2010/05/11 Warm Organ Fugues
The strong silver sun of today dazzling bright
changing trees into shimmering green, framing
everything in glittering shafts of explosive light
suddenly subdued, enveloping the world with a
soft golden sheen
The visual beauty becoming tactile, becoming a
song, silver notes of Saint-Saëns, fishes swim-
ming, growing into Bach’s warm organ fugues,
sunbeams dancing to Boccherini’s minuet softly
folding into Peer Gynt…
poem by Margaret Alice
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Related quotes
~The Light~
The Light
Captures and awes
Encloses circles
Wraps
Us up
In fire warm
Shimmering cover
Much like
The heat
Of Summer
When everything
'Tis abloom
And dead becomes
Alive Golden Bright
Wrapped up in
The dazzling Sunbeams
Most all consuming
Light
poem by Theodora Onken
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Weaving
Adding the beauty of every illusion to
my own vision of a beautiful universe,
the sweet sound of Germanic song, the
stark beauty of Rumi, the Sufi poet, the
lovely rhythm of a song in Creole
It does not matter that these examples
have no substance, colour and form; the
shimmering colours appears in the dark
chocolate of the organ notes, the silver
bells of flutes and piccolos
The form is round and strong, there are no
straight lines in words and song, everything
consists of swirling mist, last night I saw the
weaving of Many Worlds, every decision splits
the weaver’s thread into many bits
Weaving side by side, forming patterns like
cables, curling spirals spinning around each
other for evermore…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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2010/07/08 Opalescent
I like covering my notebooks with interesting paper
now I know why – because I want it to resemble my
idea of a positive aura, my clothes have the same
function, this is why I cried when Linah destroyed
my purple top
Today I found the perfect paper to create my aura, I
am not pure enough for a clear golden light, but purple
with pink and silver and yellow and white, with patterns
of butterflies, is just the right combination to entice me
to a special aura
If I could sew I would have created these covers from
shimmering fabrics to make them long-lasting, I would
have made bohemian dresses in purple, dark blue and
white with silver sparkles - I went to the craft shop to
stare at shiny ribbons
To decide on the perfect aura, I am in a purple-and-pink-
shining highlights phase, always finished with silver sparkles
to create the effect of iridescent reflection, I love clarity and
golden sunbeams, snowdrops with an opalescent sheen - I
wish I could dress according to my
Auric dreams – but wings would do just fine, I am sure the
halo around heads is the nimbus represented in
old-fashioned portraits of saints…
poem by Margaret Alice
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Kisses of Love…
10 October 2008
The sun a luminous explosion
in green trees lining the street,
sparkling brightly, it hurts to turn
away and lose it out of sight
Wanting to experience visual
bewitchment in a tactile way, to
FEEL the beauty I can only see
in soft, velvet textures
Rebelling against eyesight’s
limitations, the constraint of not
feeling what is seen, ears strain-
ing to hear the sparkling colours
A dance of shimmering brightness,
hands longing to feel the glowing
greens, lips burning to cover the
enchanting scene with
Kisses of love…
poem by Margaret Alice
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The Palm Trees.
Toward the water,
Toward the sun,
Out one by one
Green hand. Palm trees,
What do you want?
Quickly told me.
The sun shining bright gold,
Rain glittering silver line,
I use gold and silver wire,
twisted brown silk, knit clothes.
poem by Albert Wong
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Summer Days
Summer days are warm, and wonderfully long.
Deep down, within my heart, I feel a joyful song.
Gone are winter days, with their dowdy browns;
The trees and flowers now wear coloured crowns.
The natural world displays its bounteous beauty.
The soft, summer breeze is fragrant and fruity.
Bees, butterflies, and other bugs, now take flight.
Days of summer, feel so very cheerful and bright.
The days of winter can be so deeply depressing,
But now, their true selves, plants are expressing.
Suddenly, the world feels like a much better place,
And the happy smiles are evident on many a face.
The world, all about us, is given a golden glow,
Which illuminates Mother Nature's vibrant show.
Following the winter months: all dull and dreary;
We're treated to a display that's much more cheery.
Winter woodlands appear so very bland and bare,
But, come the summer, they look fabulous and fair.
Shafts of sunlight shine down through the tall trees;
The leaf laden branches rustle in the summer breeze.
Some secretly wish that summer could last forever;
That, all year round, we could enjoy warm weather.
Once summer is here, you hate for it to have to end;
You warm to it, as you would, to your dearest friend.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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All the Riches of Royalty
The king sat in his silver bathtub one morning
And he realized, as he soaked in the soft bubbles
That you can not rule your kingdom from a silver bathtub
So he did what any other king in a silver bathtub would do-
He got out.
