Western Ecstasy
There is nothing like the western life
It’s truly a dream come true
So comfortable and peaceful
It’s a quiet that beckons to you
Under the azure skies above
Out on the open prairies
No hustle and bustle of city life
Western ecstasy it truly carries
Windmills dot the landscape
The whirling adds to the calm
Wonderful red barns ‘long side
Creates their own kind of charm
Corrals you’ll see as you drive by
Vacant now, no cows in sight
Sage brush with the musky smell
Coyotes howl in the black of night!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sanctuary
At times in the corridors of our mind,
we open doors in quiet moments
to find a daydream to keep us occupied.
Something in the vacant minutes
to take us away from where we are
to some far off peaceful sanctum
where we are who we are
with no mandatory hustle and bustle
that surrounds us everyday.
Just fluffy clouds to lie on
and dream our lives away.
28 January 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Now You're Here
No, we don’t care where you come from
Now you’re here
No, we don’t care where you come from
Have a beer
We don’t care if you are black or white or
Of another hue
Now you’re here in Western Sydney
Now you’re part of Western Sydney
Now all over Western Sydney
We love you.
We are very proud of our diversity
Out on the streets it’s very clear to see
We don’t care if you’re a Christian or a Jew
Or a Bhuddist or Islamic or Hindu
‘Cos we don’t care where you come from
We don’t care where you come from
We don’t care where you come from
Now you’re here.
We’re very proud of long history
And we pay respect to Aborigines
And there’s just one thing I’ll tell ya
Yes, to you and other fellas
That we don’t care where you come from
Now you’re here.
No, we don’t care where you come from
Now you’re here
No, we don’t care where you come from
Have a beer
We don’t care if you are black or white or
Of another hue
Now you’re here in Western Sydney
Now you’re part of Western Sydney
Now all over Western Sydney
We love you.
We’re proud of where we are going
You can see
We’re using all our creativity
To build a better future
And we’ll get there soon we betcha
‘Cos we don’t care where you come from
Now you’re here.
No, we don’t care where you come from
Have a beer
We don’t care if you are black or white or
Another hue
Now you’re here in Western Sydney
Now you’re part of Western Sydney
Now all over Western Sydney
We love you.
Now you’re here in Western Sydney
Now you’re part of Western Sydney
Now all over Western Sydney
We love you.
poem by David Keig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whenever I'm In Swanston Street
So many different peoples of every different race
Whenever I'm in Swanston street I long for a quieter place
Far from the World of bustle and the noisy city street
Out there in the quiet countryside where the rill and river meet.
Whenever I'm is Swanston street I cannot feel at ease
I smell smog and pollution in the foul city breeze
The sidewalks crowded with people as they bustle to and fro
But each to their own as some might say and it happens to be so.
I am not a city type of person that sort of lifestyle would not suit me
I love the coastal countryside and the cliffs that overlook the sea
To watch the fishing gannets plunge down from a great height
With folded wings into saltwater a most amazing sight.
The city scene or city ways I never could embrace
And whenever I'm in Swanston street I feel so out of place
Many people love the city life each to their own rings true
But I'd prefer the quieter place the home of the wild roo.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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The Western Wind.
The western wind
so hot for me to bear
so cold for me to fear
the brat icared for
caried away by the wind
too haevy for me to carry
too light for me to leave
weighty as an iron rod
free from the control of human
The western wind!
the cold in it i adore
the heat in it i can't absorb
fresh to change a rough life
swift and calm do i admire it
the passion in it do i aspire
the joy in it do i require
too expensive for me acquire
though it is my greatest desire
to be carried away by the swift western wind
and never to return
The western wind! !
of which affection tends to be hot
but whose attention seems to be cold
it brought me to a junction of faint decision
I do not know which path to tread
The western wind
my greatest desire and my highiest panic.
poem by Kumolu Ayowale
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As I have pointed out, it is the Christian tradition that is the most fundamental element in Western culture. It lies at the base not only of Western religion, but also of Western morals and Western social idealism.
quote by Christopher Dawson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Is It That Makes Us Stop To Love?
is it too much familiarity that the other
sounds like a blabber
and looks like a blubber
and smells like a tuber?
is it the hustle and bustle of the daily worries
that takes her away from a mystery
and you have nothing mystical
to maintain that fantasy?
