Autmun night [Noapte de toamnă]
Murmur of eaves narrow, whispers full of harshness
Grow from all the places and get lost in darkness.
Seldom, through the curtains, light is quickly flying
The cold water mirrors before me igniting
And its ray, reflected, to my face is clinging...
Rain knocks at the windows, all the eaves are singing.
Step by step, the loudness of the rumor falls
Muffling the dull singing of these waterfalls.
More and more around me living shadows rise
Rain has stopped its falling from the leaden skies
And in piles of dark mists waters now are creeping...
Sleeps the world entire, all the eaves are weeping.
There, on the horizon, silver rays are though
On the vault of heaven showing beds of snow,
Slowly break the shadows, hang on branches tight
Blue and lovely sparkles, grains of shining light.
And right from the secret of the open sky
Fall off lights that really stun and please the eye
And in heaps of white snow break the clouds defiant
But when moon is rising, the wet eaves keep silent.
***
Sleep in peace, my dearest!...
Only I, alone, linger on the alley
And the charming moments quietly I tally...
To wake you I'm trying with my thoughts' bright flares,
From your secret hallway to come down the stairs.
In this cold clear autumn come with your heart beating
And, by dreaming all these moments that are fleeting,
To enhance the sadness of the dark late hour
When, without you, darling, my soul, lone and sour,
Goes in search, but vainly, trying hard to see
And to kiss the footsteps of what used to be.
poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Related quotes
Song of a Winter Attic
Sheets of white ice double the frozen glass,
the net curtains break the ice light and the
smell of damp books and insects, autumn apples,
moments of childhood under eaves,
I am not in sorrow apart from sorrowing, a terrible desire
is born to stop clocks, victims of time and snow and
my grave is hidden under dusty floorboards, so
scratching with broken fingers I search for my sorrow.
poem by Leslie Philibert
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Enjoying Pine and Bamboo
I treasure what front eaves face
and all that north windows frame.
Bamboo winds lavish out windows,
pine colors exquisite beyond eaves,
I gather it all into isolate mystery,
thoughts fading into their source.
Others may feel nothing in all this,
but it's perfectly open to me now:
such kindred natures need share
neither root nor form nor gesture.
Bright Lights
The bright lights are calling me
The bright lights are calling me
When the world is dark and cold
And Im heading down the road
The bright lights are calling me
As the world is round, the road is long
Ive trouble on my mind
Ill just keep on moving
Until the day comes round
The wind a blowing on my back
And my feet a flying
Flying down the road
Where the bright lights shine
Mondays in a pigtown
Tuesdays in a truck
Wednesdays a field of mud
And thursdays out of luck
Fridays rain clouds
Saturday flies by
Sunday comes shining
From a blue blue sky
The bright lights are calling me
The bright lights are calling me
When the world is dark and cold
And Im heading down the road
The bright lights are calling me
Some towns are golden
Some towns are stained
Some towns are shadows
Fading in the rain
Some towns are rust
And some towns they gleam
Some towns are mad dogs
Some towns are a dream
The bright lights are calling me
The bright lights are calling me
When the world is dark and cold
And Im heading down the road
The bright lights are calling me
Some dreams are hollow
Some dreams are cold
Some dreams are crazy
And some dreams are bold
Some dreams are bought
And other dreams are sold
Some dreams lie waiting
At the end of the road
The bright lights are calling me
The bright lights are calling me
When the world is dark and cold
And Im heading down the road
The bright lights are calling me
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night In the City
The sluggish clouds hang low upon the town,
And from yon lamp in chilled and sodden rays
The feeble light gropes through the heavy mist
And dies, extinguished in the stagnant maze.
From moisty eaves the drops fall slowly down
To strike with leaden sound the walk below,
And in dark, murky pools upon the street
The water stands, as lacking life to flow.
With hopeless brain, oppressed and sad at heart,
Toil's careworn slave turns out his flickering light
And treads in dreams his dulling round again,
Where weary day succeeds to dismal night.
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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As The Snow Falls (song)
As the rain falls down,
It turns to snow.
As the snow falls down,
It hits the ground.
You look outside,
And it’s a sheet of white.
So you think,
Oh what a beautiful night.
The fire is warm,
And the coco too.
And you wonder,
What is next to do?
Looking outside,
All you see is white,
And stars in the sky…ayyy.
