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Black Knots

[Moodpomes: Calendar of Correlatives]

At twilight scrawny starlings screech
like harpies hunting empty streets,

braid trees and ledges in high-pitched fuss,
knotting in rows at hollow dusk

like charcoal beads tightly queued
entreating night's protective hood,

unless a hawk-cry snaps their thread
and black beads scatter, half unsaid.

(Pub. in Descant, Texas Christian Literary Journal,
Vol.25, No.2.)

poem by William F Dougherty
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Related quotes

2010/07/26 Auric Light

An invisible string to thread my small crystal
beads, even Tiaan helping because I cannot
see to do it myself, it would take me a hundred
years at least to complete one string

I wanted to make many strings to represent my
vision of auric light shining out, but after an epic
struggle I gave up and upended the beads in
crystal glasses to enjoy the pristine shine

Without destroying my eyes, Tiaan commenting
‘After suffering for many years to string beads, I
found the solution, dumping beads everywhere’
and I laughed, Nici only shaking her head

While busy with her bead-making craft - I also love
the effect of beads in sea-shells, resembling coarse
salt but with a new shine, no more threading for me
I cannot see, it felt too much like torture

My new system brings us miniature rainbows with-
out the heartache of threading invisible strings
with translucent beads!

poem by Margaret Alice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Charcoal Night

On a charcoal night the owl calls.
On a charcoal night wolves sharpen their claws.
On a charcoal night children shake with fear.
The charcoal night is growing near.

On a charcoal night the demon dogs sing.
On a charcoal night the little stars gleam.
On a charcoal night the air goes cold.
The nightmares and stories are always told.

On a charcoal night wolves wet their fangs.
On a charcoal night the owls call rang.
On a charcoal night the beasts are out.
On a charcoal night this is their town.

On a charcoal night lock up the doors.
On a charcoal night don't sleep on the floors.
On a charcaol night say good bye to those dear.
Because the charcaol night is finally hear.

poem by Okami Kamikaze
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After Rain

Today
I'd like to be a nun
And go and say
My rosary beneath the trees out there.
In this shy sun
The raindrops look like silver beads of prayer.
So blest
Am I, I'd like to tell
God and the rest
Of heaven-dwellers in the garden there
All that befell
Last week. Such gossip is as good as prayer.
Ah well!
I have, since I'm no nun,
No beads to tell,
And being happy must be all my prayer.
Yet 'twould be fun
To walk with God 'neath the wet trees out there.

poem by Lesbia Harford
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Overheard on a Salmarsh

Nymph, nymph, what are your beads?
Green glass, goblin. Why do you stare at them?
Give them me.
No.
Give them me. Give them me.
No.
Then I will howl all night in the reeds,
Lie in the mud and howl for them.

Goblin, why do you love them so?

They are better than stars or water,
Better than voices of winds that sing,
Better than any man's fair daughter,
Your green glass beads on a silver ring.

Hush, I stole them out of the moon.
Give me your beads, I want them.
No.

I will howl in the deep lagoon
For your green glass beads, I love them so.
Give thme me. Give them.
No.

poem by Harold Monro
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Mardi Grass New Orleans

Driving down highway 95,
going to New Orleans before night.
It was too late,
we went the wrong way,
we were heading east to Savanah that day.
In town we finally did arrive,
at least it wasn’t in the morning at five.
Next morning I went to downtown,
beads where being thrown all around.
Children threw me beads my way
they sparkled and shined I have to say.
Brought them back to MN state,
children I played with said they were great.
Some kept them hidden from me,
that’s o.k. they have found memories.
Now I have to visit once again,
get more beads to send to friends.

Written By Suzae Chevalier on November 3,2011
www.purplepoems.com www.christinapoems.com
www.christinasunrise.com

poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Texas

Warm winds blowing
Heating blue sky
And a road that goes forever
Been thinking 'bout it lately
Been watching some tv
Been looking all around me
At what has come to be
Been talking to my neighbour
And he agrees with me
It's all gone crazy
Well my wife returns from taking
My little girl to school
She's got beads of perspiration
As she tries to keep her cool
She says that mess it don't get no better
There's gonna come a day
Someone's gonna get killed out there
And i turn to her and say texas
She says what?
I said texas
She says what?
They've got big long road out there
Warm winds blowing
Heating blue sky
And a road that goes forever
I'm going to texas
We got to get out of here
We got to get out of here
Well i got a little brother
Several meters high
Yea his built just like a quarterback
And he swears he'll testify
He says he's been to texas
And that's the only place to be
Big stakes, big girls, no trouble there
That's the place for me
I'm going to texas
I'm going to texas
Watch me walking
Watch me walking

song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From Dusk To Dusk

The dazzling star
went through me.
I was undemanding
from dusk to dusk
hurting myself, not anybody.

Time to meet my twin,
to set he black on orange.
My guilt, my fear, my foreboding.
Let go off, my sap in the twigs,
fruits were coming down.

