The Other World page one
THE—OTHER—WORLD-UNSPOILT page-one
The next dimension,
The invisible place,
The home of spirits,
A place of untouched beauty,
That place is here,
Not up there,
Mountains high,
Decorated with snow,
Rivers wild and free,
Crystal clear,
Cascading,
Roaring,
Thundering,
Plunging
White swirling water,
Foaming,
A long river banks,
Trees giants have grown,
Reaching up and up,
Touching clouds,
Disappearing into a silver mist,
Over the land they span,
Like a giant fan,
Swaying in harmonic rhyme,
Cohorts by the breeze,
They shade,
They cover
They become homes,
For birds,
All sorts of furry creatures,
I see valleys
Where silver ribbons flow,
And Technicolor,
Glows,
Rainbows,
Double and double,
Magnificent,
Magnified,
Magnetism,
poem by Osceola Waters
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Makarora
Rocky peaks of Makarora in the summer wear their snow
And down the lush green grassy valley the clear mountain river flow
Songbirds piping in the beechwoods songthrush, bellbird and
redpoll
This a place of peace and beauty Makarora has a soul.
These great mountains look no different than to when the first man came
They have a wild rugged beauty for want of a better name
To the coming generations these high peaks will look the same
Man will not build houses on them man such wildness could not tame.
Summer's come to Makarora and along with her brought her green
Beauty to compare with any with the finest I have seen
This place would inspire an artist peaks in summer white
with snow
Beechwoods and through lush green valley sparkling mountain river flow.
Those high peaks of makarora will not change as years go by
Out there on those rugged mountains bones of Maori hunter lie
Still these mountains keep their secrets monarchs of the higher ground
Overlooking Makarora and the woodlands all around
Snow clad peaks of Makarora reaching upwards towards the sky
I am just a passing stranger and I'll be bidding you goodbye
But I will take with me the memories of beauty I have seen
today
Woodlands in a lush green valley by those mountains far away
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Creek
The place where crystal-clear water pulses
through the lush veins of the riverbed
where the moonlit fish flop
gracefully out of the shimmering water,
A true sanctuary of peace
where the soft humming of water
fills you ears with a harmonic rhyme,
Frenzied insects buzz around mindlessly
over the hypnotic mist of the water,
A place of serenity, gingerly expecting
the ever-changing seasons as they flow by slowly,
Children giggling happily as they wade with the curious, nibbling fish
Jade green leaves falling generously into the
embracing water below,
Red-tailed beauties gently hovering under the rushing surface
of their underwater kingdom,
Sweet daisies grazing the edge of the river,
giving off their intoxicating aroma
My most cherished place where I can relax with the river,
and spend endless hours chatting with the fish
poem by Katherine Lyczek
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Misty River
This morning
Me in this Misty River
All the happiness
I am feeling inside myself
Misty River
The mist is coming
From this Misty River
There are clouds
In the sky
And the mist
Is caused by the condensation
Of the heat mixed in the cold water
Misty River
I am in a fishing boat
That boat is moving slowly in this
Misty river
It is early in the morning
I am eating my breakfast in the fishing boat in the middle of this
Misty River
I hear the birds singing early in the morning
In this Misty River
There must be trees because the sound of the birds is coming from the Branches
Misty River
So peaceful
It looks so different with the mist
No one is around but me
With my fishing boat
And the beautiful sound of the birds
It is so nice
To have a place to come to
Where I can
Hear the sound of the birds
And be left alone
With no one disturbing me
Misty River
This is my special place
And by afternoon
No clouds I will see
The birds are beautiful
Their song is just beautiful like mother nature intended it to be
If nobody else appreciates this Misty River
I do
Misty River
I will die for you
Misty River
I will shed my tears for you
I have been coming here for so long now
Misty River
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Tentative
True beauty seems, of course, quite rare,
Somehow that's meant to be,
The tentative white tiger there,
He's untamed, fancy free...
To me, that tiger's all alone,
His wits his own defence,
To most, a giant now full grown,
No others as his friends...
The world he walks, that's all he knows,
His land both night and day
And every single place he goes
Is merely on his way...
Yet now, beside the water's edge,
A new world gets revealed,
He's tentative without knowledge,
Yet seeks what lies concealed...
In time, this world will be his, too,
His second home, to speak,
His special place, forever new,
Each visit quite unique...
To him, the water's wonderful,
True beauty all the time,
Sensational and sensual,
So fluid and sublime...
Denis Martindale, copyright, June 2012.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Tentative'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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Our Land
Our land of Australia, this country so wide,
Where on holidays, you can find somewhere to hide;
Away from the noise, to the county, or the sea side,
A place to call home awhile, watch the incoming tide.
