En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Picnic Boat

Sunday night and the park policemen tell each other it
is dark as a stack of black cats on Lake Michigan.
A big picnic boat comes home to Chicago from the peach
farms of Saugatuck.
Hundreds of electric bulbs break the night's darkness, a
flock of red and yellow birds with wings at a standstill.
Running along the deck railings are festoons and leaping
in curves are loops of light from prow and stern
to the tall smokestacks.
Over the hoarse crunch of waves at my pier comes a
hoarse answer in the rhythmic oompa of the brasses
playing a Polish folk-song for the home-comers.

poem by Carl Sandburg
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The Hunchback in the Park

The hunchback in the park
A solitary mister
Propped between trees and water
From the opening of the garden lock
That lets the trees and water enter
Until the Sunday sombre bell at dark

Eating bread from a newspaper
Drinking water from the chained cup
That the children filled with gravel
In the fountain basin where I sailed my ship
Slept at night in a dog kennel
But nobody chained him up.

Like the park birds he came early
Like the water he sat down
And Mister they called Hey mister
The truant boys from the town
Running when he had heard them clearly
On out of sound

Past lake and rockery
Laughing when he shook his paper
Hunchbacked in mockery
Through the loud zoo of the willow groves
Dodging the park keeper
With his stick that picked up leaves.

And the old dog sleeper
Alone between nurses and swans
While the boys among willows
Made the tigers jump out of their eyes
To roar on the rockery stones
And the groves were blue with sailors

Made all day until bell time
A woman figure without fault
Straight as a young elm
Straight and tall from his crooked bones
That she might stand in the night
After the locks and chains

All night in the unmade park
After the railings and shrubberies
The birds the grass the trees the lake
And the wild boys innocent as strawberries
Had followed the hunchback
To his kennel in the dark.

poem by Dylan Thomas
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Improvisation

I fed out of my hand a flock of keys
To clapping of wings and shrill cries in flight.
Sleeves up, arms out, on tiptoe I rose;
At my elbow I felt the nudging of night.
The dark. And the pond, and the wash of waves.
And screeching black beaks in their savage attack,
All quick for the kill - not to hunger and die,
While birds of the species I-love-you fall back.

The pond. And the dark. The pulsating flare
From pipkins of pitch in the gloom of midnight,
The boat keel nibbled by lapping of waves.
And birds at my elbow in their wrath and fight.
Night gurgled, washed in the gullets of weirs.
And it seemed if the young were unfed, by rote,
The hen-birds would kill - before the roulades
Would die in the shrilling, the crooked throat.

poem by Boris Pasternak
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Aura

The air was dark
The moon was dark
The night was dark
The cloud was dark
The heat was dark
The stars were black
The birds were black
The eyes were black
The shadows were black
The planes were black
A sound of night
The hearts of night
A chase at night
A fall at night
No help at night
The night is night
Where is my sight
I have no sight
Your light was sight
No light no sight
No one in sight
The dark in sight
Don't call my name
What's my name
They call my name
That's not my name
Who said its my name
I have no name
You took my same
It was our same
She was our same
She's now your same
Its all the same
I'm not the same
Judas and my hand
You took my hand
'I do' my hand
You kissed my hand
You broke my hand
You fell my hand
A tear in sand
A heart in sand
A body in sand
Alone in sand
A dust in sand
At home in sand.

poem by Jenim Dibie
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Lied II

How many times does a dog bark
in the night, the same two-tone bark:
black. red. black, black, red-unseen,
never tiring or growing hoarse, the
rope tightening about his throat an-
chored in eternity. Black, red, red,
red, black, red, red, black, black, black,
complaining it is cold or alone,
complaining its life's a bust.

How many times does a cab stop
in the light rain of a night
short, before a diaphanous screen door
to which a thick moth clings-
a little tire-shriek capping a faint
complaint of rubber against its condition
over a crunch of gravel, of course, and a slam,
waking the body sleeping within, who
sits up with a start and remembering nakedness
intones, 'Lovely moment, at last you have come? '

poem by Morgan Michaels
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Im A Small & Lonely Light