Under the guise of innocence
eruptiness entered into non-thought.
One by one snakes unrolled
with black eyes, under the succulent breasts,
the black poison clapping the pink lips.

The dirt was spreading
on the hands of unborn children.
Their eyes searching the seeds.
On dark beads of mother.
Father had been killed in a cave.

poem by Satish Verma
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Pour The Water Of Love

Love will pour river water into the mouth,
In a slumbering delight, the soul is sold.
By the jewellery of hell and always of devils,
The beads of love are counted by all us angels.
On the calm white skin, the great veil is lifted
And we count more beads of love to enlighten life.
We sing and the woods sing, feeling sleep
In a second, fully counting the beads of love.

poem by Naveed Akram
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She Told Her Beads

She told her beads with down-cast eyes,
Within the ancient chapel dim;
And ever as her fingers slim
Slipt o'er th' insensate ivories,
My rapt soul followed, spaniel-wise.
Ah, many were the beads she wore;
But as she told them o'er and o'er,
They did not number all my sighs.
My heart was filled with unvoiced cries
And prayers and pleadings unexpressed;
But while I burned with Love's unrest,
She told her beads with down-cast eyes.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Black Hawk War of the Artists

WRITTEN FOR LORADO TAFT'S STATUE OF BLACK HAWK AT OREGON, ILLINOIS

To be given in the manner of the Indian Oration and the Indian War-Cry.

Hawk of the Rocks,
Yours is our cause to-day.
Watching your foes
Here in our war array,
Young men we stand,
Wolves of the West at bay.
Power, power for war
Comes from these trees divine;
Power from the boughs,
Boughs where the dew-beads shine,
Power from the cones
Yea, from the breath of the pine!

Power to restore
All that the white hand mars.
See the dead east
Crushed with the iron cars—
Chimneys black
Blinding the sun and stars!

Hawk of the pines,
Hawk of the plain-winds fleet,
You shall be king
There in the iron street,
Factory and forge
Trodden beneath your feet.

There will proud trees
Grow as they grow by streams.
There will proud thoughts
Walk as in warrior dreams.
There will proud deeds
Bloom as when battle gleams!

Warriors of Art,
We will hold council there,
Hewing in stone
Things to the trapper fair,
Painting the gray
Veils that the spring moons wear,
This our revenge,
This one tremendous change:
Making new towns,
Lit with a star-fire strange,
Wild as the dawn
Gilding the bison-range.

All the young men
Chanting your cause that day,
Red-men, new-made
Out of the Saxon clay,
Strong and redeemed,
Bold in your war-array!

poem by Vachel Lindsay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Method is more important than strength, when you wish to control your enemies. By dropping golden beads near a snake, a crow once managed To have a passer-by kill the snake for the beads.

quote by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Early Works - Where Are The Days

What happened to the days of Bangor,
Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, flowers and beads?
What happen to the roads we took
with smiling faces blank on grass?
What happened to the sunshine
we thought would never set?
What happened?

Where are the days of loving youth
of flowers, beads and banners high?
Where are the days of cartoon Beatles
when all you needed was love?
Where are the days?
Where have they gone?

26,27,28 February 1980

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Return

So Jesus came to church as a ghost
and claimed to have said goodbye without meaning it.
This is his story - the chalice and the frame
that made him known, cunning dust, half songs
and Hellenic rows in fields without perspective.
This is his house; a roof with an unknown end,
an upturned ship, a lost atrium with sharp air.

But he cannot trust himself not to touch, and muses,
look, you are heedless; buried in beads.

poem by Leslie Philibert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Deep In The Heart Of Texas

The stars at night are big and bright
Deep in the heart of Texas
The prairie sky is wide and high
Deep in the heart of Texas
The sage in bloom is like perfume
Deep in the heart of Texas
Reminds me of the one that I love
Deep in the heart of Texas
The coyotes wail along the trail
Deep in the heart of Texas
The rabbits rush around the brush
Deep in the heart of Texas
The cowboys cry, "Ki yippee yi!"
Deep in the heart of Texas
The dogies bawl and bawl and bawl
Deep in the heart of Texas
The stars at night are big and bright
Deep in the heart of Texas
The prairie sky is wide and high
Deep in the heart of Texas
Deep in the heart of Texas
Deep in the heart of Texas
Deep in the heart of Texas
Deep in the heart of Texas

song performed by by Nickel Creek
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ghost Glen

'Shut your ears, stranger, or turn from Ghost Glen now,
For the paths are grown over, untrodden by men now;
Shut your ears, stranger,' saith the grey mother, crooning
Her sorcery runic, when sets the half-moon in.

To-night the north-easter goes travelling slowly,
But it never stoops down to that hollow unholy;
To-night it rolls loud on the ridges red-litten,
But it cannot abide in that forest, sin-smitten.

