A Day in Late Spring
The fog is lifting and the foghorn silent
On the point of Portland Bill
The lighthouse light extinguished
Only seagulls now are shrill
This late day in early spring
Time passes slow, as in the Islands church
Light through stained glass windows
Sends shadows through the crypt
And from the candles, tallow weeps
The smell of incense and dusty hymn books
Scratched pews and threadbare seats,
In this sailors ancient graveyard
Daffodils and fog wet grasses
Grow against long uncared for headstones
A tantilising harmony of joy and grief
As once again the fog comes down
The foghorn once silent, now reverberates
Mist now creeps amongst the gravestones
Meandering like a thief.
poem by Andrew Shiston
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Related quotes
Touching You Again
touching you again
would be like
making love in a church
on a weekday.
sunlight sifting through
the stained glass windows
throwing colored shadows
on the empty pews,
the smell of burnt candlewax,
closed hymnals.
and stone silence.
a cold brass offering plate
waiting for your heart!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Down To The Waterline
Sweet surrender on the quayside
You remember we used to run and hide
In the shadow of the cargoes I take you one time
And were counting all the numbers down to the waterline
Near misses on the dogleap stairways
French kisses in the darkened doorways
A foghorn blowing out wild and cold
A policeman shines a light upon my shoulder
Up comes a coaster fast and silent in the night
Over my shoulder all you can see are the pilot lights
No money in our jackets and our jeans are torn
Your hands are cold but your lips are warm
She can see him on the jetty where they used to go
She can feel him in the places where the sailors go
When shes walking by the river and the railway line
She can still hear him whisper
Lets go down to the waterline
song performed by by Dire Straits
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Foghorn
There was an eerie silence
as the fog cloaked around us.
The foghorn bellowed
like some prehistoric monster’s roar.
In the distance, another foghorn wailed
as if echoing the first monster’s call.
On deck eyes peered into the white cloak
looking for some dark looming shape.
The foghorns blew almost simultaneously.
The thick blanket prevented anyone
from seeing anything.
The throb of the engines like a mighty heartbeats
echoed in everyone’s ears.
Again, a foghorn bellowed
like some distant monster’s roar.
Then as a dark shape loomed from the mist
and its mighty heartbeats rang out in everyone’s ears.
As it approached, there was panic in their eyes.
A collision at sea would cost many lives.
It was bad enough in fine weather,
but in a fog where no one could see
the disaster would be catastrophic.
Everyone braced themselves
for the collision to be.
Except for the mighty heartbeats
of the giant behemoths of the waves,
silence covered all.
Slowly the dark shapes passed one another
and were once again
swallowed up within the fog.
29 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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Ballatetta
The light became her grace and dwelt among
Blind eyes and shadows that are formed as men;
Lo, how the light doth melt us into song:
The broken sunlight for a healm she beareth
Who hath my heart in jurisdiction.
In wild-wood never fawn nor fallow fareth
So silent light; no gossamer is spun
So delicate as she is, when the sun
Drives the clear emeralds from the bended grasses
Lest they should parch too swiftly, where she passes.
poem by Ezra Pound
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A Non-spiritual seeker's endeavour
The lonesome who lives far away?
And he erects like a Lighthouse.
We never met and do we ever meet?
My abandoned soul-ship sounds its foghorn and toss on the rough waters.
The painful eyes seek a land through the mist and see a fading figure at a long distance.
My wounded heart laments for you and I have a brief message
Which I want to pass to you
Before I finish my vulnerable voyage.
We never met and do we ever meet in this enigmatic sojourn?
*To a certain friend in gratitude who recognizes my holey vocabulary?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Communion
Sanctified by white robed candles
Whose flames flicker and dance over ancient altars
Silent lips sing in the silence
Altar boys swing incense and homage to the ritual
Silent feet shift towards the altar
With ease each parting lip
Tastes of sacrifice
And wine dripped cups that brim
With crimsons beads that glisten
And in the shadows
Hidden vaults of history
Tear back the robes
And break the flesh
And shed the blood
And this is love
And this is love
The sweet hymn sings and is sung!
And all is dead [here]
And in the silence gone, as before,
From the universal door flung wide,
The mystery of his sacrifice
yvette m smith feb 2009
poem by Yvette Smith
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Early Works - Misty City
City’s lights like dotted jewels
glow and blink on night’s velvet gown
mist of white blanket
creates ghostly shapes under light.
Foghorn in bay like monster’s roar
breaks silence in the city’s white crown
people, collars hugging neck
wander on their forever trek.
Quiet cities, misty city,
city by the bay,
listen to the monster baying
at your open door.
“Let us in. Let us in.” they say
and blares another trumpet blast.
“Let us in. Let us in.”.
Your white guardian to pass.
Sleeping city, misty city,
city with halo crown
people in their pastures lay
arms unfurled on bodies round.
