Ears Of Corn
In the synagogues they pray with ears
of corn, and listen to the shadows’ sound,
because no still and silent voice for years
has whispered, and no glory is around.
Yet it is not blaspheming with the breath
to try recapturing was has been lost,
refusing to acknowledge that famed death
of God a great unglaublich scholar glossed.
The evidence that He once lived is soft,
but those who pray don’t care it isn’t hard,
or that a great philosopher has scoffed
about what can’t be found by Scotland Yard,
for by their prayers they choose to shame the dark,
dark places where the doubting mind would mourn,
providing an occasion for their spark
to find an Alien hiding in the corn.
Inspired by Dylan Thomas’s “A Refusal to Mourn the Death, by Fire, of a Child in London”
Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
And the still hour
Is come of the sea tumbling in harness
And I must enter again the round
Zion of the water bead
And the synagogue of the ear of corn
Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound
Or sow my salt seed
In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn
The majesty and burning of the child's death.
I shall not murder
The mankind of her going with a grave truth
Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath
With any further
Elegy of innocence and youth.
Deep with the first dead lies London's daughter,
Robed in the long friends,
The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother,
Secret by the unmourning water
Of the riding Thames.
After the first death, there is no other.
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Related quotes
A Refusal to Mourn the Death, by Fire, of a Child in London
Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
And the still hour
Is come of the sea tumbling in harness
And I must enter again the round
Zion of the water bead
And the synagogue of the ear of corn
Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound
Or sow my salt seed
In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn
The majesty and burning of the child's death.
I shall not murder
The mankind of her going with a grave truth
Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath
With any further
Elegy of innocence and youth.
Deep with the first dead lies London's daughter,
Robed in the long friends,
The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother,
Secret by the unmourning water
Of the riding Thames.
After the first death, there is no other.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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During War’s Manmade Darkness (Cavatina) (In Answer To Dylan Thomas)
During war’s manmade darkness, the havoc
envelops man;
tramples flower, bird and beast in breaking;
where life began
remains nothing than the shattering death;
no good thing can
come from the drive to conquer and possess,
while in evil man does downwards digress.
[Reference: “A Refusal to Mourn the Death, by Fire, of a Child in London” by Dylan Thomas.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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This Side of the Truth
(for Llewelyn)
This side of the truth,
You may not see, my son,
King of your blue eyes
In the blinding country of youth,
That all is undone,
Under the unminding skies,
Of innocence and guilt
Before you move to make
One gesture of the heart or head,
Is gathered and spilt
Into the winding dark
Like the dust of the dead.
Good and bad, two ways
Of moving about your death
By the grinding sea,
King of your heart in the blind days,
Blow away like breath,
Go crying through you and me
And the souls of all men
Into the innocent
Dark, and the guilty dark, and good
Death, and bad death, and then
In the last element
Fly like the stars' blood
Like the sun's tears,
Like the moon's seed, rubbish
And fire, the flying rant
Of the sky, king of your six years.
And the wicked wish,
Down the beginning of plants
And animals and birds,
Water and Light, the earth and sky,
Is cast before you move,
And all your deeds and words,
Each truth, each lie,
Die in unjudging love.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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Shadow in the Dark
I’m a shadow in the dark
The quintessential sound of death
I’m a shadow in the dark
Like the reaper’s icy breath
I’m a statue set in stone
In apathetic sleep
Let the world just pass me by
And I will never weep
I’m a shadow in the dark
The quintessential sound of death
I’m a shadow in the dark
Like the reaper’s icy breath
You don’t have to set me free
You don’t have to light my night
You don’t have to feel my breath
Or step into my line of sight
For I’m a shadow in the dark
You know I’m there but you can’t see
I’m a shadow in the dark
You pass me by, and leave me be.
