Far away from you [Departe sunt de tine]
I'm far away from you, watching the fire dance,
Thinking that in my life, I've never had a chance.
It seems I've lived too long, that eighty years have fled
I am as old as winter, I think that you are dead.
The memories are flooding my soul like bitter rivals
Reviving on my mind the past with all its trifles;
The windows now are trembling, because the wind is knocking,
Sweet tales of life my mind is spinning and recalling.
And then I see you passing, a phantom from the skies
With small and chilly hands, with tears in your big eyes;
You cling around my neck and I can see you're shy
You'd like to tell me something, but then you stop and sigh...
I hug my only wealth of love and wondrous things,
With kisses we are joining our lives, despite their stings...
To silence all my thoughts in vain I wish so bad
If only I could forget the good luck that I had,
To leave behind that moment when you departed slowly...
You will have been long dead, I will be old and lonely!
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Poem, Prayers And Promises
I've been lately thinking about my life's time
all the things I've done and how it's been,
and I can't help believin' in my own mind
I know I'm gonna hate to see it end.
I've seen a lot of sunshine slept out in the rain
spent a night or two all on my own
I've known my lady's pleasures had myself some friends
spent a time or two in my own home.
Days they pass so quickly now, the nights are seldom long
time around me whispers when it's cold.
The changes somehow frightens me, still I have to smile
it turns me on to think of growing old.
It's tho' my life's been good to me there's still so much to do
so many things my mind has never known
I'd like to raise a fam'ly I'd like to sail away
dance across the mountains on the moon.
Ref.) I have to say it now it's been good life all in all,
it's really fine to have a chance to hang around.
and lie there by the fire and watch the evening tire,
while all my friends and my old lady sit and pass a pipe around
and talk of poems and prayers and promises
and things that we believe in, how sweet it is to love someone,
how right it is to care, how long it's been since yesterday
what about tomorrow and what about our dreams
and all the memories we share
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Weather
Weather, O weather, did you arrive or will you ever
whether your spring is here or the winter, as ever
My heart lived it to the utmost, in agony however
thus, come or go, sweet or bitter, or just whatsoever
Useless to pass life with you, moron to be or a clever
O weather of memories, to forget you I shall do, never
And when the melodies play amid the noises of music
shall I count the years when I became healthfully sick
Large is the space under this weather, but of many a brick
and freedom is within your reach but shall I sacrifice my neck?
O weather of wonders, corrupted my life with just a flick
away or near, with peace and fear, my mind you did kick
Bring your roses and blosoms, or the dust of age
fearsome shall not be, and there shall I be on a stage
When the applause raise up, that shall be my own wage
and certainly, away from you I am going to break the cage
So stop the seduction, and the calls of love on a new page
here is my way up to the hill, whether or not I am a sage
Oh my, am I crazy to talk to the weather of springs?
my thoughts are racing through faster than wings
What am I saying? Seems life filled me with stings
and sitting down now, no care for whatever it brings
Anyway, it goes around, and so does the life of kings
high to low, and low to high, all are but some weatherings
-
http: //www.geocities.com/mat_group/
poem by Taher Shemaly
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Suffer In Silence
You say I must leave the past behind
abandon those dreams within my mind
forget all those things we'd left unsaid
circling like vultures in my head
that leave me with silence.
To blow out my torches in the night
just lay down my arms and end the fight
to pick up my heart now from the floor
remove all those chains, unlock that door
to end all this silence.
They say I should move to pastures new
remove all these thoughts I have of you
replace them with new found love instead
presume all those memories good as dead
then fill up this silence.
But what of this tender love inside
that never before felt need to hide
from critical eyes that judge my pain
should only this broken heart remain
to join you in silence.