Silent demands on shadows lay
across the still waters of the bay.
Ghostly crown holds no pity
welcomes no one to the misty city.
15 June 1978
poem by David Harris
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Meditations Upon A Candle
Man's like a candle in a candlestick,
Made up of tallow and a little wick;
And as the candle when it is not lighted,
So is he who is in his sins benighted.
Nor can a man his soul with grace inspire,
More than can candles set themselves on fire.
Candles receive their light from what they are not;
Men grace from Him for whom at first they care not.
We manage candles when they take the fire;
God men, when he with grace doth them inspire.
And biggest candles give the better light,
As grace on biggest sinners shines most bright.
The candle shines to make another see,
A saint unto his neighbour light should be.
The blinking candle we do much despise,
Saints dim of light are high in no man's eyes.
Again, though it may seem to some a riddle,
We use to light our candles at the middle.
True light doth at the candle's end appear,
And grace the heart first reaches by the ear.
But 'tis the wick the fire doth kindle on,
As 'tis the heart that grace first works upon.
Thus both do fasten upon what's the main,
And so their life and vigour do maintain.
The tallow makes the wick yield to the fire,
And sinful flesh doth make the soul desire
That grace may kindle on it, in it burn;
So evil makes the soul from evil turn.
But candles in the wind are apt to flare,
And Christians, in a tempest, to despair.
The flame also with smoke attended is,
And in our holy lives there's much amiss.
Sometimes a thief will candle-light annoy,
And lusts do seek our graces to destroy.
What brackish is will make a candle sputter;
'Twixt sin and grace there's oft' a heavy clutter.
Sometimes the light burns dim, 'cause of the snuff,
Sometimes it is blown quite out with a puff;
But watchfulness preventeth both these evils,
Keeps candles light, and grace in spite of devils.
Nor let not snuffs nor puffs make us to doubt,
Our candles may be lighted, though puffed out.
The candle in the night doth all excel,
Nor sun, nor moon, nor stars, then shine so well.
So is the Christian in our hemisphere,
Whose light shows others how their course to steer.
When candles are put out, all's in confusion;
Where Christians are not, devils make intrusion.
Then happy are they who such candles have,
All others dwell in darkness and the grave.
But candles that do blink within the socket,
And saints, whose eyes are always in their pocket,
Are much alike; such candles make us fumble,
And at such saints good men and bad do stumble.
Good candles don't offend, except sore eyes,
Nor hurt, unless it be the silly flies.
Thus none like burning candles in the night,
Nor ought to holy living for delight.
But let us draw towards the candle's end:
The fire, you see, doth wick and tallow spend,
As grace man's life until his glass is run,
And so the candle and the man is done.
The man now lays him down upon his bed,
The wick yields up its fire, and so is dead.
The candle now extinct is, but the man
By grace mounts up to glory, there to stand.
poem by John Bunyan
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A Human Statement!
i dont do churches
with stained glass windows
and pews, and copper plates
held by hands beckoning salvation...
my church is lined by trees,
with great rolling hills,
wild animals roam freely,
birds fly overhead!
i dont do dogma,
hellfire and damnation....
we speak compassion
with silent voices!
our prayers are hands,
reaching out to help,
with eyes that see sameness,
and hearts that have ears....
knowing that we are what
we do and have done....
there is no coincidence,
nothing happens by chance.
if you want to know that
God is real, if you want
to see God...
look in the eyes
of another human being!
the path to salvation,
the path to being human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Light
Light that can be kind. Light that can smell sweet. Light that can be soft.
Light that can be porcelain. Light that can be silent. Light that can speak.
Light that can hold many colors. Light that can be romantic. Light that can be harsh.
Light that can be cold. Light that can be warm. Light that can be dry.
Light that can be loud. Light that can be love. Light that can be faith.
Light that can be full of strength. Light that can be pure. Light that can be dark.
Light that can be fragile. Light that can be crazy. Light that can be weird.
Light that can be old. Light that can be new. Light that can be inbetween.
Light that can be swift. Light that can be sharp. Light that can wonder.
Light that can be insane. Light that can be smooth. Light that can dream.
Light that can be free. Light that can be everlasting. Light that can be wild.
Light that is the lord. Light that is Jesus. Light that is holy.
Light that is the trinity. Light that can belong. Light that can be fast.
Light that can sing. Light that is the holy ghost. Light that is the Bible.
Light that can be a mith. Light that can be still. Light that can be different.
Light that can be hole. Light that can be true. Light that can be whimsical.
Light that can be bright. Light that can be formed. Light that is blessed.
Light that can be full of presence. Light that can tell a story. Light that can be intelligent.