poem by Justin Robert Cooper
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Pray
So here we stand again
Like dust on mother earth
And we hide our faces in our dreams
Only emptiness where angels flew - high on golden wings
And the voice of god has vanished now - lost inside our dreams
But the only way to go is heaven
All we can do is pray
In the darkness we stand with the world in our hands
And we pray
For a better tomorrow
We wait
Far beyond the horizon
There's a sound in the sky
The voice of glory I hear a silent cry
When the heroes of yesterday are gone
All we can do is pray
In the darkness we hide and we wait for the light
And we pray
Oh we pray
Let us pray
I've seen the darkside of the moon in my dreams
Now I know it ain't a place to live for us all
All our gods creation is dead an gone
Now we stand like children all alone forever
All we can do is pray
Forever and forever and forever more
For a better tomorrow - we wait
Pray
There's a light in the dark
And it's shining so bright on our way
Still there is hope on our way
And we pray
Oh
song performed by by Gamma Ray
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death - The Gift of Life
There’s nothing certain but death
Nor beyond nor before
We are born and live to die
Death the only gift of life
We fret; make noise, shout and cry
We skid from hills to valley and back
Get torn among home, work and friends
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
We fight, we scream, we spurn
We step on each others’ toe
All to achieve and amass
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
Walk we straight with pride
Look we people in the eye
Seldom do we stop and stoop
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
We make friends, yet sly
Break hearts and water eyes
Too proud to bend or mend
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
Each death promise another
Our last breath gives forth life
To another birth to die again
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
Never can we live past in life
In death we reach the very start
From grains we come, to grains we go
There’s nothing certain but death
Death the only gift of life
poem by Thomas PJ New Delhi
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Ceremony After A Fire Raid
I
Myselves
The grievers
Grieve
Among the street burned to tireless death
A child of a few hours
With its kneading mouth
Charred on the black breast of the grave
The mother dug, and its arms full of fires.
Begin
With singing
Sing
Darkness kindled back into beginning
When the caught tongue nodded blind,
A star was broken
Into the centuries of the child
Myselves grieve now, and miracles cannot atone.
Forgive
Us forgive
Us your death that myselves the believers
May hold it in a great flood
Till the blood shall spurt,
And the dust shall sing like a bird
As the grains blow, as your death grows, through our heart.
Crying
Your dying
Cry,
Child beyond cockcrow, by the fire-dwarfed
Street we chant the flying sea
In the body bereft.
Love is the last light spoken. Oh
Seed of sons in the loin of the black husk left.
II
I know not whether
Adam or Eve, the adorned holy bullock
Or the white ewe lamb
Or the chosen virgin
Laid in her snow
On the altar of London,
Was the first to die
In the cinder of the little skull,
O bride and bride groom
O Adam and Eve together
Lying in the lull
Under the sad breast of the head stone
White as the skeleton
Of the garden of Eden.
I know the legend
Of Adam and Eve is never for a second
Silent in my service
Over the dead infants
Over the one
Child who was priest and servants,
Word, singers, and tongue
In the cinder of the little skull,
Who was the serpent's
Night fall and the fruit like a sun,
Man and woman undone,
Beginning crumbled back to darkness
Bare as nurseries
Of the garden of wilderness.
III
Into the organpipes and steeples
Of the luminous cathedrals,
Into the weathercocks' molten mouths
Rippling in twelve-winded circles,
Into the dead clock burning the hour
Over the urn of sabbaths
Over the whirling ditch of daybreak
Over the sun's hovel and the slum of fire
And the golden pavements laid in requiems,
Into the bread in a wheatfield of flames,
Into the wine burning like brandy,
The masses of the sea
The masses of the sea under
The masses of the infant-bearing sea
Erupt, fountain, and enter to utter for ever
Glory glory glory
The sundering ultimate kingdom of genesis' thunder.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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The Conversation of Prayer
The conversation of prayers about to be said
By the child going to bed and the man on the stairs
Who climbs to his dying love in her high room,
The one not caring to whom in his sleep he will move
And the other full of tears that she will be dead,
Turns in the dark on the sound they know will arise
Into the answering skies from the green ground,
From the man on the stairs and the child by his bed.
The sound about to be said in the two prayers
For the sleep in a safe land and the love who dies
Will be the same grief flying. Whom shall they calm?
Shall the child sleep unharmed or the man be crying?
The conversation of prayers about to be said
Turns on the quick and the dead, and the man on the stair
To-night shall find no dying but alive and warm
In the fire of his care his love in the high room.
And the child not caring to whom he climbs his prayer
Shall drown in a grief as deep as his made grave,
And mark the dark eyed wave, through the eyes of sleep,
Dragging him up the stairs to one who lies dead.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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Dark writing....
Dark shadows sneak under the door
As I keep writing these dark lyrics more
Of a nature that's not evil or unkind
Rather of disturbing thoughts in my mind.
They say for everything bad it's found
Something good it has to come around
The weather wouldn't be pleasant if wasn't for the rain
These feelings wouldn't exist if it wasn't for the pain.