I know that your thoughts are well inclined
you think that my destiny is blind
that all hope of love lies with your plan
I'd rather continue if I can
to suffer in silence.
poem by Neil Graham Marsden
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The Good Memories Of What Was
I was not any use at Gaelic Football or Soccer though I played in Millstreet Townpark in the rain
And I played Soccer in Neily Duggan's Inch Field but these things I will never do again
With my young friends for us it was enjoyment but few things in life stay the same
The fire of youth in us was burning but it now is a flickering flame
We never thought about growing older the gift of youth is a great thing
Though of the past we have our memories and till death to them we will cling
The thought that we age with the Seasons does seldom enter the young mind
But the years leave us frailer and older eternal youth not for air breathing kind
But for as long as we have the gift of memory of our prime years good memories we retain
And often in our flights of fancy the past we do visit again
I still recall the joy and laughter as we chased the football up and down
On Summer evenings often wet and windy in the Townpark of old Millstreet Town
The years leave us all looking older and the clock on our lives ticking on
But the good memories of what was bring us comfort of the past to the forever gone.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Mater Dolorosa
Who is this that sits by the way, by the wild wayside,
In a rent stained raiment, the robe of a cast-off bride,
In the dust, in the rainfall sitting, with soiled feet bare,
With the night for a garment upon her, with torn wet hair?
She is fairer of face than the daughters of men, and her eyes,
Worn through with her tears, are deep as the depth of skies.
This is she for whose sake being fallen, for whose abject sake,
Earth groans in the blackness of darkness, and men's hearts break.
This is she for whose love, having seen her, the men that were
Poured life out as water, and shed their souls upon air.
This is she for whose glory their years were counted as foam;
Whose face was a light upon Greece, was a fire upon Rome.
Is it now not surely a vain thing, a foolish and vain,
To sit down by her, mourn to her, serve her, partake in the pain?
She is grey with the dust of time on his manifold ways,
Where her faint feet stumble and falter through year-long days.
Shall she help us at all, O fools, give fruit or give fame,
Who herself is a name despised, a rejected name?
We have not served her for guerdon. If any do so,
That his mouth may be sweet with such honey, we care not to know.
We have drunk from a wine-unsweetened, a perilous cup,
A draught very bitter. The kings of the earth stood up,
And the rulers took counsel together, to smite her and slay;
And the blood of her wounds is given us to drink today.
Can these bones live? or the leaves that are dead leaves bud?
Or the dead blood drawn from her veins be in your veins blood?
Will ye gather up water again that was drawn and shed?
In the blood is the life of the veins, and her veins are dead.
For the lives that are over are over, and past things past;
She had her day, and it is not; was first, and is last.
Is it nothing unto you then, all ye that pass by,
If her breath be left in her lips, if she live now or die?
Behold now, O people, and say if she be not fair,
Whom your fathers followed to find her, with praise and prayer,
And rejoiced, having found her, though roof they had none nor bread;
But ye care not; what is it to you if her day be dead?
It was well with our fathers; their sound was in all men's lands;
There was fire in their hearts, and the hunger of fight in their
hands.
Naked and strong they went forth in her strength like flame,
For her love's and her name's sake of old, her republican name.
But their children, by kings made quiet, by priests made wise,
Love better the heat of their hearths than the light of her eyes.
Are they children of these thy children indeed, who have sold,
O golden goddess, the light of thy face for gold?
Are they sons indeed of the sons of thy dayspring of hope,
Whose lives are in fief of an emperor, whose souls of a Pope?
Hide then thine head, O beloved; thy time is done;
Thy kingdom is broken in heaven, and blind thy sun.
What sleep is upon you, to dream she indeed shall rise,
When the hopes are dead in her heart as the tears in her eyes?
If ye sing of her dead, will she stir? if ye weep for her, weep?
Come away now, leave her; what hath she to do but sleep?
But ye that mourn are alive, and have years to be;
And life is good, and the world is wiser than we.
Yea, wise is the world and mighty, with years to give,
And years to promise; but how long now shall it live?
And foolish and poor is faith, and her ways are bare,
Till she find the way of the sun, and the morning air.