Looking down, he realized that he was standing on his silver rug
And as he dried his arms, he considered that perhaps
You cannot rule a kingdom from a silver bathroom rug
So he slowly stepped off of the rug, and watched the patterns of his feet
Disappear into the silver carpet.
The king walked over to his window and looked over his kingdom.
It lay below him, sparkling in all it's silver beauty
And as he watched, it seemed to come alive with people
Shining like silver in the warm sun
A tear rolled down his quietly down his cheek
And he pondered that
Maybe, just maybe
Being a king is not all that they say it is
poem by Fallen Too Far
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Silver And Gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Ev'ryone wishes for silver and gold
How do you measure its worth?
Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Mean so much more when I see
Silver and gold decorations
On ev'ry Christmas tree.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Wise men brought gifts to the mange I'm told
Mary was humble to see
Shepherds and kings there on bended knees
It's silver and gold, silver and gold
Feeling the world with their lives
Silver and gold how they shimmer on ev'ry Christmas night
On ev'ry Christmas night
Silver, silver and gold
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Big Golden Moon!
2010 Moon is revolving round the Earth bright in closer orbit
Making Solar eclipse look like ring fire and not diamond ring!
Often golden Moon rise lasts longer before it becomes silver
In the evenings bigger in size than usual on Full Moon days!
Big golden Moon shines bright yellow long in the winter
With the Sky clear having no clouds indicating last phase;
But heavy chill wind blows cold making all shiver despite
They walk brisk sans slackening the pace a little to the end!
Becoming Sun like silver light, Moon attains brilliant beauty
Changing Sea into Milky Way of Universe similar to Vaikunda,
The abode of Lord Vishnu, God of protection of the good people
And His consort Goddess Lakshmi giver of wealth to mankind!
Big golden Moon becoming silver Moon inspires hope and joy
Confirming confidence to all to survive, sustain and succeed ever!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Silver & Gold
Words and Music by Johnny Marks.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Ev'ryone wishes for silver and gold
How do you measure its worth?
Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Mean so much more when I see
Silver and gold decorations
On ev'ry Christmas tree.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Wise men brought gifts to the mange I'm told
Mary was humble to see
Shepherds and kings there on bended knees
It's silver and gold, silver and gold
Feeling the world with their lives
Silver and gold how they shimmer on ev'ry Christmas night
On ev'ry Christmas night
Silver, silver and gold
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bega
FROM the clouded belfry calling,
Hear my soft ascending swells;
Hear my notes like swallows falling;
I am Bega, least of bells.
When great Turkeful rolls and rings
All the storm-touched turret swings,
Echoing battle, loud and long.
When great Tatwin wakening roars
To the far-off shining shores,
All the seamen know his song.
I am Bega, least of bells:
In my throat my message swells.
I with all the winds a-thrill,
Murmuring softly, murmuring still,
'God around me, God above me,
God to guard me, God to love me.'
I am Bega, least of bells,
Weaving wonder, wind-born spells.
High above the morning mist,
Wreathed in rose and amethyst,
Still the dreams of music float
Silver from my silver throat,
Whispering beauty, whispering peace.
When great Tatwin's golden voice
Bids the listening land rejoice,
When great Turkeful rings and rolls
Thunder down to trembling souls,
Then my notes like curlews flying,
Lifting, falling, sinking, sighing,
Softly answer, softly cease.
I with all the airs at play
Murmuring sweetly, murmuring say,
'God around me, God above me,
God to guard me, God to love me.'
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Meadowlarks
In the silver light after a storm,
Under dripping boughs of bright new green,
I take the low path to hear the meadowlarks
Alone and high-hearted as if I were a queen.
What have I to fear in life or death
Who have known three things: the kiss in the night,
The white flying joy when a song is born,
And meadowlarks whistling in silver light.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Earlier Poems : The Spirit Of Poetry
There is a quiet spirit in these woods,
That dwells where'er the gentle south-wind blows;
Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade,
The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air,
The leaves above their sunny palms outspread.
With what a tender and impassioned voice
It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought,
When the fast ushering star of morning comes
O'er-riding the gray hills with golden scarf;
Or when the cowled and dusky-sandalled Eve,
In mourning weeds, from out the western gate,
Departs with silent pace! That spirit moves
In the green valley, where the silver brook,
From its full laver, pours the white cascade;
And, babbling low amid the tangled woods,
Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter.
And frequent, on the everlasting hills,
Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself
In all the dark embroidery of the storm,
And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid
The silent majesty of these deep woods,
lts presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth,
As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air
Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards
Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades.
For them there was an eloquent voice in all
The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun,
The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way,
Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds,
The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun
Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes,
Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in,
Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny vale,
The distant lake, fountains, and mighty trees,
In many a lazy syllable, repeating
Their old poetic legends to the wind.
