Genius is a bend in the creek where bright water has gathered, and which mirrors the trees, the sky and the banks. It just does that because it is there and the scenery is there. Talent is a fine mirror with a silver frame, with the name of the owner engraved on the back.
quote by Edgar Lee Masters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Descriptive Poem on the Silvery Tay
Beautiful silvery Tay,
With your landscapes, so lovely and gay,
Along each side of your waters, to Perth all the way;
No other river in the world has got scenery more fine,
Only I am told the beautiful Rhine,
Near to Wormit Bay, it seems very fine,
Where the Railway Bridge is towering above its waters sublime,
And the beautiful ship Mars,
With her Juvenile Tare,
Both lively and gay,
Does carelessly lie By night and by day,
In the beautiful Bay
Of the silvery Tay.
Beautiful, beautiful silvery Tay,
Thy scenery is enchanting on a fine summer day,
Near by Balnerino it is beautiful to behold,
When the trees are in full bloom and the cornfields seems like gold -
And nature's face seems gay,
And the lambkins they do play,
And the humming bee is on the wing,
It is enough to make one sing,
While they carelessly do stray,
Along the beautiful banks of the silvery Tay,
Beautiful silvery Tay,
Rolling smoothly on your way,
Near by Newport, as clear as the day,
Thy scenery around is charming I'll be bound...
And would make the heart of any one feel light and gay on a fine summer day,
To view the beautiful scenery along the banks of the silvery Tay.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Otter Creek
Past meadows, beyond trees, down muddy banks flows otter creek.
King fisher in branches, perched, poised.
Skydiver, bullet from above, silent splash, into otter creek.
Muscles plucked from their beds, shells discarded, gathered for fun, pass up not one.
Trout fry swim swiftly, cray fish beneath rocks avoid seeking hands, pincers poised, threatening stance.
Kids crossing fallen logs, catching frogs, skipping rocks, swimming in otter creek.
Mud wars rage, picnic blanket laid on the green glade near otter creek.
We follow paw prints, beneath willow tree roots, den site dug deep into muddy banks of otter creek.
Within the town of Franklinville, hot summers day, sister, niece, and I, our dad's.
Never saw the otters of the creek, only paw prints, left proof of an existence.
In memories I venture, hoping, just a glimpse.
To sit once again, past meadows, beyond trees, down muddy banks, there it flows, otter creek.
poem by Gary Kedron
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The Mirror Struggled
The mirror struggled; reflecting beauty such as hers
Prescribed a glory in the challenge – a fairytale
Or such as like! To shimmer back hypnotic hues
From auras of her skin – how do mirrors cope?
Hoary tales of pretty adolescent buds
Could never hope to match the tomes of dreamy
Pulchritude apprising us of such a belle as she.
The mirror shone; and as it worked itself, a moment –
Did it overlook the hidden melancholy?
Were melting eyes bedewed–? Florid lips imbued
With mournfulness? The hindrance of the silver glass!
Oh! to seek – to know the meaning of the sorrow!
She (with tearful hair, an image out of heaven)
Never opened up her heart. The mirror struggled.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
m irror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Loch Katrine
Beautiful Loch Katrine in all thy majesty so grand,
Oh! how charming and fascinating is thy silver strand!
Thou certainly art most lovely, and worthy to be seen,
Especially thy beautiful bay and shrubberies green.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
And as I gaze upon it, let me pause and think,
How many people in Glasgow of its water drink,
That's conveyed to them in pipes from its placid lake,
And are glad to get its water their thirst to slake.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
The mountains on either side of it are beautiful to be seen,
Likewise the steamers sailing on it with their clouds of steam:
And their shadows on its crystal waters as they pass along,
Is enough to make the tourist burst into song.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
'Tis beautiful to see its tiny wimpling rills,
And the placid Loch in the hollow of a circle of hills,
Glittering like silver in the sun's bright array,
Also many a promontory, little creek, and bay.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
Then to the east there's the finely wooded Ellen's Isle,
There the tourist can the tedious hours beguile,
As he gazes on its white gravelled beautiful bay,
It will help to drive dull care away.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
The mountains Ben-An and Ben-Venue are really very grand
Likewise the famous and clear silver strand;
Where the bold Rob Roy spent many a happy day,
With his faithful wife, near by its silvery bay.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Can You Turn?