I'm doing a storm in a cup of water to prepare
Meanwhile around people don't even care
I pray for my life to not end before these stanzas
But mindlessly I write and write looking for the answers.
My cold dark poems are everywhere
Floating around in the midnight air
Listen, closely you have no choice
These dark words, my deep voice.
Where the world is falling apart,
There lies a dark poem of the heart
Dark poems tell the darkest lines
They make you hear their shrieking cries.
Hold dearly onto your ravaged soul;
Don't find you've let life take its toll
Youll find my dark poems are everywhere
Read them, like them, if you dare….
I am the shadow hiding in the dark
The evil sounds that wake you in the night
I'm a shadow lurking in the dark
Because still it always feels so right
So I write my shadowy poems line by line
But I'm constantly over looked
My brain is fried down to the spine
And my broken heart is cooked
I'm left only with part of a heart
That will never again beat
I'm the one person
No one has to meet
I am a shadow lurking in the dark
Writing my poems so deep
Whispering my words so stark
Pray your soul to keep…
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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A Teacher, A Pen, and A Handshake
A teacher, a pen, a handshake.
Three deaths in one day
And each a death-toll in my heart.
I cannot even pray
My soul is so overwrought.
How much light can the darkness take?
Does eternity truly hold us apart?
A teacher, a pen, a handshake.
Three bodies in one grave.
Oh, you wretched world, mourn deep!
For one who freely gave
Of truth and love and soulful ink.
I fear my soul and heart shall break!
For death has taken them into it’s keep.
A teacher, a pen, a handshake.
Three stars fallen in space
Which once burned bright as the tears
Burning on my face.
How solemn strike the chords of death
Such a mournful tune they make –
And the Weaver of Worlds on a bier!
poem by Sophia White
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A Question Of Faith
Ill crawl for you
Hurt if you want to
Ill be the thing that you feed.
Im not asking
For love or redemption
Ill sell my guilt to your need.
Ill breathe for you
Die if you want to
Ill mourn with you by my grave.
I dare you to judge me
Now God has disowned me
Ive come to you to be saved.
They say I sold my soul.
We all reap what we sow.
Ill shine for you
Burn if you want to
Youll be the prize for my pain.
Ill kill your god
And pray for salvation
Ill be the in to your sane.
Ill lie for you
Be your conscience in you
Sacrifice reason for shame.
I wont ask for
Faith or forgiveness
Ill be the blood in your veins.
They say I lost my way
Ill wait for judgement day.
Dont pray for my soul.
Dont pray for my soul.
Dont pray for my soul.
Dont pray for my soul.
Ill be your darkness
In the light
Ill be your vampire calling
In the dead of night
Ill be your demon
Shadow man
Ill be your one confession
And if I can
Ill be your nightmare
And scream for you
Ill be your one possesion
If you want me to
Ill be your secret
Memory,
Ill be your exhibition
Of atrocity.
They say I sold my soul.
We all reap what we sow.
They say I lost my way.
Ill wait for judgement day.
Dont pray for my soul.
Dont pray for my soul.
Dont pray for my soul.
Dont pray for my soul.
They kneel down, praise god
Shout allelujah,
Lift up their eyes when they pray.
When children kill children
Dont it make them wonder?
Dont it make them question their faith?
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Fresh Endeavour
So now I've taken leave of life,
I thought you'd like to know, I still
Possess a mind in love, oh wife;
A soulful eye to catch a show of
Silent beauty – ever yours;
An ear to pick the metaphors
Of tonal dance in words you say,
Grasp a thought in verse you pray
Inside your head, bemused of mind,
Softly mournful, intertwined with
Understanding tears.
I'll drift a whisper o'er to you
To tell that I am quietly calm;
Keeping time till your adieu
To flesh, upon the carol of a
Psalm of consummation. Now!
A fresh endeavour – we're forever
One together, resting yonder,
Cross our open plane of blue.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Light is out, Black is in
The light is getting dark
the clouds are turning gray
but i'll be ok
The day turns to night
and it's not going to change
So i'll walk through the streets
to see myself in a different light
The dark catches up and i'm covered
with death and dark
the dark is my new best friend
Through the dark i can control death
Through my death i can see my life
the life that was, is and could have been
with my new found friend comes
the choice of life or death
The dark is good it's new
the light was bad it's old
through the dark new choices arrive
with the light nothing was to choose
The dark is getting darker
but is that good or bad
cause it means death is for sure
I want the light back
I want to see myself not a stranger
poem by Jess Jayne
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A Prayer
may all the good old people of this world
have a happy death,
may not the young die at their young age
may those who pray for death
be enlightened to choose life
and live in peace in an actualized self,
may all those who have forgotten prayer
pray, and may all those who still pray
pray some more to learn to pray
and pray earnestly that all
prayers through God's Holy Will
be heard and granted.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Inspiration
He died from a massive
insult to the brain,
from alcohol poisoning: Dylan Thomas.