The stars are falling,
The stars are falling,
And they cover the ground.
The snow has fallen,
Snow has fallen,
And it covers the ground.
You sit there,
Lookin’ out your window,
Sippin’ on your coco. Oh
Watching as the rain falls down-
The snow falls down-
The stars fall down.
And you see,
All of natures beauty.
The rain falls down,
And it turns to snow.
The snow falls down,
And it hits the ground.
Lookin’ outside,
And it’s a sheet of white.
you bundle up,
and step outside.
standing in the cold,
you look around.
its all so calm and still.
Oh there’s not a single sound.
It’s a silent night,
Oh what a sight.
Snow covers the trees,
So beautiful to see.
Back inside you go
To the fire you stand,
With coco in hand.
You’re cozy and warm,
All alone.
It’s getting late,
So you sleep the night away.
As the rain fell down,
It turned to snow.
As the snow fell down,
It hit the ground.
And the sheet of white,
It disappeared.
The next day you wake,
And the beauty is gone.
The morning sun,
Thawed the lawn.
And the snowy wondrous night is done.
poem by Tessa Monaghan
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A Song
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear;
There is ever a something sings alway:
There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear,
And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray.
The sunshine showers across the grain,
And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree;
And in and out, when the eaves dip rain,
The swallows are twittering ceaselessly.
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
Be the skies above or dark or fair,
There is ever a song that our hearts may hear--
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear
There is ever a song somewhere!
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
In the midnight black, or the mid-day blue:
The robin pipes when the sun is here,
And the cricket chirrups the whole night through.
The buds may blow, and the fruit may grow,
And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sear;
But whether the sun, or the rain, or the snow,
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear.
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
Be the skies above or dark or fair,
There is ever a song that our hearts may hear--
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear--
There is ever a song somewhere!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Kiss Of The Winter Moon
Darkness heals the wounds
that daylight laughter laid open.
Confess your secret dreams
before the audience of the moon.
To the silent night,
to the falling snow,
to the flickering star.
Embraced by shadows,
that feel what you feel,
that are what you are,
that dream what you dream.
The open winter window,
frames her featureless dark face,
betrayed by wisps of frosted breath,
and twinkling tears,
on frozen cheeks.
Soft...silent shadows,
caress her,
in a cloak,
of cold..
quiet..
snow.
a shiver,
a fallen tear,
becomes…
a snowflake.
Moonlight is forgiveness,
and kisses the face,
that is laughed at,
by the sun.
poem by George Vuyakovich
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Sweetness Of The Sweetest Angel
the super sweetness a silent moment in time a magical mystery surrounded in a shroud of fog a heart beating so quietly beating along as the seconds turn to minutes into moments so on and so forth a soldier marches on ward and upward to his objective into battle onto war the moon shines bright tonight your beauty shines as equally bright that look of delight in your sexy beautiful eyes those sweet soft words that you speak so sweetly my heart swells my heart beats hard like the sounds of thunder heavens above angels singing so wonderfully those words you speak thats how you are when i speak to you when i dont hear from you my soul feels like it plunges into hell and im alone in darkness without a care without a freind the coldness and lonliness feel like lookin uptoward the sky on a cold dark night on a starless and moonless night a cold wind blows on my face a tear rolls down my cheeks as i stumble thru darkness but my memory falls back into times of happiness of wen i did smile and my soul doesnt feel torn a sunder no more i get up and go and march towards my destiny to where it lead me to the heavens or thru hell in the valleys or thru halls of madness in the shadows with the memory of the sweetness of the sweetest angel to light my way.
poem by Dorian Suchelle
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The Wraith
Ah me, it is cold and chill
And the fire sobs low in the grate,
While the wind rides by on the hill,
And the logs crack sharp with hate.
And she, she is cold and sad
As ever the sinful are,
But deep in my heart I am glad
For my wound and the coming scar.
Oh, ever the wind rides by
And ever the raindrops grieve;
But a voice like a woman's sigh
Says, 'Do you believe, believe?'
Ah, you were warm and sweet,
Sweet as the May days be;
Down did I fall at your feet,
Why did you hearken to me?
Oh, the logs they crack and whine,
And the water drops from the eaves;
But it is not rain but brine
Where my dead darling grieves.
And a wraith sits by my side,
A spectre grim and dark;
Are you gazing here open-eyed
Out to the lifeless dark?