And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill
The world; and, in these wayward days of youth,
My busy fancy oft embodies it,
As a bright image of the light and beauty
That dwell in nature; of the heavenly forms
We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues
That stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the clouds
When the sun sets. Within her tender eye
The heaven of April, with its changing light,
And when it wears the blue of May, is hung,
And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair
Is like the summer tresses of the trees,
When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek
Blushes the richness of an autumn sky,
With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath,
It is so like the gentle air of Spring,
As, front the morning's dewy flowers, it comes
Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy
To have it round us, and her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spirit of Poetry, The
There is a quiet spirit in these woods,
That dwells where'er the gentle south-wind blows;
Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade,
The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air,
The leaves above their sunny palms outspread.
With what a tender and impassioned voice
It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought,
When the fast ushering star of morning comes
O'er-riding the gray hills with golden scarf;
Or when the cowled and dusky-sandaled Eve,
In mourning weeds, from out the western gate,
Departs with silent pace! That spirit moves
In the green valley, where the silver brook,
From its full laver, pours the white cascade;
And, babbling low amid the tangled woods,
Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter.
And frequent, on the everlasting hills,
Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself
In all the dark embroidery of the storm,
And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid
The silent majesty of these deep woods,
lts presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth,
As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air
Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards
Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades.
For them there was an eloquent voice in all
The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun,
The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way,
Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds,
The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun
Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes,
Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in,
Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny vale,
The distant lake, fountains, and mighty trees,
In many a lazy syllable, repeating
Their old poetic legends to the wind.
And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill
The world; and, in these wayward days of youth,
My busy fancy oft embodies it,
As a bright image of the light and beauty
That dwell in nature; of the heavenly forms
We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues
That stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the clouds
When the sun sets. Within her tender eye
The heaven of April, with its changing light,
And when it wears the blue of May, is hung,
And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair
Is like the summer tresses of the trees,
When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek
Blushes the richness of an autumn sky,
With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath,
It is so like the gentle air of Spring,
As, front the morning's dewy flowers, it comes
Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy
To have it round us, and her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Dream Of Heaven
I could not believe heaven's gates were silver
and not made of gold as I had often been told.
A palace was alive with bright sheen flourescent
I followed the way to a glorious crescent
where a throne was sparkling in silver array...
An angel with silver wings said 'let us pray'.
This was my dream; not finality, oh no!
I awoke instantly to a the glow of reality.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Hyde Park
The white mist walks between the trees
In silver gown;
Her mystic floating draperies
The branches drown;
And lurking there with eager leer
And wonder new,
The lamps inquisitively peer
Their fingers through.
The world sighs wearily, with pain
Drawing tired breath;
The stars are like a silver rain;
And down beneath
On Night's smooth garment running o'er
In sullen flood,
The city, like a festering sore,
Oozes warm blood.
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Silver
Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in silver feathered sleep
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.
poem by Walter de la Mare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There She Is
There she is
Standing in the sun
Like a glittering prize
Awarded to my eyes.
Sparkling
As silver stream does run
And is gone
Like a breeze
As fragile beauty flees.
There she is
Running through the night
Like a long lost dream
Clothed in crinoline cream
Glowing
Like a shooting star
Shimmering in flight
Passion burns so bright
Then she fades
Through moonlit glades
Like a wish set free
For eternity.
poem by Kevin East
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I'Need a kiss
Sunday is a holiday then we are going to that place.
That silent place full of silence, we are there standing,
we saw the so many coloured greenish leaves big trees.
so many birds, and butterflies decorating the blue sky
Then a butterfly dancing in the sky.
Together we Keep a released longing.
sitting near in the shallow river.
We see fishes in the depth so calm
We look up at the rainbow in the sky.
So many days you have never kiss me.
I'need a kiss, here in the silent place near in the river.
Trees, butterflies, fishes, please we are given a chance.to make a perfect kisses.
Here in the silent place.
My lips are longing after so many days you have never kiss me.
See my eyes, do you know my yearning?
Oh love***kiss me softly now*
everything will be quiet.
Just you and me enjoyed***kiss***
then my heart full of desire, you will know everything.
Your kiss fly with me.
Your kiss will stun me.
Your kiss will softly me soft.
Your kiss is sweet hearted.
Your kiss is a pray.
Your kiss is wanted
your kiss so bright
your kiss is everything.
I Fall In The Abyss Of Love
Shadows disperse
in your room
As morning sunbeams
herald a new day
Piercing lace curtains
to rest on your shoulders
Painting your skin akin
to soft silver moonshine
I feel your beautiness
magnetises nearer
Your fresh face competes
with a sleepy glow
I cannot stop
the urge to kiss you
My toothbrush
falls to the floor
I softly place my hands
on the silver moon
Like touching a thousand
threads of woven silk
Then we disappear
in the abyss of love
poem by Ken e Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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