Soft white fog on the ground
Sunlight sparkling like jewels
Quiet peaceful morning
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So Quiet In Here
Foghorns blowing in the night
Salt sea air in the morning breeze
Driving cars all along the coastline
This must be what its all about
Oh this must be what its all about
This must be what paradise is like
So quiet in here, so peaceful in here
So quiet in here, so peaceful in here
The warm look of radiance on your face
And your heart beating close to mine
And the evening fading in the candle glow
This must be what its all about
Oh this must be what its all about
This must be what paradise is like
So quiet in here. so peaceful in here
So quiet in here, yeah, so peaceful in here
All my struggling in the world
And so many dreams that dont come true
Step back, put it all away
It dont matter, it dont matter anymore
Oh this must be what paradise is like
This must be what paradise is like
Its so quiet in here, so peaceful in here
Its so quiet in here, so peaceful in here
A glass of wine with some friends
Talking into the wee hours of the dawn
Sit back and relax your mind
This must be, this must be, what its all about
This must be what paradise is like
Oh this must be what paradise is like
So quiet in here, so peaceful in here
So quiet in here, so peaceful in here
Big ships out in the night
And were floating across the waves
Sailing for some other shore
Where we can be what we wanna be
Oh this must be what paradise is like
This must be what paradise is like
Baby its so quiet in here, so peaceful in here
So quiet in here, so peaceful in here
So quiet in here, so peaceful in here
So quiet in here, you can hear, its so quiet
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Million Murders
Smooth, soft, silk robes of royalty—
Sparkling, shining jewels of majesty—
Grand and great the riches uncoil—
Stones and steel rising from soil.
The coloured peoples gaping in envy
wishing they could be the whites in jealousy:
Oh, if only we had such beautiful buildings
Oh, if only our country was as inspiring.
Yet, in the ground, a buried irony—
For azalea red runs blood and ruby—
For beneath the stoic, impassioned gargoyles—
Behold! The tears of those who toiled.
Their monuments built with Asian antimony—
Their statues and artifacts, African ivory—
Their advanced machines by Eastern oil—
A thousand thefts, a people despoiled.
Smooth, soft, silk robes of royalty—
Sparkling, shining jewels of majesty—
Grand and great the riches uncoil—
Bones and steel rising from soil.
poem by Ong Kar Jin
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Sunlight on white paint. For the New Year.
The house across the way is newly painted white.
Right now, that’s all my being seems to need:
this winter morning, sharp, cold, bright and clear,
the morning sunlight pours across white paint;
contains a thousand messages, in me
interpreted.. or simply left to be..
this moment, that’s as much as being craves:
this morning’s glory; and I, born for praise..
even as I write, I watch the sun’s
white paint brush move across the house’s front
and tell the eye of reason that this world
is turning, basking, in this morning sun;
already sparkling on the Bondi waves
as if the world had just been washed anew;
cast early dawn’s pearl light on Taj Mahal
as if the sun itself could never tire of beauty;
Italian villa forecourts just hosed down,
the air all fresh to meet the warming day;
the gardens of Carmel, eight hours from now,
will paint their flowers fresh with mist and dew;
as every carefree holiday yourself
recall, as proof eternal of pure soul..
and here - the witness of my silent mind
needs nothing, need go nowhere else to find
its very self, this moment without taint:
immortal sunlight shining on white paint.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Liquid more pure
Liquid more pure
than that flowing on earth
and from the wells in the ground,
from tankards in white clouds
drifting on the blue sky
fall sparkling like jewels
through the air.
The smell of rain
rise from the ground
and the earth is fresh and new
while drops shower it
and a secret ingredient called nitrogen
brings life and gives growth
to grass, flowers, plants and trees.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Peaceful, Easy Feeling
I like the way your sparkling earrings lay,
Against your skin, its so brown
And I wanna sleep with you
In the desert tonight
With a billion stars all around
cause I gotta peaceful easy feeling
And I know you wont let me down
cause Im already standing on the
Ground
And I found out a long time ago
What a woman can do to your soul
Ah, but she cant take you anyway
You dont already know how to go
And I gotta peaceful, easy feeling
And I know you wont let me down
cause Im already standing on the ground
I get this feeling I may know you
As a lover and a friend
But this voice keeps whispering
In my other ear, tells me
I may never see you again
cause I get a peaceful, easy feeling
And I know you wont let me down
cause Im already standing on the ground
cause Im already standing...
On the ground
Oooo, oooo
song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poem Within Me This Morning Is A Quiet Poem
The poem within me this morning is a quiet poem
It does not have to rush anywhere
It can rest its eyes
By gazing calmly
at the yellow- green sunlight
on branches and leaves-
It can simply wait
And smile shyly at whatever strangers appear-
A quiet poem is its own justification
A life may be like this sometimes also-
Sit wait rest contemplate enjoy,
The whole world out there is a peaceful dream
One need not run to or away from.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Temporarily For M lady Tara
The morning mist is hovering
above the lake in veils of white
The beauty it is covering
will soon be revealed by sunlight
The newly risen sun climbs high
and will attain full majesty
The morning mist cannot defy
the sun’s supreme authority.
