A Gift for the Romantic
A Gift for the Romantic
It is in the subtlety
And not the blunt insult,
The threat and not the onslaught;
The implied and not the explicit.
It is in the first gleaning,
remembered scents of Spring
And not the direct,
Overhead heat of Summer.
The autumnal dread
And not the dead of Winter;
The sweet dream of sleep
And not the bleak morning after.
When somewhere between the gift,
And it’s crumpled paper wrapping,
Lie an infinity
Of finite things to be chosen:
But of a thousand choices
if I must choose one,
I would settle, instead,
For the choice and forego the choosing…
John Tansey 11.25 07
Copyright ©2008 John Thomas Tansey
poem by John Tansey
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THE GALACTIC SPIRALS OF DEAD LEAVES...Part I
THE GALACTIC SPIRALS OF DEAD LEAVES
I
OCTOBER IS A GREGARIOUS MONTH
October is a gregarious month;
all things seeking shelter.
Watching the tidal ebb of twilight
drawing its last breath of birds,
I know winter is approaching;
Reversing the spin of planets
like baseballs, having arced since spring,
Gravity is returning, condensing,
like clouds in my eyes.
Twilight leaves the extremities...
fingers, cold to the touch.
Mothers walk, clenching the air
children’s voices cannot rise over.
Then, like a snow-globe shaken,
The elements of summer are preserved, like Amber
in the crystal flakes of the first frost, falling....
Copyright ©2007 John Thomas Tansey
poem by John Tansey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Subsists on Lust...
Love Subsists on Lust
Like an animal, sensing your smell,
I skin sift your approach.
A concussion of air;
A draft that draws us close.
Eyes widening, my ears prick up
At your hand on the door,
Your foot in the jamb.
And as your lips purse to utter my name,
I place a finger to your mouth...
Swallowing the vowels between us,
We grow in the silence,
Like a faith;
And through such suffering, learn of love.
And, thus, love subsists on lust.
Copyright ©2007 John Thomas Tansey
poem by John Tansey
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Old Shirts...This reads like a woman wrote it
Old Shirts
I have not yet recovered from the potent
Memories of family outings.
They peal like the anniversary
Of a loved one’s departing.
On such occasions, it is the intimacy
Of other families.
That defines the negative space
of our separation.
Living in the old neighborhoods,
I am haunted by the old ghosts.
And now that your gone,
I shall wear your faults.
Like an old weather-beaten
shirt of yours;
Which warms me with everything I
Hated about you...
John Thomas Tansey 11/17/02
poem by John Tansey
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Rockport...Visual Imagery
Pea green sea squalls,
Whorled out of a Nor’easter
Ping with the sting of the ocean’s spray.
Wind roped ocean waves
Lope, in the wind sail gales,
The chilled cheeks of my taut face,
Shouting windward and away...
Far up the winding slate rock walls of the jetty;
The wreckage of a whaler, among white caps
And Narwhale bones.
The bowsprit of the sea,
Rises like a fish tale out of the coast:
The imagined mermaid of the manatae...
John Thomas Tansey 6/02
poem by John Tansey
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In Shadow...
Of late I have been feeling it...
even gleaning a Spring wind
that comes on a breeze
leaves me in its shadow.
But like the small animals
that too know their time
to disappear,
I have no thickett of twigs to crawl into.
Evolution, Nature's choice for moving
need not rush for anything
Subtle and insidious
like the slow creep of continents.
Until overwhelmed
with the proof it is so
and through all the poems I would write
to all the volumes I have lost
This rushed homework of words will have to do
Tanseman
poem by John Tansey
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The Gift You Are
This song appears on four albums, and was first released on the flower that shattered the stone album, and has also been released on the stonehaven sunrise, the gift you are and the john denver
Ction - annies song albums.