Our Land is made of states, and mountains so high,
Where you can climb, watch the scenes, and give a sigh;
The vastness as you look around, and thank the good Lord,
For His creation, of beauty, then I see as I read His Word,
Our land of creatures, wild, fauna, roaming so free,
And the many colours, of the creatures that my eyes do see;
From the large emu, to the tiniest lizard, crawling near me,
I then thank the good Lord, these things were meant to be.
Our land of mountains, and the rivers and sea that's here,
The flora spread around, their colors so close and near.
Reminds me of the rainbow, and Gods promise so dear,
That God made creation for us, with His Love, takes away fear.
Our land of many places, and a nation to behold,
To think of the trees standing tall, some very old;
And then in the ground, we find some beauty, as Gold,
But then look at the brave hearts of a patient, who is Bold.
Our land so big, Yet from a plane so very high,
Looks so tiny, like ants, crawling all by;
Look at the fish, swimming around, in the sea, oh I sigh,
Thank you Dear Lord, for everything, I've seen by and by.
poem by Margaret Haig
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You Told Me
I remember you reading me about
Places beyond the mountains,
Above the trees and behind rainbows-
You told me that skies turned gray here sometimes
And the sound of thunder would
Resonate throughout -
The places I used to run and hide from and
Those places where the skies would at times turn red in hue
Where the light of the sun would bear down
Upon that paranormal pond I so often spoke of-
I had told you about the world I lived in where
Few people lived and cats ran wild while
Trees grew tall to scrape the clouds as
Pink and silver as they reflected in
The course of a running stream that lead
Towards a safe place where I could hide from
That world I so feared where cars ran vicariously-
Clocks ran from nine to five in that world where
Three billion people were known to live-
That world where I had never felt safe at home.
To retreat to the land beyond the mountains and
Behind rainbows-
I told you in those rare moments when I was afraid to speak and
Fearful of everything you deemed as “real”-
I know the world in which you live is real to you and
Although this land of purity, and through my eyes
I saw as safe and majestic-
You told me this was none but a delusion-
I remember living for a short while
In your world, where guns fired, thunder clapped, cars would rush
Carelessly down boulevards and skyscrapers were built
To barely withstand rain, sleet and snow-
In desperation I spread the wings you told me did not exist-
Lifted my body and flew beyond the mountains and the rainbows and far away from
This world so overwhelming and so threatening-
You were the one who read me tales about lands beyond the mountains
And in my mind I found a place behind a rainbow-
And it didn’t matter if it was none but a delusion because-
Through my own eyes, what feels like home,
No matter where the place may be-
Is truly home to me- no matter where its destiny-
You told me the thunder would sound soon and the lightening would strike-
I told you “Never in my world” and if some day I also saw it as a “delusion”
It would not matter because I have found my safe haven here-
Alive and content in this place where I can call myself
Settled and secure,
I would never turn my head to see the rain falling upon
Skyscrapers and cars breaking down on the highway
Early in the morning-
Whether my dream world is real to you or
Just a figment of my imagination in your mind,
It is true to life to me-
That is what matters and
If some day you wish to see what living blissfully encounters-
Climb over that mountain and beyond a rainbow
After a storm-
You shall find me there to
Welcome you and perhaps you also-
Shall never see any turning back, as
What is veracity and what is phantasmal-
Is as has been said-
Is in the eyes of the beholder-
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Silver Birds
Silver birds
getting ready to fly
red, white and blue
it's our pride in the sky
Silver birds
above the clouds
making waves
making us proud
Silver birds
shining bright
into the evening
into the night
Silver birds
amongst the rest
flying strong
to be the best
Silver birds
coming round the bend
getting ready to land
out of their descend
Silver birds
representing the states
with the colors of freedom
at all their gates.
Charlie Vergara
11.21.2007
2576
poem by White Tiger
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The Winds Message
There came a whisper down the Bland between the dawn and dark,
Above the tossing of the pines, above the river's flow;
It stirred the boughs of giant gums and stalwart iron-bark;
It drifted where the wild ducks played amid the swamps below;
It brought a breath of mountain air from off the hills of pine,
A scent of eucalyptus trees in honey-laden bloom;
And drifting, drifting far away along the Southern line
It caught from leaf and grass and fern a subtle strange perfume.
It reached the toiling city folk, but few there were that heard--
The rattle of their busy life had choked the whisper down;
And some but caught a fresh-blown breeze with scent of pine that stirred
A thought of blue hills far away beyond the smoky town;
And others heard the whisper pass, but could not understand
The magic of the breeze's breath that set their hearts aglow,
Nor how the roving wind could bring across the Overland
A sound of voices silent now and songs of long ago.