Light that is like no other!
poem by Shania K. Younce
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The Way Home
The long and lonely Ocean dark and silent,
The only thing that shines is the lighthouse,
Long and narrow and shows the way home,
The kids are happy to hear the horn of the ship,
Daddy’s almost home,
Daddy sees the lighthouse, he’s happy and joyous,
The light shines bright that shows the way home,
The long and narrow building,
The lighthouse,
Oh the lighthouse,
Thank God we’re almost home
poem by Jessica Losoya
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What Have I Done Wrong?
Here again to show the sadness, pain, and grief
Not of lost love, but a pain so bleak
A life that seems so meek
A darkened shadow that creeps it way to kill
To kill the ones who show no lives, low-lives
A time shall come when a time shall pass
A time when time has started to tick, to click
Madness fills the veins of grief
Insanity thrives even deeper
But a time shall come when the grasses shall grow green
The sky will be blue, and the storm will calm
The mind will ease, the heart will slow
And a new life begins
Now the new life has begun, but pain still thrives
And grief and hatred are still strong
Happiness is losing
Excitement long gone
What have I done wrong?
poem by Alex Fischer
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It Is Late
it is late and the sun is setting
the orange and red are diminishing
the blackness spreads like a diffusion
of our sorrow and pain
soon there will be the closing of the windows
of the house
the locking of doors of the ground floors
and some prayers mumbled from lips
to lighted candles on altars of saints
and angels
soon there will be stories
from mother
and songs too
and then in the quiet
of the stars and the moon and the sky
soon there will
be sleep
under white mosquito nets
the light from the lamp
is blown away
and we smell the smoke
coming from the
loved ones
long dead
we end the games that we play
and we are silent
we yawn and close our eyes
and now ready
as we enter the doors of
our dreams
in there
there may be chases and running too
i am sure somehow we just take a look
unspeakably
things are hazy and we do not remember
anymore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Morning
early morning the house is as silent
as a feather falling
on the floor
the cat wakes up and checks
what it is
it is like him, silent as a cat
silent as his master
not wanting to wake up
no one boils the water
to make a smell of coffee in the air
time drags like a snail
convoluted like some thoughts
like Hamlet's
to be or
not to be
it happens most of the time
fate resolves itself
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Smell of Purple is in the Air
Late Spring, Early Summer
Breeze Blowing Along with the light Misty Rain
Ah.....How wonderful the smell
So Fresh, So Crisp
Reminding Me of Grandma's Homemade Pie
Ah.....That Breeze Blows letting the Smell glisten through the Air
Right into My Window, Soft as a Rabbit's Fur
The Smell of Purple is in the Air
I just lie back on the bed and relax
That smell brings a Calm Peaceful feeling over me
Peace...
Ah....How great that feels...
Wonderful
The Smell of Purple is in the Air
Field of fresh Blueberries...Bushes Full
Sweet, Soft, Spring, Summer
Breeze Blowing, The Mist of Rain
Ah....Bring on the peace...The Wonderful Feeling
Beautiful..... Is that ' The Smell of Purple is in the Air '
poem by Lorene Erwin
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The old tree weeps
The old tree weeps, its branches low
bend over a path, winding slow
through tilting, toppling, broken stones
fading remains of treasured bones
hidden where moss and ivy grow.
Here lies John Peachey of Harrow
On which Byron sought long ago
phrases of love, amongst deaths thrones,
the old tree weeps.
Where young Allegra's remains know
that words are not enough to show
the lives that die beneath headstones
she was denied one of her own
her father's sins repaid her, so
the old tree weeps.
poem by Diana Rosser
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Daffodils
Ho! You there, selling daffodils along the windy street,
Poor drooping, dusty daffodils - but oh! so Summer sweet!
Green stems that stab with loveliness, rich petal-cups to hold
The wine of Spring to lips that cling like bees about their gold!
What price to you for daffodils? I'll give what price you please,
For light and love and memory lie leaf by leaf with these!
And if I bought all Sydney Town I could not hope to buy
The wealth you bring of everything that goes with open sky!
My money for your daffodils: why do you thank me so?
If I have paid a reckless price, take up my gift and go,
And from the golden garden beds where gold the sunbeams shine
Bring in more flowers to light the hours for lover-hearts like mine!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Thirty years ago, we were in a movie theater and thought it was so cool because we were finally delivered from the horrors of stained glass and wooden pews.
quote by Bill Hybels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silent
Silent when I have nothing to say.
Silent just to avoid the fray.
Silent when I am not sure.
Silent—I can't stand anymore.
Silent when you make me mad.
Silent I am when times are sad.
Silent when I am too shy.
Silent when I want to cry.
Silent as I carry life's load.
Silent... I may soon explode.
poem by Shaqueena Celestin
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Let there be Light
Harsh light
Summer sun
Baking the earth
Autumn
Soft light
Long shadows
Winter light
Cool blue
Shivering
Spring-time
New light
Bright jonquils
The light
Of understanding
In your eyes
poem by Alison Cassidy
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