(farrar/best)
The stairs are dark and silent
The morning cold and gray
A last look at the things I knew
And slowly turn away
And as I watch the scenery unwind
My childhood slips a hundred miles behind
Leave the bus in houston
Walk around the town
But all the strange, unfriendly faces
Seem to get me down
And in the park where little children play
I sit and watch the dying of the day
Im a small and lonely light
A bird thats lost in flight
And its too late at night to go home
Im a tall and weary kite
A face thats out of sight
And its too late at night to go home
Always had the good life
Never felt unsure
But now the good lifes not enough
There must be something more
And so I sit and shiver in the dawn
And watch the world and wait to be reborn
Im a small and lonely light
A bird thats lost in flight
And its too late at night to go home
Im a tall and weary kite
A face thats out of sight
And its too late at night to go home
Too late at night to go home
But Ive talked too long my friend

song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm A Small And Lonely Light

The stairs are dark and silent
The morning cold and gray
A last look at the things I knew
And slowly turn away
And as I watch the scenery unwind
My childhood slips a hundred miles behind
Leave the bus in Houston
Walk around the town
But all the strange, unfriendly faces
Seem to get me down
And in the park where little children play
I sit and watch the dying of the day
I'm a small and lonely light
A bird that's lost in flight
And it's too late at night to go home
I'm a tall and weary kite
A face that's out of sight
And it's too late at night to go home
Always had the good life
Never felt unsure
But now the good life's not enough
There must be something more
And so I sit and shiver in the dawn
And watch the world and wait to be reborn
I'm a small and lonely light
A bird that's lost in flight
And it's too late at night to go home
I'm a tall and weary kite
A face that's out of sight
And it's too late at night to go home
Too late at night to go home
But I've talked too long my friend

song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Copying Cat

A day / A night
A pet / A sight
Paws / Thy Claws
Fur white / Hellkite
Small teeth / Thy Jaws

Red, brown? White, grey? Born stark?
At night all cats are dark

Bear crown? Without way? No marque?
In the dark all cats' labels are park

All cats are cat, at night,
No doubts about their power, their might,
Let none question the fear they incite,
'Cause for advantage they have cat's spite,
And night is quite the cat's best site,
For proven the fact, which strangeness is quite,
That is at the dark where cat's do their flight,
And none's is worst than a very cat's bite

For none can be a cat's copycat,
And no cat can avoid copying cats

poem by by unknown author
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Night Traveler

I am a night traveler
Travel all through the night
And my bed is a sailing boat
I reach for my bed every night
And take a trip places far away
To see new things and people

I travel past the harbors
Full of anchored boats
I travel past the beaches
With swaying coconut trees

I watch the waves
Embracing the shore
I watch the kids playing
And reach out my arms

Then I touch my own bed
Here comes a flash
And my boat is back
And I am back in bed

My boat sails every night
And reach home with morning light
Never did it anchor once
Still traveling every day
Hoping to reach
That unknown destination

poem by Deepa Thomas
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A Night Traveler

I am a night traveler
Travel all through the night
And my bed is a sailing boat
I reach for my bed every night
And take a trip places far away
To see new things and people

I travel past the harbors
Full of anchored boats
I travel past the beaches
With swaying coconut trees

I watch the waves
Embracing the shore
I watch the kids playing
And reach out my arms

Then I touch my own bed
Here comes a flash
And my boat is back
And I am back in bed

My boat sails every night
And reach home with morning light
Never did it anchor once
Still traveling every day
Hoping to reach
That unknown destination

poem by Selam G. Sekuar
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In the turbulent town of Chicago
lived the brother of Dr. Shivago.
He was taking a break
sailing Michigan Lake.
But he called it 'Chicago Lago'.

quote by by Herbert Nehrlich
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Running With The Night

The heart of the city street was beating
Lights from the neons
Turned the dark to day
We were too hot to think of sleeping
We had to get out
Before the magic got away
We were running with the night
Playingin the shadows
Just you and i
Till the morning light
(we were running) oh, oh
Running with the night
You were looking so good girl
Heads were turning
You and me on the town
Ooh, we let it all hang out
The fire was in us, we were running
We were gonna go all the way
And we never had a doubt
We were running with the night
Playing in the shadows
Just you and i
Till the morning light
Running with the night
We were so in love you and me
On the boulevard wild and free
Giving all we got, we laid it down
Taking every shot, we took the town
We were running with the night
Playing in the shadows
Just you and i
Girl, it was so right
Girl, it was so right.

song performed by by Lionel Richie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night on the Convoy

(ALEXANDRIA-MARSEILLES)

Out in the blustering darkness, on the deck
A gleam of stars looks down. Long blurs of black,
The lean Destroyers, level with our track,
Plunging and stealing, watch the perilous way
Through backward racing seas and caverns of chill spray.
One sentry by the davits, in the gloom
Stands mute: the boat heaves onward through the night.
Shrouded is every chink of cabined light:
And sluiced by floundering waves that hiss and boom
And crash like guns, the troop-ship shudders ... doom.