In that hour shall this dead face shine as the face of the sun,
And the soul of man and her soul and the world's be one.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Asking Myself Why
I sat down to write a letter
to an old friend of mine,
someone I had not seen
for thirty or forty years.
Only realizing as I put pen to paper
how the years had flown by,
though it only seem like yesterday
we had met on the street
and had a long chat together.
I realized then to my regret
that I did not know if
they were alive or dead.
If they were gone,
yet another thread to my past
had disappeared forever.
A curtain of sadness fell over me
as my memories re-enacted
moments from so long ago,
moments that will never return.
My pen hovered above the paper
and no words could I write
as my mind clouded with memories
of friends I had let go.
It's so easy to say see you later,
when half the time we never do.
Then comes today like now
and you realise there maybe no later.
Those friends of yesterday maybe gone
and only reside within your memories.
Tears glazed my eyes
and I gave a silent sigh.
I wondered how may more times
will I ask myself why
in the passing of time.
Why I just sat and let them go.
25 February 2012
poem by David Harris
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Brother Wind
“I thank my god for brother wind,”
So prayed St. Francis long ago
In words of simple, joyous praise,
That fill my heart with sudden glow
As-braced by winter’s icy draught-
With singing soul, and strengthened mind,
I humbly join the good Saint’s prayer
Thank my God for “Brother Wind.”
For Brother Wind, who, whispering soft
Brings subtlest perfume on his wings,
The violet scent of childhood days,
The lost delight in simple things;
For Brother wind, who whistling keen
O’er open plain and storm-scarred hill,
Cleanses from mind, and heart, and brain,
All thoughts of wrong, and ancient ill.
Who wafts from scarce-stirred lily beds
Incense of early purity,
Or wakes to life our laggard souls
With stinging fragrance of the sea.
Echoes of Heaven, far-off and faint
For weary heart and tired mind,
Sweet long-lost memories, old and quaint-
These are the gifts of Brother Wind.
Ah! Dear St. Francis, let me kneel
Before thy shrine with joyous mind
Joining my humble, grateful prayer,
Thanking our God for Brother Wind.
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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Please Come Back
Another lonely night and I don't know what to do
I've lost everything including you.
I look out the window and gaze at the sky
Recalling memories of you and I.
My eyes fill with tears cause the memories
Hurt so bad.
People ask why I'm lonely and why I am so sad.
When you lose your family, friends and job too
There is nothing left, nothing to do.
But the worst part was losing you.
How could I have let this destroy our love
You was the only thing I wasn't thinking of.
I chose to ignore you while I was in my gloom
And our love ended too soon.
You are the one thing that I need ' you see'
So please, please, come back to me.
In our anger and hurt, we do things
Without really thinking about them
And we wind up hurting 'our loved ones and friends.'
Please recall the good times we had
Before I lost my mind
For I had plans to be with you
Till the ends of time.
So please, please come back to me!
poem by Louis Rams
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Autumn's Surcease
I gave you hurtings
so that you might feel
Winter in your Soul.
I sometimes placed upon your heart
virgin olive oil
to succor it.
I piled high
in your eyes
Love and its Laments
as your cool wind
blew
down the Solstice.
I carried your
leaden comments
to the cemetery
where I buried them
with the other
dead things
and
I blew you
my last
Summer Kiss
for the luck
I know
you'd need.
Your last leaf
fell
from your waterless tree
revealing that
Summer Kisses
have no truck
or need
for rusty
dead leaves
carpeting
a Winter Soul;
twice dead
now skipping even
Autumn's
surcease
before your Winter blows.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Snow Dance For The Dead
Dance, little children ... it is holy twilight . . .
Have you hung paper flowers about the necks of the ikons?
Dance soft . . . but very gaily ... on tip-toes like the snow.
Spread your little pinafores
And courtesy as the snow does . . .