But some that heard the whisper clear were filled with vague unrest;
The breeze had brought its message home, they could not fixed abide;
Their fancies wandered all the day towards the blue hills' breast,
Towards the sunny slopes that lie along the riverside,
The mighty rolling western plains are very fair to see,
Where waving to the passing breeze the silver myalls stand,
But fairer are the giant hills, all rugged though they be,
From which the two great rivers rise that run along the Bland.
Oh! rocky range and rugged spur and river running clear,
That swings around the sudden bends with swirl of snow-white foam,
Though we, your sons are far away, we sometimes seem to hear
The message that the breezes bring to call the wanderers home.
The mountain peaks are white with snow that feeds a thousand rills,
Along the rive banks the maize grows tall on virgin land,
And we shall live to see once more those sunny southern hills,
And strike once more the bridle track that leads along the Bland.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Old Idea Of Choan By Rosoriu
I
The narrow streets cut into the wide highway at Choan,
Dark oxen, white horses,
drag on the seven coaches with outriders.
The coaches are perfumed wood,
The jewelled chair is held up at the crossway,
Before the royal lodge:
A glitter of golden saddles, awaiting the princess;
They eddy before the gate of the barons.
The canopy embroidered with dragons
drinks in and casts back the sun.
Evening comes.
The trappings are bordered with mist.
The hundred cords of mist are spread through
and double the trees,
Night birds, and night women,
Spread out their sounds through the gardens.
II
Birds with flowery wing, hovering butterflies
crowd over the thousand gates,
Trees that glitter like jade,
terraces tinged with silver,
The seed of a myriad hues,
A net-work of arbours and passages and covered ways,
Double towers, winged roofs,
border the net-work of ways:
A place of felicitous meeting.
Riu's house stands out on the sky,
with glitter of colour
As Butei of Kan had made the high golden lotus
to gather his dews,
Before it another house which I do not know:
How shall we know all the friends
whom we meet on strange roadways?
poem by Ezra Pound
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The Magical World of My Dreams
A silver key has locked me inside my own world, where I have
Lost myself inside the shadows of my dreams-
As would a thundercloud, my tears are like the rain that falls-
The sky would clear and as the sun would re-emerge,
Perhaps there is some levity inside this place of my reverie-
Having lost my soul and my spirit following close behind as a
Fledgling bird may have flown by within a moments notice,
I hear the ticking of a clock rhythmically keeping time to
The motion of my steps slowly walking away from
The confusion, fear, and destitution of veracity-
I am none but a silhouette slipping through a crack in the door
Leading to this place of my flight of the imagination-
I have lost myself along the way I once believed was paved for me alone,
Though only lead me towards madness
And to a world so vast, frightening and unfamiliar-
Running backward down that very same path until I arrived at
That mystifying door that was open for me alone,
That door only I could enter with that magical silver key,
I could hear the songs of angels singing tunes of love, peace and faith-
Stepping with caution over the threshold of that door,
As I closed it gently but firmly behind me-
Here inside this place where there are no hills and trees grow
With leaves of silver and a creek runs through in all of its crystalline clarity-
The sun here is just bright enough to guide me down a
Path of hope- and the people in this place are not threatening and
Are true to their word, innocuous, caring and promising that
Here tears are golden and only shed for joy-
No room for sadness, disappointment and fear in this miraculous land,
This magnificent place where I have been reborn-
I own a silver key and a special paintbrush with which I have painted
A rainbow across a sky of cerulean blue- along with phantasmal seraphs
With unyielding strength I have pushed all clouds away.
I listen to the joyous tunes of cherubs’ singing- I can see the reflection of
Peace flowers dancing in a cool breeze before the sapphire-hued pond-
My spirit and soul I once believed lost has been found here-
I have locked the door between myself and what so many have deemed as reality
With that phantasmal silver key and thrown it to the wind.