Can you turn from the sword
that invites-please
'Hang upon me? '
Or shrink back from the
boasting pool that whispers
'Jump'
But I am afraid of blood which
makes me sick
Scalding water on tender skin-
It is terrible, terrible, terrible
Faith is useless here:
I tell you this, it is no illusion
The blood is real and so is the bubbling water
Look carefully:
Behind the road you trod;
rubbed out
Do you believe me?
Look at me!
'Speaking'
But you couldn't... trees they
Were too thick.. they went by
Chanting, chanting, chanting:
It's fine It's fine It's fine
Jump in, jump in, jump in -
But I'm already - splashing, splashing, splashing
Must I beat my way to the riverbank
to prove I'm wet
Outrage danced on my lips, that
Sputtered and danced
Can You Turn?
And around the bend came the
voices fainter and fainter
'the water - the water - the water
is fine
jump in- jump in - jump in-
And no more I was free! !
I dipped my hand in the water
And the drops ran out of
my fingers - the sun lit
into my throat -
What a wonderful, wonderful day
for knowing I thought
'What a wonderful, wonderful place for swimming'
I murmured
And it was true: the water
was cream and silk
The sky was bright as disaster
Suppose they came back?
Suppose they came back!
Was the mutter that crinkled the
edges of being
But the water smoothed in
over the sunshine
'False friends' 'Deceitful loves'
Who has not known these
the world over?
Does it then blot out the sun! ? !
And dry up the river?
Can You Turn?
Jump in, my dear, my dears
my dears-
The water is fine, it's fine, it's
fine
The water- the water- the water
The whisper is treading water
with no body
and not convinced -
But I will learn
I will Learn.... I will learn
Some day I may lead the
chanters myself
Yes it's well to have marching
feet and banners
Even with this
'The water is fine, jump in, '
they cried
Its fine, its fine, its fine
jump in- jump in- jump in
'But I'm already in, ' I screamed
'can't you see, can't you see,
can't you see? '
poem by Isabelle Cooper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reedy River
Ten miles down Reedy River
A pool of water lies,
And all the year it mirrors
The changes in the skies,
And in that pool's broad bosom
Is room for all the stars;
Its bed of sand has drifted
O'er countless rocky bars.
Around the lower edges
There waves a bed of reeds,
Where water rats are hidden
And where the wild duck breeds;
And grassy slopes rise gently
To ridges long and low,
Where groves of wattle flourish
And native bluebells grow.
Beneath the granite ridges
The eye may just discern
Where Rocky Creek emerges
From deep green banks of fern;
And standing tall between them,
The grassy she-oaks cool
The hard, blue-tinted waters
Before they reach the pool.
Ten miles down Reedy River
One Sunday afternoon,
I rode with Mary Campbell
To that broad, bright lagoon;
We left our horses grazing
Till shadows climbed the peak,
And strolled beneath the she-oaks
On the banks of Rocky Creek.
Then home along the river
That night we rode a race,
And the moonlight lent a glory
To Mary Campbell's face;
And I pleaded for our future
All through that moonlight ride,
Until our weary horses
Drew closer side by side.
Ten miles from Ryan's Crossing
And five miles below the peak,
I built a little homestead
On the banks of Rocky Creek;
I cleared the land and fenced it
And ploughed the rich, red loam,
And my first crop was golden
When I brought my Mary home.
Now still down Reedy River
The grassy she-oaks sigh,
And the water-holes still mirror
The pictures in the sky;
And over all for ever
Go sun and moon and stars,
While the golden sand is drifting
Across the rocky bars
But of the hut I builded
There are no traces now.