I say he was already dead
and couldn't stand to go on breathing.
So he put an end to it the only
way he knew how.
Poisoning: slow, so if you're reluctant
you can bide your time and ease into it
You know, cross that line between living
and dead.You can do it and not even
be aware that you've done it.How easy.
The only question is why?
But I already know why.
New York City...the where.
I know: the how
and the why
and the where.
He was really murdered you know.
He was condemned by committee
and sentenced to death by poisoning.
There was a general consensus to refuse to mourn
the death of a child by fire.
poem by Midnights Voice
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Tears
Mourn that which will not come again,
The joy, the strength of early years.
Bow down thy head, and let thy tears
Water the grave where hope lies slain.
For tears are like a summer rain,
To murmur in a mourner's ears,
To soften all the field of fears,
To moisten valleys parched with pain.
And though thy tears will not awake
What lies beneath of young or fair
And sleeps so sound it draws no breath,
Yet, watered thus, the sod may break
In flowers which sweeten all the air,
And fill with life the place of death.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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I Give Dark Meaning
then I'm the shadow
that gives the dark meaning
I'm the shadow hiding
while people are dreaming
I'm still a shadow in the dark
like cold icy breath
I'm still a shadow in the dark
constantly hiding in death
even if I give meaning to the dark
I'm the bite in a dogs bark
I'm nothing good I'm just black
and I will never come back
poem by No Reason To Care
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The shadow of you sleeping naked
Your father's eye,
where does it lead?
Listen to the ground,
the earth can't afford anything it wants.
Death like a signal ahead full of warnings and regrets.
Will anyone pull a fast one and get out of here alive?
Can anyone get the best of death?
Out of the grave your loved ones once walked.
The sound is so quiet you had better take a deep breath.
Imagination is like the first day of love, it can have a spell.
The way evenings are heading home with a shovel.
The moon now comparing my love to a war for peace.
Like i would really be ready to betray.
Like there are flashlights looking for me,
and they have been there for such a long time,
i have an ache in my neck from looking up at the stars.
Wondering what is sunken deep there.
What dark water is near the same place i was born?
Where in the shallows you build your little raft,
with candles that have really long wicks
so i can tie your hands together with shadows and cracks.
Let you drift by the dark of the moon, not saying a word.
Listening to where the ashes are hidden in your dreams.
The fact that you will sleep like the middle of the night,
without ever looking at it. The sounds of my nightmares
always like danger without an escort.
Like sitting beside me in the mirror.
Watching so many suitors even the dead will be recognized,
and they only intend to stay for a short while.
Maybe just long enough, to try on each other's thoughts,
like glue for the past but not for so many dreams.
Those nailed to the evenings and advertising to the constellations;
An elegy that will be forgotten, but will long remain.
A fate that knows all the answers, and is still always guessing.
That any son or daughter belongs to the sky,
and yours has made it mine, and i thought it was the end.
When no one cares who will live and die again;
When i lost my way out inside your head,
but i will keep on trying. I'll be there
with hopes to remember.
poem by Gregory Collins
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Silence In The Shadow
Silence in the shadow
Thine breath an afterglow
Of silent dark love
The love thine dark show
With eyes open I see
The love of me
The silent dark love
The love I yearn to be
Silence in the shadow
The dark I truly hallow
Hanging from the wood
The wood of death's gallow
Death where no one sees me
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Dark Death
Everyone goes through dark death
It's painful, cruel, and somehow blue
Everyone suffers until last breath
Somewhere the will find a clue
Death is something you can't escape
Sooner or later you'll have to face it
Death is scary and dark like a black cape
You can't see it coming, it'll just hit
Dark death is sometimes sweet
people like it because it takes away he misery
People shoot, hit, and beat
They'll rot away like celery
Dark death is sometimes cool
but it's mostly always cruel
poem by Maria Lara
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