Imagine a month of sundays
Each one a cloudy day
Imagine the moment the sun came shining through
Imagine that ray of sunshine as you
Remember your darkest hour
With dawn still far away
Remember the way that you longed for mornings light
And think of yourself as a candle in the night
Make believe this is the first day
Everything all brand new
Make believe that the sun is your own lucky star
And then understand the kind of gift you are
The gift you are
Like the very first breath of spring
The gift you are
All the joy that love can bring
The gift you are
All of our dreams come true
The gift you are
The gift of you
You are the promise of all the ages
You are the prodigal son
You are the vision of prophets and sages
You are the only one
Dream of a bright tomorrow
Know that your dream will come true
Carry your dream in a sparkling crystal jar
Then you will know the kind of gift you are
The gift you are
Like the very first breath of spring
The gift you are
All the joy that love can bring
The gift you are
All of our dreams come true
The gift you are
The gift of you
The gift you are
Like the very first breath of springtime
The gift you are
All the joy that love can bring
The gift you are
All of our dreams come true - yes they do
The gift you are
The gift of you
The gift you are
The gift of you
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Parallels Of Mortality In Autumn...
PARALLELS OF MORTALITY IN AUTUMN
Something epic, looms
over the dismal gray cold
of Autumn's
overwhelming utter sadness
in the vanquished heart;
that slows summer's combustible pace
to a stillness,
mirrored in the pensive faces
of those
awed at all the Autumn dead
that lay leaved at their feet.
Something pale, plumes
above an Autumnal brush fire
doused,
by this mid November's rain;
vaporous gray clouds
pall bear this vestige
of the barren heart's
sloughed colors;
cobalt greens and cadmium yellows,
smoldering
to its bone white pallor of ash.
Something tragic, dooms
the foliage in the winter wood,
as our extremities, withdrawn
to the aftermath
of the parboiled earthen heart's
bare bronchial trees;
some sulfuric sediment, embering
in the sallow air
succumbs,
to the smoke of an old war
we wage until our heroic defeat.
Something grand, illumined
in the long shadowed distance
of a purple sky's
dark shrouded clouds;
some monumental quest
overwhelming in loneliness,
the naked heart's
stark terror of the id,
forebodes
this whole dark epic of man
plodding out of the awesome gray mist.
Something lingering, resumes
with a longing, like for those we grieve
planted deep
in the earth
of the mourning heart,
some embered remembrance
of them,
like leaves in their green age
grows
as fond prayers of fair days
on such sparse ones like these.
Something ominous, glooms
as the proud incongruous
crescent of the black crow,
perched upon a limb
in the sparse vermillion wood:
puce colored corpuscles of leaves
parallel grief
in the conquered heart's
coagulated wound
that eclipses
this metaphor of Autumn with a private loss.
Something final, consumes
this naked sensuality of Autumn
with all things that end
in sorrow,
breaking the spirit
of the giving heart's
commiserated sage
numbed by loss, to pray alone
beneath the white washed stars,
not knowing if God
is among that brutal cold.
Something bittersweet, blooms
in the slender sapling, tossed
to Autumn's embered war
of attrition,
some surviving magi
in the sojourned heart's
tender flesh wound
of compassion
learns, through the barren casualty
of life, lost
to the slow death of the year.
January 4, '92 John Thomas Tansey
Copyright ©2007 John Thomas Tansey
poem by John Tansey
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THE GALACTIC SPIRALS OF DEAD LEAVES...I of IV
October is a gregarious month;
all things seeking shelter.
Watching the tidal ebb of twilight
drawing its last breath of birds,
I know winter is approaching;
Reversing the spin of planets
like baseballs, having arced since spring,
Gravity is returning, condensing,
like clouds in my eyes.
Twilight leaves the extremities
as fingers, cold to the touch.
Mothers walk, clenching the air
children’s voices cannot rise up over
Then, like a snow-globe shaken,
The elements of summer are preserved, like Amber
in the crystal flakes of the first frost, falling....
poem by John Tansey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Eternal Choice
We come into life with no choice, simply born as girls and boys.
We are born of a man and wife, through whom we enter into life,
They become Mom and Dad, teaching us what’s good and bad.
Making the early choices for us, as the people that we can trust,
To guide us in our early life, steering us from the pain and strife.
They make all the decisions too, of what we can and cannot do,
As they help us all to grow, learning the things we need to know.
Preparing children for a time, when choices are yours and mine.
They know there’s coming a day, when we’ll go a separate way,
When children leave their home, to make choices on their own.