And many rains have levelled
The furrows of the plough;
And my bright days are olden,
For the twisted branches wave
And the wattle blossoms golden
On the hill by Mary's grave.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Robert Burns
Immortal Robert Burns of Ayr,
There's but few poets can with you compare;
Some of your poems and songs are very fine:
To "Mary in Heaven" is most sublime;
And then again in your "Cottar's Saturday Night,"
Your genius there does shine most bright,
As pure as the dewdrops of the night.
Your "Tam O'Shanter" is very fine,
Both funny, racy, and divine,
From John O'Groats to Dumfries
All critics consider it to be a masterpiece,
And, also, you have said the same,
Therefore they are not to blame.
And in my own opinion both you and they are right,
For your genius there does sparkle bright,
Which I most solemnly declare
To thee, Immortal Bard of Ayr!
Your "Banks and Braes of Bonnie Doon"
Is sweet and melodious in its tune,
And the poetry is moral and sublime,
And in my opinion nothing can be more fine.
Your "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled"
Is most beautiful to hear sung or read;
For your genius there does shine as bright,
Like unto the stars of night
Immortal Bard of Ayr! I must conclude my muse
To speak in praise of thee does not refuse,
For you were a mighty poet, few could with you compare,
And also an honour to Scotland, for your genius it is rare.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hidden Hall of Mirrors
Silver maze behind the door
Opens when I hit the floor
Little girl that’s trapped inside
Doesn’t know she lives a lie
Lost within a silver maze
Now the world begins to haze
Mirrors flex and bend too great
Rebound back and now they break
Glass flies, reflecting, tearing
At her courage, quickly wearing
The door is open, the deed is done
It’s far too late, she cannot run
From the horrors sealed away
In the hall, where she play
She must face the terrors
Within the hidden hall of mirrors
poem by Amanda Swain
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mirrortalk
The mirror shows me up for what I am
But also fuels my pretensions, many a time
When I stutter and stumble
It appears to relish, chuckle
Mirrors come in different shapes
Images, they do sometimes bend
On occasions, it distorts what it sees
Yet other times, you misconstrue what you behold
A good friend is one, who
Holds up the mirror unto you
If you don’t see the image
What can the mirror do, or counsel sage?
It is inconvenient, facing the looking glass
When quizzed about looks
I choose the safe mode
A mirror-cracking dude!
You have everything at stake
The mirror has nothing to lose
Listen to the mirror without being judgmental
You will find a ray of light, the way ahead!
poem by Subra Iyer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Right Across The River Bend
Right across the river bend there’s a warm gentle breeze.
Right across the river-bend are trees with yellow leaves.
Right across the river bend the water reflects the sun.
Right across the river bend is a smell of innocence.
Right across the river bend a robin’s egg is broken.
Right across the river-bend are peaceful mountain valleys.
Right across the river bend a dandelion is carried.
Right across the river bend are fields of shiny green grass.
Right across the riverbend are memories made to last.
poem by Alicia Page
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Look in The Mirror/Imagery in Poetry
You stand there so silently, In the perfect frame of mind
Keeping all my secrets, A friend I always leave behind
You never judge me, And you never let me down
I can count on you, No matter what comes around
When you get a glimpse at me, Tell me, what you see
Do you believe in me, Are you proud of what you see
Mirror, mirror look at me, Tell me with all honesty
Can you reflect on me, Some of your clarity
I’m back so soon, it’s not even noon, And look at me, all foggy
Help me clear the steam, Mirror, I just wanna scream
I can’t see my reflection, I might need your protection
A dark shadow has appeared, And it feels kind of weird
Can you give me some shine, Can I have some of that shimmer
Can you make me sparkle, Like the glitter in your mirror
Help me get it together, Or I’ll shatter into bits
Help me stay whole and silver, Like the backbone in your mirror
Show me the strength that’s left in me, Enough with the crying and self-pity
Help me snip my shadow free, And turn it in to beauty
Mirror mirror can I ask, To leave the mirror of the past
Mirror mirror inside of me, What, reflection, do you see
(2010–Esther Douek)
poem by Life in a Poem
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beautiful Balmerino
Beautiful Balmermo on the bonnie banks of Tay,
It's a very bonnie spot in the months of June or May;
The scenery there is charming and fascinating to see,
Especially the surroundings of the old Abbey,
Which is situated in the midst of trees on a rugged hill,
Which visitors can view at their own free will;
And the trees and shrubberies are lovely to view,
Especially the trees on each side of the avenue
Which leads up to the Abbey amongst the trees;
And in the summer time it's frequented with bees,
And also crows with their unmusical cry,
Which is a great annoyance to the villagers that live near by.