The scene takes on a clarity
the colours showing clean and bright
The quiet waters easily
reflecting back the strong sunlight.
Mists will return to hide the view
when twilight falls. They always do.
1-Apr-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Twentyfour Hours
Morning skies of blue,
morning drops of dew,
some overhead,
some beneath my feet,
They both come into view.
Afternoon sun so bright,
afternoon heat so white,
some on my skin
how I feel it burn.
It makes me welcome the night.
Evening sounds I hear,
evening sounds appear
when all is quiet,
no noise of the day
is there to interfere.
Peaceful dark of night,
peaceful with no light.
Nothing overhead
tucked up in my bed,
I've nothing but dreams in my sight.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Sunlight
I can’t wait for tomorrow
To see a brand new day
I think about the morning
And it warms my heart
The morning sunlight
That brings me hope
The sunlight
That keeps me to smile
Oh sunlight… don’t you know
How much joy you had brought to me?
I go dance with the trees
To the tune of gasping leaves
Sunlight, Oh sunlight
Show me the way
For a brighter day
Shine on me like a guiding light
Bring me the love
That I can feel deep inside of me
Come to me
And light my window pane
For today, you are my angel
Oh sunlight, my sunlight
Stay close to me
As I feel your power
That embraces me
For today and tomorrow
You’ll be there beside me
Oh sunlight….
You’re my laughter, my friend
My life, my joy
Oh sunlight….! ! !
poem by Cheryl Aldea
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Untouched by Grace, but not by Snow
Waking up, noticing the ground
To my surprise I am surround by snow
Every detail in which was lay
With perfect precise wonder
In this most daring betray of beauty
And all is quiet
All is so annoyingly quiet
The dirt that is covered peeks through the ground
Destroying what was once beauty
That was pronounced by the glistened snow
And all I can do is wonder
How this world become simple to lay
When sleep takes us on we lay
And all is deeply quiet
Our dreams become our wonder
Weather we stand on solid ground
An undefined map layer out by snow
Creates to us sleeping beauty
But what is this beauty?
And where does it lay?
What is understood to be a lie as white as snow
And all has become a false quiet
Life, which puts our burdens to the ground
And here we are left to wonder
To whom to we place our wonder
The one who holds onto your beauty?
Who picks you up off the ground
And will be contempt as you lay
This is the lovely quiet
Dawn, of our love as pure as snow
To ask what is this snow
Pure, grace, love to which we wonder
Making this moment freeze in quiet
Holding unto this betrayed beauty
Which pours unto us as we lay
To the emissive ground
To become as pure as snow is beauty
But do we wonder under stars we lay?
And all was quiet as the snow flake touched ground
Sky Star' (On A Peaceful Night)
Sky Star…., so far….., on a peaceful night….,
Blinking…, twinkling…, with a wondrous light…,
Sky Star…., so far…., sparkling so bright….,
Shimmering…, quivering…, on a peaceful night.
Celestial flame…. Glowing with delight….,
Gleaming, flashing, glimmering white….,
Radiant spirit…., such a beautiful sight…,
Sky Star…., so far….., on a peaceful night.
poem by Trade Martin
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Sunlight
I watch the world go by in silence
Deep in the night in silence
Time going by so slow
I think about the morning
And it warns my heart
Because tonight I'm going back to the one I love
And by tomorrow with the dawn I'll be there
And he'll be beside me
Sunlight, oh, sunlight
Bring me the love I'll need to guide me
Shining deep inside of me
Sunlight, oh, sunlight
Show me the way
I look at the stars and I pray for morning
Counting the hours till morning
Thinking about his smile
His sweet smile
I'm standing on the promise of a brand new day
I couldn't face another night staying all alone
I know he needs me just as much as I need him
So, baby, I'm coming home
Sunlight, oh, sunlight
Bring me the love I'll need to guide me
Shining deep inside of me
Sunlight, oh, sunlight
Show me the way
Ooh ohhhhh, yeah
And when I hold him
I won't let him let me go, no no no
No more running far and wide
I'm gonna stay right by his side
He's my laughter, my lover, my life
He's my sunlight
Sunlight, oh, sunlight
Show me the way to a brighter day
Oh, sunlight, oh, sunlight
Bring me the love I'll need to guide me
Shining deep inside of me
Sunlight, oh, sunlight
Show me the way to a brighter day
Oh, sunlight, oh, sunlight
Bring me the love I'll need to guide me
Shining deep inside of me
Sunlight, oh, sunlight
Show me the way...
To a brighter day
Ooohhhhh
song performed by by Lea Salonga
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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U n i c o r n 1 5
Those to whom it has revealed itself
- grazing in a grove of trees,
a ray of morning sunlight
lighting the dewdrops on the mossy grass;
or galloping, white mane flying in the wind,
over the high green hills;
or briefly glimpsed, shining-eyed
between the white-spumed waves –
they bring back with them, the experience
which always will be theirs;
some place of inner peace
to which they may refer all the events
of life; so that, like some shaken bright kaleidoscope,
all falls into its place.