The snow that bends this way and that
In silent salutation.
Do not wait to warm your hands about the fires.
Do not mind the rough licking of the wind.
Dance forth into the shaggy night that shakes itself upon you.
Dance beneath the Kremlin towers—golden
In the royal
Purple of the sky—
But not there where the light is strongest . . .
Bright hair is dazzling in the light.
Dance in the dim violet places
Where the snow throws out a faint lustre
Like the lustre of dead faces . . .
Snow downier than wild-geese feathers . . .
Enough filling for five hundred pillows ...
By the long deep trench of the dead.
Bend, little children,
To the rhythm of the snow
That undulates this way and that
In silver spirals.
Cup your hands like tiny chalices . . .
Let the flakes fill up the rosy
Hollows of your palms
And alight upon your hair,
Like kisses that cling softly
A moment and let go ...
Like many kisses falling altogether . . .
Quick . . . cool kisses.
poem by Lola Ridge
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Remember Not To Forget Me
You have been through a lot
You still have a long way to go
Discrimination will always be in your way
You will face new trials everyday
So many people you will meet
Just remember not to forget me
You have a lot to live for
But not a lot to come back for
I’ll always be here waiting
Waiting for the love of my life
For my happiness to return to me
Please remember not to forget me
You gave me what I never had before
Hope, a reason, the will to keep being
I lived for the moment, you taught me to slow down
You taught me to think about it, to savor it
And then to plan for tomorrow
So when tomorrow comes, remember not to forget me
When you’re with me, the rest of the world fades
Everything melts away and it’s just you and me, face to face
I don’t know how you feel, but I know you are part of me
You are my other half, I need you to breathe
You are the light to my dark, the night to my day
As the sun rises and sets, remember not to forget me
You remind me that I don’t need their reality
I just need you with me, away where we can be
Every kiss you give me takes my tears away
With each passing day we get closer
Closer to the day when you will take me away
Just come back, remember not to forget me
I tried to quit you, to prove i didn’t need you
I failed, I couldn’t forget you, the memories found me
Everything near me has residue of you
Close my eyes, I see you, as if you were here
You know what, I couldn’t be happier
Carry the memories with you, remember not to forget me
Every morning that I wake, I’ll think of you
And you will be on my mind all through the day
When it’s late, I’ll be thinking of you, as I lie there alone and awake
As I dream it is you I will see
I can only hope you will be thinking of me
My darling, my love, please remember not to forget me
poem by Guarded Heart
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The Passing
The change, it comes so slowly
Like the winter of our lives,
It encroaches while we're playing,
While we're laughing with our wives,
As the children wave goodbye
The first brief chill will still the air,
And that silence settles on us
As they turn, and close the door.
Then we stare long at each other
But we find no words to say,
You have been the faithful mother
That I married, back some way,
But I see your smile has faded
With the passing of the years,
And you turn your face away so I
Won't see that trace of tears.
Are you thinking of that moment
When you held that new born child,
Of the joy of those first steps, or of
The day your baby smiled?
And the schooling and the learning
And the knees they brought home skinned,
Or the pride you took each time you watched
That graduation film.
While I find my own thoughts turning
To those days before we wed,
To your awesome, breathless beauty
As you passed, and turned my head,
Of that first-time kiss I savoured
Out beneath the apple tree,
When I took you to my heart, and you
First said you wanted me.
Now we're grey, and more like shadows
Since the lust in us has died,
And we rarely touch each other
Since we turned to ash inside,
For the years of work and struggle
Took their toll on you and I,
And I hear you every evening as
You go outside to cry.
All those dreams that ended shattered,
All those hopes that turned to tears,
Here we sit, both disillusioned
With the tolling of the years,
And we pass our friends unseeing
As we wander in the street,
We are ghosts, a long time passing
Now our story is complete.