But ever the wind rides on,
And we sit close within;
Out of the face of the dawn,
I and my darling,--sin.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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My Peace
My peace is at a piece of paper
So thin and light
And could be blown by slightest wind
My peace is at eaves
So close yet fragile
And could fall by careless step
My peace is at sway of wave
Sometimes high, sometimes low
And could sweep me in one row
My peace is at seconds
So short and precious
And could quickly vanish before you realize
My peace is at candle in the dark
So tiny and unreasonable
But my heart is hanging on it
My peace is at the rush
So troubled but soothing
It makes me don’t care about the pursuing time
My peace is at the hand of shadow
So vague and naïve
But it allures me to dream and believe
My peace is at the lost
Breaking and torturing
But in the end I always learn it’s the way the life goes on
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Rejection
The fear of rejection-
Despite the sunshine
And
California, dreams-
This place where snow never falls, and
The ocean exists just outside my back door-
This fear and aloneness
Not even a prayer would
Alleviate,
Although one day I met you
Walking barefooted in
The sunlight’s shadows –
A child of God you said you were and
That we are all God’s children-
Your hand outstretched
Reaching for mine- although
With some trepidation
I walked the path towards heaven
By your side as the rain fell-
Laughter was infectious,
I could feel my bare feet sinking into the
Muddy water, as we grew closer
Sharing the secrets of our wounded hearts,
Life, laughter and these peace filled moments had
Me believing I had found a friend in you-
It hardly mattered that the rain was falling hard
In this place where it hardly ever rained-
I would never be alone again…
Inside my small cracker box home
I would wait for your arrival, though
My thoughts, abruptly interrupted by
The harsh ringing of the telephone-
Life, laughter and peace-filled moments
Transformed to shattered hopes and phony expectations-
The God you had told me that answered everybody’s prayers-
Had different plans for you and I-
The hand that had so gratefully reached out to touch your soul
Took the wound of rejection, anger and deep disappointment -
The profuse bleeding was not the bleeding
From nails pounded into the hands of Christ crucified –
This God that you claimed had made so many promises, but
Was the bleeding of my wounded heart and wrist-
From that day on, I would never again repeat the words
“In God we trust” as
I had been betrayed by your false promises and
Forsaken by the God who walked with you-
I see blood in a puddle upon the
Kitchen floor,
Red contrasting rudely with the tile, stark white-
Hardly diluted by the tears of rejection
I had wept so copiously-
The rain has ceased to fall now and
The sun is shining again upon this land but
Not upon my inner space-
Here in my sanctuary, alone,
I cannot see the light of day-
California dreams have
Transformed to nightmares-
We are all God’s children,
As you had so faithfully said, but
I am a child of God who
Walks alone in the darkness
Towards the rising moon- and
They say only crazy people dance in the dark
When the moon is full-
The rain may have washed my tears away but inside of me
Lives an untrustworthy soul that
Will never reach heaven’s gates because
The God you walk with and in which you have
Placed your faith, in my mind does not exist-
Blinded by the bright sunlight, and
So angry at this world
I choose not to live in, I shall
Walk outside my back door towards the ocean,
Find a seashell and hold it to my ear to listen
To the waves roaring as
I walk barefooted in the sand alone-
Alone, being the only way I can exist-
You, God and the sun have not been true, and
Darkness had never seemed so beautiful as
I dance beneath the full moon during the midnight hours, as I
Converse with the voices that echo throughout my mind,
Locked behind the doors to my inner space forever,
Hidden behind the moonlight’s shadows
Perhaps a lost soul, though always dreaming…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Upon the Eaves
Upon the eaves, tomorrow's eve,
Unfolding sorrow takes its leave,
In cresting night's arresting heart,
Protesting craven flight departs.
A raven flits from hope to hail,
Sweet remembered desolation,
When dissolute and dainty fare,
Fell to barren expectation.
In darkness cloaked, how Cotard's coat,
Devours the starlight years afloat,
Scudding clouds defacing sketches,
Heaven's poor prophetic etches.
Uplifted brief in cruciform,
Against the Scales my spirit stalls,
Then glancing upon Scorpio,
Long hours are lost in empty halls.
Upon the eaves, on morrow's eve,
Now sorrow folds within with ease,
The anonymity of night,
Fading with calamitous light,
In bloody shards encroaching dawn,
Acclaimed in song, acclaimed in song.