so much reality
this everydayness that shuts you out
from the interest of life
it must be the desire turned off
the will surrendering
the heart dying because there is no more blood
rushing because the ecstasy had long left both of you
staring at the ceiling
and waking up as though there is nobody sleeping on your side
and closing windows and opening doors
stepping out
finding the air of freedom and smelling its new scent
feeling the wind
and wanting to play even if it is dark and cold and damp
on a moonless night
on the soft grass under the lushing trees
waiting for your dream
to come
where someone will be there
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Coyotes
Triplet coyotes
From the day of their birth
Desired the moon
And all it was worth
Providing them light
So at night they could see
Any dangers ahead
And be able to flee
All three loved the moon
And each soon decided
Too precious to share
Was the light it provided
The coyote first born
Snuck into night
And sang to the moon
With all of his might
Assured by the usual
Glimmer it gave
He felt quite accomplished
And returned to the cave
The youngest coyote
The next night awoke
And danced for the moon
As he quietly spoke
His sweet words of love
Were followed by light
The moon clearly pleased
So he called it a night
The last coyote
Woke up from a dream
Of the peaceful moon
And its wonderful gleam
He walked outside
And sat on the ground
Gazed up at the moon
Its beauty profound
All three coyotes
Thought it had ended
They'd won the battle
Performances splendid
That next night they waited
The moon did not show
They stayed there for hours
Then decided to go
All day they bonded
Coyotes of three
And again that night
The moon, they could see
Each one pondered
Where it had been
But it didn't matter
They would not fight again
They learned to appreciate
More things in life
Than a brilliant moon
That would just cause them strife
So together they sat
Those brothers of three
Under an Oak Tree
Bonded and free
poem by Brandon McConnell
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Late Night Movies
I wear denim trousers and a matching jacket in winters, this because
I always wanted to be a cowboy, the simple life, what can be simpler
than herding cows. I can’t afford buying a horse but nearly bought
a donkey once, but I have no stable and couldn’t leave it in room,
one can’t toilet train beasts; they will only knock the door down to
go outside for a pee. Oddly enough, once upon a time my living room
was a stable, a big pile of dry manure was the first that greeted me
when I bought the dwelling. But times moves on there are no beasts
of burden left, only tractors litter the landscape and the good smell
of sweaty animals has been replaced by diesel fumes.I wouldn’t mind
being a monk especially now that my sexual drive is in a steep decline,
but I’m not ascetic or contemplative enough so fit in. So I’ll stick to
being a horseless cowboy while trying to walk like john Wayne and
watch late night western movies.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Luke Havergal
Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal,
There where the vines cling crimson on the wall,
And in the twilight wait for what will come.
The leaves will whisper there of her, and some,
Like flying words, will strike you as they fall;
But go, and if you listen she will call.
Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal—
Luke Havergal.
No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies
To rift the fiery night that’s in your eyes;
But there, where western glooms are gathering,
The dark will end the dark, if anything:
God slays Himself with every leaf that flies,
And hell is more than half of paradise.
No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies—
In eastern skies.
Out of a grave I come to tell you this,
Out of a grave I come to quench the kiss
That flames upon your forehead with a glow
That blinds you to the way that you must go.
Yes, there is yet one way to where she is,
Bitter, but one that faith may never miss.
Out of a grave I come to tell you this—
To tell you this.
There is the western gate, Luke Havergal,
There are the crimson leaves upon the wall.
Go, for the winds are tearing them away,—
Nor think to riddle the dead words they say,
Nor any more to feel them as they fall;
But go, and if you trust her she will call.
There is the western gate, Luke Havergal—
Luke Havergal.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson from The Children of the Night (1897)
Submitted by anonym
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One Night With You
One night with you,
Is all that Im praying for.
These things that we two can plan
To make my dream come true.
Just call my name,
And Ill be right by your side.
Wont need no helping hand
My loves too strong to hide.
I always lived a very quiet life,
I aint never did no wrong.
Now I know that life without you,
Been too lonely too long.
One night with you,
Is all that Im praying for.
These things that we two can share,
To make my dream come true.
One night with you,
Is all Ive been praying for.
These things that we two can share,
To make my dream come true.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bring Her Again, O Western Wind
Bring her again, O western wind,
Over the western sea!
Gentle and good and fair and kind,
Bring her again to me!
Not that her fancy holds me dear,
Not that a hope may be:
Only that I may know her near,
Wind of the western sea!
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Luke Havergal
Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal,
There where the vines cling crimson on the wall,
And in the twilight wait for what will come.
The leaves will whisper there of her, and some,
Like flying words, will strike you as they fall;
But go, and if you listen she will call.
Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal—
Luke Havergal.
No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies
To rift the fiery night that’s in your eyes;
But there, where western glooms are gathering,
The dark will end the dark, if anything:
God slays Himself with every leaf that flies,
And hell is more than half of paradise.
No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies—
In eastern skies.
Out of a grave I come to tell you this,
Out of a grave I come to quench the kiss
That flames upon your forehead with a glow
That blinds you to the way that you must go.
Yes, there is yet one way to where she is,
Bitter, but one that faith may never miss.