We are like the leaves of autumn
That have fallen from the trees,
Blowing through our days unspoken
With each passing, gentle breeze,
We will fade and be forgotten
In the long term way of things,
But we'll cling in desperation for
What each last moment brings.
25 November 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Don't Dance Me To The End
Don’t dance me to the end of love, but dance
me to the place where it resumes as if beginning
anew, each time, with nothing left to chance
except the penalties that come from sinning.
Like Babylonians let me feel you moving,
but let us not, before we go to bed,
recall Egyptians with their books approving
the afterlife they dream up for the dead.
While we are dancing, let’s think only of
the here and now, and so together burn
with passion for the life and after-love
that follows us when on one bed we turn,
but when in bed, recalling Babylon
whose waters both our ancestors once drank,
let us remember times that, though bygone,
from memories of lovetimes never shrank.
Inspired by Leonard Cohen’s “Dance Mee to the End of Love”:
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone
Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon
Show me slowly what I only know the limits of
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on
Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long
We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the children who are asking to be born
Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn
Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic till I'm gathered safely in
Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
11/14/07
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Ghosts
Writers: leo sayer, les nicol & frank farrell
Ghosts
People that I left behind
Wondering lonely in the night
All in my memory
Dreams
Long forgotten flights of time
Flashbacks flooding through my mind
Of all the things you said to me
In the shadows where I walk
In the silence
The wind talks of you
Like a ghost
Haunting the night
So you wander through my life
Ghosts
People that I dont believe
Just what theyve got to do with me
Oh -- I cant see it
Ghosts
Long forgotten -- in time
Look at those flashbacks
Flooding through my mind
Of all the things youve said to me
In the shadows where I walk
In the silence
The wind talks of you
Just like a ghost
Haunting the night
You know you wander through my life
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Can't Stop Lovin' You (Though I Try)
Leo Sayer, Les Nicol & Frank Farrell
ghosts
people that I left behind
wondering lonely in the night
all in my memory
dreams
long forgotten flights of time
flashbacks flooding through my mind
of all the things you said to me
in the shadows where I walk
in the silence
the wind talks of you
like a ghost
haunting the night
so you wander through my life
ghosts
people that I don't believe
just what they've got to do with me
oh -- I can't see it
ghosts
long forgotten -- in time
look at those flashbacks
flooding through my mind
of all the things you've said to me
in the shadows where I walk
in the silence
the wind talks of you
just like a ghost
haunting the night
you know you wander through my life
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life is too short
Life is too short for any vain regretting;
Let dead delight bury its dead, I say,
And let us go upon our way forgetting
The joys and sorrows of each yesterday
Between the swift sun's rising and its setting
We have no time for useless tears or fretting:
Life is too short.
Life is too short for any bitter feeling;
Time is the best avenger if we wait;
The years speed by, and on their wings bear healing;
We have no room for anything like hate.
This solemn truth the low mounds seem revealing
That thick and fast about our feet are stealing:
Life is too short.
Life is too short for aught but high endeavor—
Too short for spite, but long enough for love.
And love lives on forever and forever;
It links the worlds that circle on above:
'Tis God's first law, the universe's lever.
In His vast realm the radiant souls sigh never
'Life is too short.'
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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When I'm Dead And Gone
When I'm dead and gone
At my funeral don't play another sad song
I wanna see tears of joy not of sorrow
Remember this day for it will be gone tomorrow
I want people to celebrate my death day
The same way they celebrated my birthday
Remember the good things I've done in my life, and forget the bad
Remember our love, cause at times that's all we had
When I'm dead and gone, who would really miss me?
I would hope that the memory of me make people happy
I'd like to say I'm sorry to all those I've done wrong
And thanks to all who showed me love my whole life long
I have to get these feelings out before I'm dead and gone
Same may wonder why I'm doing this poem
Maybe I feel like my life is reaching its final storm
I rather say this right now right here
Cause later I may not be able to say nothing I fear
No I'm not ready to meet death.
