he flew to Rome,
And paused above Saint Peter's dome.
In the tiring-room close by
The great outer gallery,
With his holy vestments dight,
Stood the new Pope, Theocrite:
And all his past career
Came back upon him clear,
Since when, a boy, he plied his trade,
Till on his life the sickness weighed;
And in his cell, when death drew near,
An angel in a dream brought cheer:
And rising from the sickness drear
He grew a priest, and now stood here.
To the East with praise he turned,
And on his sight the angel burned.
"I bore thee from thy craftsman's cell
And set thee here; I did not well.
"Vainly I left my angel-sphere,
Vain was thy dream of many a year.
"Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it dropped--
Creation's chorus stopped!
"Go back and praise again
The early way, while I remain.
"With that weak voice of our disdain,
Take up creation's pausing strain.
"Back to the cell and poor employ:
Resume the craftsman and the boy!"
Theocrite grew old at home;
A new Pope dwelt in Peter's dome.
One vanished as the other died:
They sought God side by side.
poem by Robert Browning from Dramatic Romances and Lyrics (1845)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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