This silent raven worships naught,
But silhouette and shadow long.
A plumage ruffling teasing wind,
Whispers, 'In preening pride you've sinned',
My posture hunched, I contemplate,
The tides of light upon the gate,
And they who spy, in shining eye,
The embers of a faltering fire,
See but November's fallen leaves,
Reflected death yet nothing higher.
Upon the eaves, autumnal air,
Dispassionately bears despair,
A cry of kraa, a beat, and kraa,
A call to arms for the bourgeois,
Which falls unheard upon the ears,
Of smothered life, as do the sounds,
Of feathers rustled crisp as silk,
And ebbing nature's leaf on ground.
The sun ascendant, cold and veiled,
Her beauty waxing so concealed,
Draws weary wings with creaking grace,
Far lifting me to kiss her face,
To find her faint remembered warmth,
And yield to her divinity,
Oh cruel illusionary quest,
To seek to bridge infinity.
Upon the eaves, a chilling breeze,
Untouched my goddess takes her leave,
This distant stare, this mote of night,
Now fractured by her draining light,
A cry of kraa, a beat and kraa,
And uncontainted my Ka remains,
Unbounded storms besiege that star,
Determined souls chance entertains.
With wounded pride this raven stands,
A Prince of bleaket blasted lands,
Entombed in time as sure as jet,
How deep as coal lies my regret,
Surrender, as the darkness seeps,
This shadow slowly starts to preen,
Unseen the threads of grey I wear,
Day's darkest eyes now flashing green.
Upon the eaves, tomorrow's eve,
Unfolding sorrow takes its leave,
Far westward fairs my hollow heart,
To Rostau fate and flight depart.
But rising first in cruciform,
Against the Scales this raven calls,
So fey to dance with Scorpio,
My life was lost to empty halls.
poem by Robert Kane
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Shadows Of Love
Shadows kiss
without kissing,
touch
without touching,
yearn for love,
never knowing
it's warmth.
Lovers smooch
in a doorway,
where light falls
from windows,
while shadows,
they drift
over walls.
Dancing
so spritely
they trip
and they tango
deflecting the light,
as they fly
and they prance.
They climb
and they slide
through a window,
all cosy,
lie down on a duvet
unseen
by sharp eyes.
They endeavour
to woo and when
time meets the sun,
light floods
the skies
and all shadows,
must fade……
It was good
for a moment
but moments
are fleeting,
as morning
breaks clouds
chasing shadows away.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Immortal Autumn
I speak this poem now with grave and level voice
In praise of autumn, of the far-horn-winding fall.
I praise the flower-barren fields, the clouds, the tall
Unanswering branches where the wind makes sullen noise.
I praise the fall: it is the human season.
Now
No more the foreign sun does meddle at our earth,
Enforce the green and bring the fallow land to birth,
Nor winter yet weigh all with silence the pine bough,
But now in autumn with the black and outcast crows
Share we the spacious world: the whispering year is gone:
There is more room to live now: the once secret dawn
Comes late by daylight and the dark unguarded goes.
Between the mutinous brave burning of the leaves
And winter’s covering of our hearts with his deep snow
We are alone: there are no evening birds: we know
The naked moon: the tame stars circle at our eaves.
It is the human season. On this sterile air
Do words outcarry breath: the sound goes on and on.
I hear a dead man’s cry from autumn long since gone.
I cry to you beyond upon this bitter air.
poem by Archibald MacLeish
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Out in the Cold
Out in the cold mid the dreary night,
Under the eaves of homes so bright:
Snowflakes falling o'er mother's grave
Will no one rescue, no one save?
A child left out in the dark and cold,
A lamb not sheltered in any fold,
Hearing the wolves of hunger bark,
Out in the cold! and out in the dark
Missing to-night the charming bliss,
That lies in the mother's good-night kiss;
And hearing no loving father's prayer,
For blessings his children all may share.
Creeping away to some wretched den,
To sleep mid the curses of drunken men
And women, not as God has made,
Wrecked and ruined, wronged and betrayed.
Church of the Lord reach out thy arm,
And shield the hapless one from harm;
Where the waves of sin are dashing wild
Rescue and save the drifting child.
Wash from her life guilt's turbid foam,
In the fair haven of a home;
Tenderly lead the motherless girl
Up to the gates of purest pearl.