As you live out your early days, you follow in your parent’s ways,
The choices early on in life, may not have included Jesus Christ.
When we leave that chosen path, we may invite a parent’s wrath,
In spite of your parent’s reproof, you must choose Words of Truth.
For when God’s Truth is ignored, we need to then seek The Lord.
Although from the very start, parents indeed have a critical part,
Many following their own heart, from their early ways will depart.
There is no bigger choice friend, than that of a man’s eternal end.
A choice that’s a personal one, when believing in God’s Only Son,
For the only way to eternal life, is choosing the gift of Jesus Christ.
The parents of girls and boys, can’t make a child’s eternal choice,
Even if they known the Only Way, it is a decision you must make.
No one can make for you or me, the one choice regarding eternity.
That choice in which you believe, must be made before you leave,
And only with this eternal choice, when you leave, will you rejoice.
(Copyright ©06/2006)
Life Is Lovely All the Year
When the buds are blossoming,
Smiling welcome to the spring,
Lovers choose a wedding day -
Life is love in merry May!
Spring is green - Fal lal la!
Summer's rose - Fal lal la!
It is sad when Summer goes,
Fal la!
Autumn's gold - Fal lal la!
Winter's grey - Fal lal la!
Winter still is far away -
Fal la!
Leaves in Autumn fade and fall;
Winter is the end of all.
Spring and summer teem with glee:
Spring and summer, then, for me!
Fal la!
In the Spring-time seed is sown:
In the Summer grass is mown:
In the Autumn you may reap:
Winter is the time for sleep.
Spring is hope - Fal lal la!
Summer's joy - Fal lal la!
Spring and Summer never cloy,
Fal la!
Autumn, toil - Fal lal la!
Winter, rest - Fal lal la!
Winter, after all, is best -
Fal la!
Spring and summer pleasure you,
Autumn, ay, and winter, too -
Every season has its cheer;
Life is lovely all the year!
Fal la!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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X 'MAS, God's Gift of Love to man
This isn't a story but a fact;
This isn't a mere belief but truth,
That Emmanuel was Christ, God's one Son own,
Who brought for man, love, peace and hope,
The perfect gift from God above;
The greatest gift of love ev’r known;
The gift of man’s eternity,
That was foretold, told and retold!
‘Happy Christmas,2009! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-23-2009
poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: Change Does Come
The time has come for things to change again;
Solutions to old problems spring anew;
The summer’s heat is followed by much rain;
The trouble-makers are now just a few!
Reprieve is due after a spell of gloom;
Mellowed are many when old-aged and grey;
The corrupt will no longer have more room;
All employees are due for rise of pay.
The righteous hope to see some better times;
The tricksters feel their game has concluded;
God ushers seasons marking changing climes;
There is no place for masks and things hooded!
The wheel of time does turn definitely;
Good times will come for upright souls surely.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 08-19-2008
poem by John Celes
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Choices
One should feel lucky
If one gets choices in the life
It can make one happy
Throughout the life
Choice in love
Friends and relations
Work, career, city and country
Is the dream of every living soul?
Living the life with choice
If one doesn’t get things of choice
One should be contented
With what he gets
Too many cooks spoil the dish
Too many choices
Makes it difficult to choose
One is lucky
If one gets chance to choose
If one’s got a life there is no choice
One has to live the way it comes
Throughout the life
Keep on trying,
For better choices
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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For Every Moment That I Live
You've changed.
Like the summer heat...
Leaving to linger.
And remembered as one walks,
Through the ice and snow...
Brought by Winter,
And left on City streets.
To then bring Spring scents...
From budding flowers smelling sweet.
You've changed.
Like Autumn leaves in October breezes.
And teasing with anticipated holiday treats.
You've changed like the seasons.
And captivated I am.
Without one disappointment...
I observe this and agree.
And I love them all.
Every change there is.
And I love you here in my life.
For every moment that I live!
You've changed.
Like the summer heat...
Leaving to linger.
And remembered as one walks,
Through the ice and snow...
Brought by Winter,
And left on City streets.
And captivated I am.
Without one disappointment...