Some never speak of this; some see no reason not to speak;
and risk response: thus, some envious, as ‘why not me? ’
some, just curious; some, eager to hear all,
as if they always knew, or ‘thought they guessed’, that it exists…
Even spoken from the heart, words live a life that’s perilous:
some who are so fortunate as to catch it there
in that sacred grove of trees, and on whom
the unicorn bestows its glance, as eye to eye,
speak of a softness, of a sweetness; some
say, it looked into my inmost soul;
some simply fall in love with their true peaceful self;
some speak of being so at one with it,
that all the world is ever one: so that,
its glance bestowed on them, their every glance
henceforward, sees that unity in everything.
some speak of it; some hold it in
pure silence of the heart, and live it
in themselves, as if
they are its children in the world;
their glance, as sparkling eye meets sparkling eye,
will tell us all we need to know
that moment when we know
that there is something which we know, have ever known,
but knew not what it was until
- like some glimpse of the unicorn,
here, now, always; one glimpse, one glance,
and its work done -
we know we know
poem by Michael Shepherd
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A September Morn
The early morning mist
submerged the trees,
making them into islands
dotted on a sea of white.
A couple of rabbits scampered
among the dew wet grass
their white cotton tails
bobbing up and down
as they had their breakfast
on the sweet grassy ground.
The first spears of sunlight
broke across the sky
as the day awoke
before my sleepy eyes.
14 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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Sparkling Water
Sparkling Water drips like sugar coming from a grand white sugar cane,
Sparkling Water falls around, to the ground and speeds like cars on a freeway lane.
Sparkling Water glistens and gleams, you know it seems as real as it can be,
Nothing is real, but you hear me feel, the cold, pure breeze.
It pushes away,
In the hot summer day.
Like a frog in the green,
Those annoying little things.
They jump just like water,
Like babies tater toter.
We drink it,
We need it.
Its water, it sparkles, its beautiful, it gleams, so pure, must have it, I need it.
Sparkling Water, its life.
(Simile)
poem by Sam Panchenko
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A Ridge
Sunlight morning is pink-
Peaceful like a ridge,
Though, eternal fires burned
Of the phoenix wing...
poem by Tsira Gogeshvili
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A White House
There is an old abandoned house.
I planted a white rose in it's precious soil.
Clouds begin to rain calmly on the peaceful rose.
Its sparkling roots and stems slowly cover the house.
I returned the next day only to see the white rose turn the house into a big, beautifully white rose.
poem by Roshaun Beasley
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U N I C O R N 1 5
and though there are places, times,
when you are most likely to find it
there in your heart,
there in front of your eyes –
the mossy glade within the woods,
the sunlight filtering through the trees,
or in the pure air of the highest hills,
or among the tossing white-topped waves –
or at the quiet times –
as the dawn sunlight makes the world anew,
plays to make diamonds of the dew,
or as the peace of dusk descends,
carrying a silent blessing –
the places and the times
when you’re most ready in yourself to meet it –
yet it can appear to you at any time or place –
the crowds, the rush, the noise
cannot disturb it
if it wishes to be seen by you
and afterwards, you’ll remember,
know just why it happened to be then and there;
and what it told you, all about yourself;
when it’s there, although we call it ‘white’,
it’s more than white – almost transparent,
almost like a living crystal sculpture of itself,
almost silver; somewhere where substances and colours
are first made, and meet each other;
it may look at you, with eyes that seem to know everything
and find everything, peaceful, loving, beautiful and reasonable;
or it may not look at you; but still
it talks with you with its very presence;
you know that’s so, because
you find yourself speaking to it in the same way,
opening your heart to it, because
it listens to you; it’s there just listening;
its listening is understanding;
and afterwards, the ‘afterwards’ is changed for ever;
as if you’ve met yourself, and find that good;
the world is yours, and possibilities
are boundless; and the unicorn
does not need your eyes - it makes its home
there in your heart
as if it had never been away.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Snowflakes
Snowsflakes
Travel through air
As numerous as the stars
Each one is different from the last
Each one a new pattern
They glide down like white fairies
Laying to rest on the ground
Slowly the individual
Little ice crystals
Amass to form piles of snow
Coverving the ground
In a fine, cold white powder
As sunlight fades
Starlight takes its place with the moon over head
poem by Autumn Winds
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All's Not Quiet On The Western Front
All's not quiet on the western front.
The noise is raucous now.
It assaults the serenity of our ears
and I often wonder how
in my short life span
how it could get like this?
Did we in the west forget the silence?
The silence is what I miss.
Deluged by sounds not pleasing
I try my best not to hear.
But so much of it is deafening.
It gets louder to me each year.
Gone are the days of peaceful melodies.
They've been highjacked by the rap.
And the booming boxes that house them
sound out like a thunderclap.
This generation on the western front
doesn't remember what is through.
For if they did they would welcome it
like grass welcomes soft morning dew.
The pace they live has taken them to
a noisy frenetic place.
No. all's not quiet on the western front.
Serenity has lost its face.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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