The wandering feet which else had strayed,
From thorny paths may yet be stayed;
And a crimson track through the cold dark night
May exchange to a line of loving light.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Desolate
From the sad eaves the drip-drop of the rain!
The water washing at the latchel door;
A slow step plashing by upon the moor;
A single bleat far from the famished fold;
The clicking of an embered hearth and cold;
The rainy Robin tic-tac at the pane.
'So as it is with thee
Is it with me,
So as it is and it used not to be,
With thee used not to be,
Nor me.'
So singeth Robin on the willow tree,
The rainy robin tic-tac at the pane.
Here in this breast all day
The fire is dim and low,
Within I care not to stay,
Without I care not to go.
A sadness ever sings
Of unforgotten things,
And the bird of love is patting at the pane;
But the wintry water deepens at the door,
And a step is plashing by upon the moor
Into the dark upon the darkening moor,
And alas, alas, the drip-drop of the rain!
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Places
Places I love come back to me like music,
Hush me and heal me when I am very tired;
I see the oak woods at Saxton's flaming
In a flare of crimson by the frost newly fired;
And I am thirsty for the spring in the valley
As for a kiss ungiven and long desired.
I know a bright world of snowy hills at Boonton,
A blue and white dazzling light on everything one sees,
The ice-covered branches of the hemlocks sparkle
Bending low and tinkling in the sharp thin breeze,
And iridescent crystals fall and crackle on the snow-crust
With the winter sun drawing cold blue shadows from the trees.
Violet now, in veil on veil of evening
The hills across from Cromwell grow dreamy and far;
A wood-thrush is singing soft as a viol
In the heart of the hollow where the dark pools are;
The primrose has opened her pale yellow flowers
And heaven is lighting star after star.
Places I love come back to me like music --
Mid-ocean, midnight, the waves buzz drowsily;
In the ship's deep churning the eerie phosphorescence
Is like the souls of people who were drowned at sea,
And I can hear a man's voice, speaking, hushed, insistent,
At midnight, in mid-ocean, hour on hour to me.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Old Fires
The fire burns low
Where it has burned ages ago,
Sinks and sighs
As it has done to a hundred eyes
Staring, staring
At the last cold smokeless glow.
Here men sat
Lonely and watched the golden grate
Turn at length black;
Heard the cooling iron crack:
Shadows, shadows,
Watching the shadows come and go.
And still the hiss
I hear, the soft fire's sob and kiss,
And still it burns
And the bright gold to crimson turns,
Sinking, sinking,
And the fire shadows larger grow.
O dark-cheeked fire,
Wasting like spent heart's desire,
You that were gold,
And now crimson will soon be cold--
Cold, cold,
Like moon-shadows on new snow.
Shadows all,
They that watched your shadows fall.
But now they come
Rising around me, grave and dumb....
Shadows, shadows,
Come as the fire-shadows go.
And stay, stay,
Though all the fire sink cold as clay,
Whispering still,
Ancestral wise Familiars--till,
Staring, staring,
Dawn's wild fires through the casement glow.
poem by John Freeman
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The Songs of Summer
The songs of summer are over and past!
The swallow's forsaken the dripping eaves;
Ruined and black 'mid the sodden leaves
The nests are rudely swung in the blast:
And ever the wind like a soul in pain
Knocks and knocks at the window-pane.
The songs of summer are over and past!
Woe's me for a music sweeter than theirs--
The quick, light bound of a step on the stairs,
The greeting of lovers too sweet to last:
And ever the wind like a soul in pain
Knocks and knocks at the window-pane.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Awakening
A slumberous sense of seclusion
As sleep is drifting from my eyes,
I look upon the translucent shade of the morning dew
While I, moving slowly do arise.
Watching the rain dripping from the eaves
Silhouetted in gold from the rising sun,
My mind gradually awakening
Now a new day has begun.
Through dimly, dancing dawns first light,
With sound of the rains chime,
The horizon still not clear
Just sweet thoughts of a shadowy time.
A light gust of wind gently lifts
The dead and dying leaves
Settling softly upon the ground
As light as the morning breeze.
The suns light a smile of gold
On the landscapes new days light,
Now stand and look at the rainbow
A gorgeous scene for mortal sight..
© 2012 Hazel
poem by Hazel Connelly
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