And there in the summer season the mavis sings,
And with her charming notes the woodland rings;
And the sweet-scented zephyrs is borne upon the gale,
Which is most refreshing and invigorating to inhale.
Then there's the stately Castle of Balmerino
Situated in the midst of trees, a magnificent show,
And bordering on the banks o' the silvery Tay,
Where visitors can spend a happy holiday.
As they view the castle and scenery around
It will help to cheer their spirits I'll be bound;
And if they wish to view Wormit Bay
They can walk along the braes o' the silvery Tay.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The peril of every fine faculty is the delight of playing with it for pride. Talent is commonly developed at the expense of character, and the greater it grows, the more is the mischief. Talent is mistaken for genius, a dogma or system for truth, ambition for greatest, ingenuity for poetry, sensuality for art.
quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mirror Here Mirror There
Mirror in this hall shows what I hate most of all
In the bath shows me where I fall
At twelve shows me where I stand tall
Yet it shows a short standing of all
To the mirror in my left and right
Shows what disgusts thy life
When most others fall to the mirrors walls
But thy stand to fall and look in the mirrors halls
Thy tremble down these mirrors halls
To were the mirror shows were I shall fall
Then leave my mirror on the darken wall
To show another soul where to fall
Then leave their mirror in another gleaming hall
poem by Nick Trager
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Appalachian Gray
I think the dusk has slipped beyond all words.
You speak spring with an accent never heard.
A poem on an Appalachian pane
Is bringing April back via the rain.
Pale trillium on the hill above the creek
Is delicate beyond the will to speak.
A gray coat of old feelings wraps my frame.
The landscape flickers like a candleflame.
Friend, frozen tears of trees mirror the sky
Within the confines of their inner cry.
The light fades us into its elegy.
Music is pictured though no sound need be.
2007, Copyright Sandra Fowler
poem by Sandra Fowler
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The Creeks Of Thoughts
there is this poetry
that wriggles like a snake
that transforms itself
into a creek
that coddles the banks
of the rivers
the feet of mountains
that mirrors the moon
that serves as map
for clouds drifting
there is this pathway
full of grass
that leads us to
nowhere
but we are confident
about the
happy ending
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The old mirror
I look in the mirror tainted and old
What do i see? ?
I see this woman staring back at me
She does'nt speak, she does'nt smile
She looks lost with a frown
I look in the mirror is it something from the 50's?
What do i see? ?
I see this man staring back at me
He does'nt wave he does'nt nod
He stands and stares with a glare
I look in the mirror the frame varnished dark
What do i see? ?
I see this girl staring back at me
She does'nt laugh or d a cheeky face
She turns away and begins to cry
I look in the mirror round and smoke stained
What do i see? ?
I see this boy staring back at me
Glasses and combed over hair
I wonder who they are
the people in the old mirror
~nikki addleton ~
poem by Nikki Addleton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Talk not of genius baffled, Genius is master of man. Genius does what it must, and talent does what it can.
quote by Edward Bulwer-Lytton (1860)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hall of Mirrors
Starring down the long impenetrable hallway
Mirror after mirror after mirror
They always bring you back to the same spot
One turn and you walk straight into glass
Another turn and you fall on your ass
You only come face to face with yourself
There’s no escape
From the dark egotistic mind
That brought you here
To the hall of mirrors
Nobody is around to save you
It is only you
It’ll only ever be you
Trapped, lost and suffering
In a field of your repetitive reflection
It's that egotistic mind
That brought you here
To the hall of mirrors
poem by Elyse Elwood
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It is not because the touch of genius has roused genius to production, but because the admiration of genius has made talent ambitious, that the harvest is still so abundant.
quote by Margaret Fuller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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