So many have believed that painted rainbows, crystalline creeks and ponds of sapphire-
Songs of angels and trees bearing leaves of silver
Are none but figments of my imagination- I have in a sense lost myself
Inside a world of my delusions but having abandoned fear, sadness and dismay-
This new found peace of mind has become my new reality –as that silver key is
Blowing about in the wind somewhere, some place a long distance upward in the sky-
I know I am safe here inside the shadows of my dreams- knowing that
All clouds have disappeared, my tears
Which have fallen with the rain of past days, are forever gone…
poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Magical Land of My Dreams
A silver key has locked me inside my own world, where I have
Lost myself inside the shadows of my dreams-
As would a thundercloud, my tears are like the rain that falls-
The sky would clear and as the sun would re-emerge,
Perhaps there is some levity inside this place of my reverie-
Having lost my soul and my spirit following close behind as a
Fledgling bird may have flown by within a moments notice,
I hear the ticking of a clock rhythmically keeping time to
The motion of my steps slowly walking away from
The confusion, fear, and destitution of veracity-
I am none but a silhouette slipping through a crack in the door
Leading to this place of my flight of the imagination-
I have lost myself along the way I once believed was paved for me alone,
Though only lead me towards madness
And to a world so vast, frightening and unfamiliar-
Running backward down that very same path until I arrived at
That mystifying door that was open for me alone,
That door only I could enter with that magical silver key,
I could hear the songs of angels singing tunes of love, peace and faith-
Stepping with caution over the threshold of that door,
As I closed it gently but firmly behind me-
Here inside this place where there are no hills and trees grow
With leaves of silver and a creek runs through in all of its crystalline clarity-
The sun here is just bright enough to guide me down a
Path of hope- and the people in this place are not threatening and
Are true to their word, innocuous, caring and promising that
Here tears are golden and only shed for joy-
No room for sadness, disappointment and fear in this miraculous land,
This magnificent place where I have been reborn-
I own a silver key and a special paintbrush with which I have painted
A rainbow across a sky of cerulean blue- along with phantasmal seraphs
With unyielding strength I have pushed all clouds away.
I listen to the joyous tunes of cherubs’ singing- I can see the reflection of
Peace flowers dancing in a cool breeze before the sapphire-hued pond-
My spirit and soul I once believed lost has been found here-
I have locked the door between myself and what so many have deemed as reality
With that phantasmal silver key and thrown it to the wind.
So many have believed that painted rainbows, crystalline creeks and ponds of sapphire-
Songs of angels and trees bearing leaves of silver
Are none but figments of my imagination- I have in a sense lost myself
Inside a world of my delusions but having abandoned fear, sadness and dismay-
This new found peace of mind has become my new reality –as that silver key is
Blowing about in the wind somewhere, some place a long distance upward in the sky-
I know I am safe here inside the shadows of my dreams- knowing that
All clouds have disappeared, my tears
Which have fallen with the rain of past days, are forever gone…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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By The Rosanna--To F.M. Stanzer Thal, Tyrol
The old grey Alp has caught the cloud,
And the torrent river sings aloud;
The glacier-green Rosanna sings
An organ song of its upper springs.
Foaming under the tiers of pine,
I see it dash down the dark ravine,
And it tumbles the rocks in boisterous play,
With an earnest will to find its way.
Sharp it throws out an emerald shoulder,
And, thundering ever of the mountain,
Slaps in sport some giant boulder,
And tops it in a silver fountain.
A chain of foam from end to end,
And a solitude so deep, my friend,
You may forget that man abides
Beyond the great mute mountain-sides.
Yet to me, in this high-walled solitude
Of river and rock and forest rude,
The roaring voice through the long white chain
Is the voice of the world of bubble and brain.
poem by George Meredith
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A Home
no matter what there is
always a place called home
at least you finally decide
to call it that way,
you have been away from
this home
for many years
those were the years of the
struggle of
what you are and what they think you are
which is the place
and this is not where
you want to die
you want to live somewhere else
though you do not really know
where
but it has always been a dream
of somewhere
a house by the river
a place where hills grown into
mountains
your hair turns white
and ankles ache and names become
haze and places become
smoky
you stop, right here, you declare
this is home
this moment when you do not
give yourself the right to choose anymore
it is here
right here
you place yourself like a backpack
and mark a spot with
your bamboo cane
and then
you claim the right to be here
your home
yourself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Antarctica
Jim Moginie/Rob Hirst/Martin Rotsey/Peter Garrett)
I'm a snow plow
I must now plough on
I'm a snow plough
I'm a settler's son
I'm a storm cloud
Rain myself all over the place
I'm a storm cloud
Wipe that smile right off your face
There must be one place left in the world
Where the mountains meet the sea
There must be one place left in the world
Where the water's real and clean
I'm a landslide
I'm a downhill run
I'm a landslide
Open season's just begun
There must be one place left in the world
Where the skin says it can breathe
There's gotta be one place left in the world
It's a solitude of distance and relief