Out of a grave I come to tell you this—
To tell you this.
There is the western gate, Luke Havergal,
There are the crimson leaves upon the wall.
Go, for the winds are tearing them away,—
Nor think to riddle the dead words they say,
Nor any more to feel them as they fall;
But go, and if you trust her she will call.
There is the western gate, Luke Havergal—
Luke Havergal.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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A Howl of the Night
A howl can be herd in the night as the snow falls
A howl can run through and enter the soul of
The wolf who's heart is as pure as the grain
A howl shall show no mercy and shall either hunt you
Or guide you, It will be strong and hard -the howl of the night.
The howl shall come from the spirit of the strongest,
The bravest and the boldest.
It will not be weak, as the wind carries the howl farther
To the Pack, all will awaken and cry with
The howl of the night.
poem by Rebecca Seetahal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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City Nights
The city at night
Is like a ghost town
With one or two lost souls roamin its streets
For the most four
Business provide light to darkened streets
The dark corners provide refuge for the night crawlers
In the dark corners
Where un-needed to know things take place
Where undescribable things are done
From dusk till dawn
The city is theirs
It belongs to them
The night crawlers
They own this land
This City
At dawn they run
Run to their underground refuges
Away from the sun to underground sewers
Away from all life, the noise, the hustle and bustle of daily life
To being non-existant
poem by Cannita Melius
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Big City Nights
Music :rudolf schenker
Lyrics:klaus meine
When the daylight is falling down into the night
And the sharks try to cut a big piece out of life
It feels alright to go out to catch an outrageous thrill
But its more like spinning wheels of fortune
Which never stand still
Big city, big city nights
You keep me burning
Big city, big city nights
When the sunlight is rising up in my eyes
And the long night has left me back at somebodys side
It feels alright for a long sweet minute like hours before
But its more like looking out for something
I cant find anymore
Big city, big city nights
You keep me burning
Big city, big city nights
Always yearning
There is no dream
That you cant make true, if youre looking for love
But theres no girl
Whos burning the ice away from my heart
Maybe tonight!
Big city, big city nights
You keep me burning
Big city, big city nights
Always yearning
Big city, big city nights
You keep me burning
Big city, big city nights
Always yearning
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mountain's Lonely Echo
His lonely howl echos through the mountains high,
crying out to his lover, desperate is his cry.
Their lands seperate them from the start,
but no mountain so high, can seperate their heart.
His heart beats slowly as his cries ring out in the night,
traveling through his domain, never losing his sight.
To reach his mate, his life he will give,
to have that moment in time, his reason to live.
Cold bearing down on him as his feet grow tired,
but on he must go, to reach his desire.
Never looking back at the foot prints he leaves behind,
knowing ahead the mountain he must climb.
Heart full of hope that his mate will be there waiting,
to fulfill his every need, his heart anticipating.
One dream under the night to come true,
one journey he must pull through.
Life to begin, to quiet his lonely howl,
no more traveling, no more on the prowl.
Life complete for him and his mate,
his lonely howl echoing through the mountain,
as his lady does wait.
poem by Ruth warren
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Big City Girls
(myles goodwyn)
Published by northern goody two tunes, ltd./capac - ascap
Late night hustle goin down in the city
A one way street on the wrong side of town
Young and foolish, man dont you know
All we could see were
Ladies in the night, walkin a straight line
Ladies in the night, workin overtime
Ladies in the night, doin the hustle
Ladies in the night, flexin their muscles
Ladies in the night, big city, big city girls
We worked out a deal with some chicks on the corner
Back at the room it was never to be
No one had money and the girls got so uptight
Ladies in the night, walkin a straight line
Ladies in the night, workin overtime
Ladies in the night, doin the hustle
Ladies in the night, flexin their muscles
Ladies in the night, big city, big city girls, so tough
Baby I know, its just what I see
Baby I know, its not what I need
Big city, big city girls
The next thing you know, things got rough, babe
They carved out a warnin with a switch blade knife
The message was clear, if you wanna play, you gotta pay
Ladies in the night, walkin a straight line
Ladies in the night, workin overtime
Ladies in the night, doin the hustle
Ladies in the night, flexin their muscles
Ladies in the night, big city, big city girls
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black ~ to me most kind & peaceful~
Many people said ' white
is positive, bright
all goodness'
they may be right.
But I can't stop to wonder
What if black
Is one great answer?
Why should I avoid it
turn my back to black
this wonderful joy?
True, it has no light
but near by any colour
brings out the best of life.
It also strong
no matter what
comes into its sight
will keep unchanged,
Right?
So what if I could
have this choice:
as peaceful 'colour'
Black
I shall love
to fill my void.
poem by Elena Sandu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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