For over the pitfall the moon-dew is thawing,
And, with never a body, two shadows stand sawing -
The wraiths of two sawyers (~step under and under~),
Who did a foul murder and were blackened with thunder!

Whenever the storm-wind comes driven and driving,
Through the blood-spattered timber you may see the saw striving -
You may see the saw heaving, and falling, and heaving,
Whenever the sea-creek is chafing and grieving!

And across a burnt body, as black as an adder,
Sits the sprite of a sheep-dog (was ever sight sadder?)
For, as the dry thunder splits louder and faster,
This sprite of a sheep-dog howls for his master.

'Oh, count your beads deftly,' saith the grey mother, crooning
Her sorcery runic, when sets the half-moon in.
And well may she mutter, for the dark, hollow laughter
You will hear in the sawpits and the bloody logs after.

Ay, count your beads deftly, and keep your ways wary,
For the sake of the Saviour and sweet Mother Mary.
Pray for your peace in these perilous places,
And pray for the laying of horrible faces.

One starts, with a forehead wrinkled and livid,
Aghast at the lightnings sudden and vivid;
One telleth, with curses, the gold that they drew there
(Ah! cross your breast humbly) from him whom they slew there:

The stranger, who came from the loved, the romantic
Island that sleeps on the moaning Atlantic,
Leaving behind him a patient home, yearning
For the steps in the distance - never returning;

Who was left in the forest, shrunken and starkly,
Burnt by his slayers (so men have said, darkly),
With the half-crazy sheep-dog, who cowered beside there,
And yelled at the silence, and marvelled, and died there.

Yea, cross your breast humbly and hold your breath tightly,
Or fly for your life from those shadows unsightly,
From the set staring features (cold, and so young, too),
And the death on the lips that a mother hath clung to.

I tell you - that bushman is braver than most men
Who even in daylight doth go through the Ghost Glen,
Although in that hollow, unholy and lonely,
He sees the dank sawpits and bloody logs only.

poem by Henry Kendall
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Hunting High And Low

Typed by [email protected]
Hunting High and Low:
Here I am
And within the reach of my hand
She's sound asleep
And she's sweeter now
Than the wildest dream
Could have seen her
And I watch her slipping away
But I know I'll be
Hunting high and low
Ah there's no end
To the lengths I'll go to
Hunting high and low
Ah there's no end
To the lengths I'll go
To find her again
Upon this my dreams are depending
Through the dark
I sense the pounding of her heart
Next to mine
She's the sweetest love
I could find
So I guess I'll be
Hunting high and low
Ah, there's no end
To lengths I'll go to
High and low
Ah, do you know what it means
To love you
I'm hunting high and low
And now she's telling me
She's got to go away
I'll always be hunting high and low
Only for you (And now she's telling me)
Watch me tearing myself to pieces
Hunting high and low
Ah, there's no end
To lengths I'll go to
For you I'll be hunting high and low

song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sleeping Beauty

Gracefull face
Lips embraced
Tightly yes
Tightly no
Shining beads
Revealed
When
The embrace
Waylaid.
Lids over her eyes
The sparkle I could see
And the moat above
Checked
The youthfull thoughts
Wander

Doubt
If she knew
The humble breath
Which the nose drew
Lovely hands supported the gait

Deep urge
Lids stretched
And the moat
Let her see
Let her see.

poem by Sanjay Mehta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ingerid Sletten

Ingerid Sletten of Sillejord
Neither gold nor silver did own,
But a little hood of gay wool alone,
Her mother had given of yore.

A little hood of gay wool alone,
With no braid nor lining, was here;
But parent love made it ever dear,
And brighter than gold it shone.

She kept the hood twenty years just so:
"Be it spotless," softly she cried,
"Until I shall wear it once as bride,
When I to the altar go."

She kept the hood thirty years just so:
"Be it spotless," softly she cried,
"Then wear it I will, a gladsome bride,
When it to our Lord I show."

She kept the hood forty years just so,
With her mother ever in mind.
"Little hood, be with me to this resigned,
That ne'er to the altar we'll go."

She steps to the chest where the hood has lain,
And seeks it with swelling heart;
She guides her hand to its place apart,--
But never a thread did remain.

poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hunting High & Low

Here I am
And within the reach of my hands
Shes sound asleep and shes sweeter now
Than thewildest dream could have seen her
And I watch her slipping away
Though I know Ill be hunting high and low
High
Theres no end to the the lengths Ill go to
Hunting high and low
High
Theres no end to the the lengths Ill go to
To find her again
Upon this my dreams are depending
Through the dark
I sense the pounding of her heart
Next to mine
Shes the sweetest love I could find
So I guess Ill be hunting high and low
High
Theres no end to the lengths Ill go to
High and low
High
Do you know what it means to love you
Im hunting high and low
And now shes telling me shes got to go away
Ill always be hunting high and low
Hungry for you
Watch me tearing myself to pieces
Hunting high and low
High
Theres no end to the lengths Ill go to
Oh! for you Ill be hunting high and low