I observe this and agree.
You keep changing on me.
Like an adventure that excites!
With your delightful love of life!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It Is The End Of The World...
'It is the end of the world...
This time it is coming'
With every new generation
comes predictions for the world's end.
As if we are all too afraid to die alone
and must take the whole world with us.
Even at the sake of our children's living in it
Like when I stood before you, Mom,
in my five year old body
As you prayed every day,
'Sweet Mary, Jesus and Joseph
Please blow up the world already'
Even now I could not understand
why you would want the world to end
while I was still on it
poem by John Tansey
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Dreams, Dreams, Dreams
Most children want to copy adults fast;
They try to dress and talk and walk like one;
They want to do the things what adults do;
But children can’t be adults before time!
Adults dream of their childhood years at times;
They cannot move or speak or walk child-like;
They cannot be innocent like children;
They can’t become children again in life.
The elderly have dreams of their own too;
Oh, how they wish they were younger in age!
They recollect the things they did when young;
Their frames and minds are weaker than they think!
All human beings live in dreams galore;
Most dreams cannot become reality;
Our dreams must be something we can well do;
Too much of dreams don’t help to dash ahead.
Each stage of life can be lived only once;
One cannot go back or ahead in time;
Be happy with whatever you’ve achieved;
Life is so wonderful they way it is!
Just keep your mind and heart as per your age;
Be aware of the limits, risks, you take;
Life shouldn’t be lost even through accidents;
Life is the greatest gift of God to you!
Thank God for whatever you are in life;
Thank Him for gift of human life and soul;
Thank Him for all the things, He’d done for you;
Thank Him for all His love and kindness shown!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 10-12-2008
poem by John Celes
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Unromantic Me
Someone said to me
that their partner wasn’t romantic.
Unfortunately, a lot of men are like that.
It doesn’t mean they don’t love
their partners, quite the contrary,
they love them the best way they can.
However, woman sees romance
quite differently from men.
To me a kiss and cuddle that is romantic,
but a women on the other hand
say receiving candy and flowers is romantic too.
However, ladies look beyond the frilly wrapping paper there.
Just find a man with a good heart
and who will always be true.
He may not be romantic
but at least you know he loves only you.
28 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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The Human Seasons
FOUR Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring’s honey’d cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness—to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.
poem by John Keats from The Poetical Works of John Keats (1884)
Submitted by Dan CostinaÅŸ
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Winter Roses
My garden roses long ago
Have perished from the leaf-strewn walks;
Their pale, fair sisters smile no more
Upon the sweet-brier stalks.
Gone with the flower-time of my life,
Spring's violets, summer's blooming pride,
And Nature's winter and my own
Stand, flowerless, side by side.
So might I yesterday have sung;
To-day, in bleak December's noon,
Come sweetest fragrance, shapes, and hues,
The rosy wealth of June!
Bless the young bands that culled the gift,
And bless the hearts that prompted it;
If undeserved it comes, at least
It seems not all unfit.
Of old my Quaker ancestors
Had gifts of forty stripes save one;
To-day as many roses crown
The gray head of their son.
And with them, to my fancy's eye,
The fresh-faced givers smiling come,
And nine and thirty happy girls
Make glad a lonely room.
They bring the atmosphere of youth;
The light and warmth of long ago
Are in my heart, and on my cheek
The airs of morning blow.
O buds of girlhood, yet unblown,
And fairer than the gift ye chose,
For you may years like leaves unfold
The heart of Sharon's rose
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Freedom Is…
Freedom…
Freedom…
What is freedom?
It’s a footprint in the sand…
A whisper on the wind.
It’s a thought…
An emotion.
It’s a choice…
A gift.
Freedom is what freedom is.
Freedom is a pot on the stove…
The water in a glass.
It’s a smile on a mouth…
A tear on the cheek.
It’s a choice…
A gift.
Freedom is what freedom is.
Freedom is a breeze in your hair…
The heat in the air.
It’s the heart in your chest…
The veins in your arms.
It’s a choice…
A gift.
Freedom is what freedom is.
What is freedom?
Freedom is what freedom is.
poem by Stacey Stevens
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