But I rather for you to know now,
Then when I'm dead and gone to be thinking something else.
poem by Daniel Chapman
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Even Objects Around Me
I almost want to ask you to leave my head
Living without you makes me feel dead
The reminder that I'm alone with you is everywhere
It's the kinda that will tear
My mind into pieces, but slowly, painfully, and quietly
That's how it kills me
Because you're even in objects around me
You've been in this house, so you can see
How things all around remind me
About times we've had
Or maybe just time and isn't that sad?
That's all you gave me to cling to?
What were you
Thinking? !
And yet I'm sinking
Drowning in my memories of you, that remind me of desire and love
That remind of hurt and the one sided nature
Maybe it's time to be mature
And just grow up but all around me I'm reminded of you
Even objects speak to me about you, even places in my house too
I can't get you out of my head!
Is this love or something else? !
We barely have memories but I can't let go of you
We barely have memories together but that's all you've got of me too...
Do you think of me, it almost makes me cry
To wonder if you do because you probably don't, why can't my feelings die
Especially when you don't feed them
Especially when you seem to avoid me like a saint to sin
How can I get away from you when even objects cry out against me
They cause me to see
That either I really love you
Or I just can't think stop thinking about you...
The only conclusion I can come to
Is that even objects around me love you too
poem by David Knox
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Exile
I
At dead of night about the dying fire
They told a story how the dead appear;
And men, grown still with fear,
Forgot their old desire
For those who once were dear,
And shook and trembled lest their dead be near.
Alas, poor dead who were so sweet and human!
How are you grown a menace and a blight
A thing to shun, a thing of evil omen,
Stealing unwelcome through the halls of night?,
Who knows? perhaps yourselves are much affrighted,
And struggle back, remote and bodiless,
Fearful of sounds unheard, visions unsighted,
Black echoes, and the bitter loneliness.
But for me, in my heart is no dread
Of the coming again of the dead,
But a terror of life, without one
Who made life to be life - and is gone.
II
Yes, at these tales of how the dead return,
Hope stirs within my spirit more than fear.
So strange, so strange it seems, you are not here,
And so unnatural to me 'tis to learn
The trick of life without you, year by year,
That not so strange could any specter be
Or fall of footsteps on the empty stair,
Or shapes discerned upon the shadowy air,
As is this haunting sense of vacancy,
And your persisting absence everywhere.
Ah, could I see, as in the tranquil past,
The form I long for - always and in vain, -
Should I not cry, like one released from pain:
'Dear and long absent, you return at last,
And life its natural aspect wears again!'
poem by Alice Duer Miller
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Old Times
Friend of my youth, let us talk of old times;
Of the long lost golden hours.
When "Winter" meant only Christmas chimes,
And "Summer" wreaths of flowers.
Life has grown old, and cold, my friend,
And the winter now, means death.
And summer blossoms speak all too plain
Of the dear, dead forms beneath.
But let us talk of the past to-night;
And live it over again,
We will put the long years out of sight,
And dream we are young as then.
But you must not look at me, my friend,
And I must not look at you,
Or the furrowed brows, and silvered locks,
Will prove our dream untrue.
Let us sing of the summer, too sweet to last,
And yet too sweet to die.
Let us read tales, from the book of the past,
And talk of the days gone by.
We will turn our backs to the West, my friend,
And forget we are growing old.
The skies of the Present are dull, and gray,
But the Past's are blue, and gold.
The sun has passed over the noontide line
And is sinking down the West.
And of friends we knew in days Lang Syne,
Full half have gone to rest.
And the few that are left on earth, my friend
Are scattered far, and wide.
But you and I will talk of the days
Ere any roamed, or died.
Auburn ringlets, and hazel eyes
Blue eyes and tresses of gold.
Winds joy laden, and azure skies,
Belong to those days of old.
We will leave the Present's shores awhile
And float on the Past's smooth sea.
But I must not look at you, my friend,
And you must not look at me.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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