Now something at my feet stirs with a sigh;
And slowly growing used to groping dark,
I know that the hurricane-deck, down all its length,
Is heaped and spread with lads in sprawling strength—
Blanketed soldiers sleeping. In the stark
Danger of life at war, they lie so still,
All prostrate and defenceless, head by head...
And I remember Arras, and that hill
Where dumb with pain I stumbled among the dead.

We are going home. The troop-ship, in a thrill
Of fiery-chamber’d anguish, throbs and rolls.
We are going home ... victims ... three thousand souls.

May 1918.

poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Nostalgic Memories!

A crow built a nest on our tree
taking up the sticks from the broom
and laid its golden egg and sat over it often.
No loitering of rats, cats, squirrels there!
The crow would caw to call out its kin
and roust the menacing creatures away.
A fledgling hatched out, and crowed a hoarse cry.
When its chick went near the edge of the nest,
The crow would draw it in with its beak.
If the rains poured, it would cuddle its chick.
A flock of crows cried, “ caw, caw, caw, caw! ”
and urged the young one to flight off.
My Goodness! I see it again near the nest daily morn.
Nostalgic memories bring the birds too back home.

poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Darkness Of...

Darkness is not the darkness of night
it is the darkness of mind and soul.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of discrimination between poor and rich.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of dishonesty.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of aggravate.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is darkness of corruption.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of indiscipline.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of animosity.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of inveterate.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness of perjury.
darkness is not the darkness of night,
it is the darkness that we all brought up inside us,
so, light the lamp of light inside you...

poem by Suniya Garg
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Fishing For Snoek (Un-Wreath Sonnet)

Somewhat slightly the shore, the lights ebb away
waves toss and play while the moon shines brightly
in darkness nightly the stars glitter over Table Bay
and the wind is blown only somewhat lightly.
Without mistake the boat furrows, up and down
holding its own spreads some foam in its wake,
in I take the vastness of great Cape Town,
God we trust; the sea lies flat as a lake
and its night, the swells are easier on us
like some dust hangs the early grey twilight,
it’s a sight deck-boards filled like a bus
and thus lines sing into the last of night
the boat is bright green with apparatus
going into action up to daylight.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Two Swans

There's a big park just close to where we live —
Trees in a row
And shaggy grass whereon the dead leaves blow.
And in the middle round a great lagoon
The fair yachts sail
In loveliness that makes the water pale.
Last night I went to walk along the road
Beside the park
And feel the kisses of the wintry dark.
It's the best place to watch the evening come
For mists are there
And lights and shadows and the lake is fair
And last night looking up I saw two swans
Fly overhead
With long black necks and their white wings outspread.
Above the houses citywards they went,
An arrowy pair
In secret — white and black and dark and fair.

poem by Lesbia Harford
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Upon This Wide Water, On Our Broken Boat - Two For Staten Island Ferry, circa 1985 Manhattan

'On the ferry-boats the hundreds and hundreds that cross,
returning home, are more curious to me than you suppose,
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are
more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.'
- Walt Whitman, from 'Crossing Brooklyn Ferry'

1

Upon this wide water, Whitman's bay, wandering
outward toward Eastward windings -

Upon this white-starred charted bay we ride
gray with midnight leaning toward the Towers**
distant growing, stalking, yellow and glowing,
mimicing the stars -

Our eyes stare tearing,
seawind pushes lids to slits.
We glimmer. Lights shimmer
ahead and above,
and still we cry -

the wind.

The ferry, furtive, floats the edge of Manhatta.
There's power pushing against the bow,
riptides to the rear, but we go on,
approach sleepily, enamored of gin and
the beds we will make again and again
pulling sheets tighter. This stretching water
safe-keeps the light of eyes and the city there-

Upon the water's wide skirt one will, quiet,
lift up a hand to the spray, sway for love,
and pray for the world -

A dark tern unfurls from the sail
of a starboard yacht, flirts once with
the silhouette extended upon the wave,
then leaves, an under-turning rail or rudder
sinking in the ferrier's wake.

Each night there must be one, out there,
on the deck, supplicating in boozy tongue,
oozing heart-love all over, spurning the way
things go down in the world, cheap spindrift
the cranes know of, dipping their bloated beaks
to the waves. And he must dip his head, braying,
with his hands motioning to the night -

Away! Away!