There's gotta be one place left in the world
I'm a snow plough
There has to be one place left in the world
I'm a snow plough
One place
One place left in the world
I'm a short fuse
I'm a snow blues
I'm a landslide hummin' I'm a downhill runnin'
There must be one place left in this world
Where we can be
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Country Roads
Almost heaven, west virginia
Blue ridge mountains, shenandoah river
Life is old there, older than the trees
Younger than the mountains, blowing like a breeze
Country roads, take me home
To the place, I be-long
West virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads
All my memries, gather round her
Miners lady, stranger to blue water
Dark and dusty, painted on the sky
Misty taste of moonshine, teardrop in my eye
Country roads, take me home
To the place, I be-long
West virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads
I hear her voice, in the mornin hours she calls to me
The radio reminds me of my home far a-way
And drivin down the road I get a feeling
That I should have been home yesterday, yesterday
Country roads, take me home
To the place, I be-long
West virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Near Where the River Meets The Sea
The river widens and deepens as it nears the ocean and into a huge mass of water does grow
To look at it does hardly seem to be flowing at a snail's pace it does crawl along so slow
For dabbling and diving water birds ideal to live in with plenty fish and other water food to eat
The World is quiet by the high and brown paddocks near where the sea and the river do meet
The grebes, musk duck and black duck, the coot and dusky moorhen
The cormorants, egrets and darters birds shy of children, women and men
The omnivirous silver gulls in freshwater like to wash their feathers and preen
Near to where the river meets the ocean so many waterbirds for to be seen
When you tell me of one who does not love Nature you tell me of one to beauty blind
You tell me of one who is not observant with darkness of soul and of mind
So much beauty there is in Nature her wonders every day I see
On the bank of the slow flowing river a magpie sings on a stringybark tree
So calming for to stand on the brown banks where the river crawls on to the sea
I like billions of others love Nature the mother of the wild and the free.
poem by Francis Duggan
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This Is Where I Belong
I hear the wind across the plain
A sound so strong - that calls my name
It's wild like the river - it's warm like the sun
Ya it's here - this is where I belong
Under the starry skies - where eagles have flown
This place is paradise - it's the place I call home
The moon on the mountains
The whisper through the trees
The waves on the water
Let nothing come between this and me
Cuz everything I want - is everything that's here
And when when we're all together - there's nothing to fear
And wherever I wander - the one thing I've learned
It's to here - I will always....always return
song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Save Forests and Rare Species
The Franklin forests are extinct;
These trees of beauty are now rare;
No more are they found in the wild;
Their fragrant flowers tempt a child!
Last seen in 18 zero3,
By Altamaha river-side –
A deciduous tree or shrub,
It grows upto a twenty feet.
With leaves that change color by fall,
Its snow-white flowers are showy;
With golden yellow stamens free,
It is now grown in pots from seeds!
But nothing like the forests wild
Of Franklin trees that grew on own;
You could not find a path through them –
Home to wild animals many.
How Nature rears a forest dense!
–The secrets, no man deciphers;
The way they flourish in the wild,
No gardener can do like-wise!
As man destroys more forest trees,
For want of newer farming land,
Wild wondrous trees then cease to be,
And other species vanish too.
Deforestation is a crime
That has gone uncontrolled with time;
Rare species of trees, shrubs and beasts
Have been effaced from earth with ease.
The earth has lesser green cover!
’Tis growing bald, much more each day,
As forest trees are felled for wood,
At rates more than we ever should.
World’s rain-forests are turning scarce –
A cause of global-warming fast;
Landslides and floods are dangers new;
More species turn something of past!
Trees extract carbon-dioxide,
And make the air less polluted;
Wild beasts are on the rampage when
Their forest habitats are gone.
Save forests and afforest, man;
The clouds bring rain when trees ask for;
Wild beasts need forests for their homes;
Preserve forests in ways you can.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-23-2008
poem by John Celes
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The World is a Place I've Never Been
The world is a place I've never been
Snow-topped mountains,
Blissful plains,
Roaring big cities.
But are places the world?
Is home the world?
If home's the world
I've been to the world.
But what makes home?
Does a place make a home?
Do people make a home?
Maybe people are the world.
poem by Llew N. Rmail
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Paradise Valley
can't think straight my mind is covered with clouds
no doubt what I'm talking about;
I've never seen a place like this I miss no bliss
how could I ever forget how it feels, how it heals,
my wound, my blood, whatever pain my soul has got
these waters so clear
near and far all I can hear
rustle of leaves and insects hummin on trees
no place like this - no place like this
paradise valley
the sun reflects some billion glitters of water
direct in my face but I can't take my eyes of this place
so peaceful, beautiful, it flows all into one
meadows, mountains, I, the sky
so close I can never feel to gods own miracle
and then I see, I see that eagle fly
no place like this - no place like this
paradise valley
song performed by by H-BlockX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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