[**World Trade Towers]

2

'Others the same - others who look back on me because I look’d forward to them, What is it then between us? ...What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us? ' - Walt Whitman

On our broken boat the harsh light will not break.
We see our day clearly as we can.
Tell the night, now it's here to stay, that

once I glanced the sleeping youth, legs against the wall,
felt a pall descend upon us here,
this boat lancing the bay waters darkly.

Some to books then, the priest to his sad, effeminate stare.
I can no longer envy those of the black cloth
so bend and tie the shoe.
We shod our feet against what long loss of motion,
eyes downcast or boldly returning the stare?

Beneath each eye there's some familiar look we refuse.
We map our way to sleep in the palms of shy or frightened hands.

poem by Warren Falcon
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Pride Not Yourself, O Night!

Why do you permit evils

by habouring thieves in your shadows, O Night?

Why do you welcome black cats and black birds,

by allowing ‘em, und’r your arms, to bewitch the innocent?

O Night, you think you’re much wiser at night

when you give us your sleeping poison at night!

Pride not yourself, O Night,

for our Lord has destroy’d all your works

by exposing ‘em on the broad day light!

poem by Eche Ononukwe
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Reminiscing

Friday night it was late
I was walking you home
We got down to the gate
And I was dreaming of the night
Would it turn out right
How to tell you girl
I want to build my world around you
Tell you that it's true
I wanna make you understand
I'm talking about a life time plan
That's the way it began
We were hand in hand
Glen Miller's Band was better than before
We yelled and screamed for more
And the porter too
Made us dance across the room
It ended it all too soon
And on the way back home
I promise you, you'll never be alone
Hurry don't be late
I can hardly wait
I said to myself when we're old
We'll go dancing in the dark
Walking through the park and reminiscing
Friday night it was late
I was walking you home
We got down to the gate
And I was dreaming of the night
Would it turn out right
Now as the years roll on
Each time we hear our favorite song
The memories come along
Older times we're missing
Spending the hours reminiscing
Hurry don't be late
I can hardly wait
I said to myself when we're old
We'll go dancing in the dark
Walking through the park and reminiscing
We'll go dancing in the dark
Walking through the park and reminiscing
You should be dancing
Dancing
Dancing
Dancing
And reminiscing

song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Talkin' Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre Blues

by Bob Dylan
I saw it advertised one day,
Bear Mountain picnic was comin' my way.
"Come along 'n' take a trip,
We'll bring you up there on a ship.
Bring the wife and kids
Bring the whole family."
Yippee!
Well, I run right down 'n' bought a ticket
To this Bear Mountain Picnic.
But little did I realize
I was in for a picnic surprise.
Had nothin' to do with mountains.
I didn't even come close to a bear.
Took the wife 'n' kids down to the pier,
Six thousand people there,
Everybody had ticket for the trip.
"Oh well." I said, "it's a pretty big ship.
Besides, anyway, the more the merrier."
Well, we all got on 'n' what d'ya think,
That big old boat started t' sink
More people kept a-pilin' on,
That old ship was a-slowly goin' down.
Funny way t' start a picnic.
Well, I soon lost track of m' kids 'n' wife,
So many people there I never saw in m' life
That old ship sinkin' down in the water,
Six thousand people tryin' t' kill each other,
Dogs a-barkin', cats a-meowin',
Women screamin', fists a-flyin', babies cryin',
Cops a-comin', me a-runnin'.
Maybe we just better call off the picnic.
I got shoved down 'n' pushed around,
All I could hear there was a screamin' sound,
Don't remember one thing more,
Just remember walkin' up on a little shore,
Head busted, stomach cracked,
Feet splintered, I was bald, naked. . .
Quite lucky to be alive though.
Feelin' like I climbed outa m' casket,
I grabbed back hold of m' picnic basket.
Took the wife 'n' kids 'n' started home,
Wishin' I'd never got up that morn.
Now, I don't care just what you do,
If you wanta have a picnic, that's up t' you.
But don't tell me about it, I don't wanta hear it,
'Cause, see, I just lost all m' picnic spirit.
Stay in m' kitchen, have m' own picnic. . .
In the bathroom.
Now, it don't seem to me quite so funny
What some people are gonna do f'r money.
There's a bran' new gimmick every day
Just t' take somebody's money away.
I think we oughta take some o' these people
And put 'em on a boat, send 'em up to Bear Mountain . . .
For a picnic.

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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