Unbearably lovely music is heard as the curtain rises, and we see the woods on a summer afternoon. A fawn dances on and nibbles slowly at some leaves. He drifts lazily through the soft foliage. Soon he starts coughing and drops dead.
Woody Allen in Without Feathers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Analog Kid
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
A hot and windy august afternoon
Has the trees in constant motion
With a flash of silver leaves
As theyre rocking in the breeze
The boy lies in the grass with one blade
Stuck between his teeth
A vague sensation quickens
In his young and restless heart
And a bright and nameless vision
Has him longing to depart
You move me ---
You move me ---
With your buildings and your eyes
Autumn woods and winter skies
You move me ---
You move me ---
Open sea and city lights
Busy streets and dizzy heights
You call me ---
You call me ---
The fawn-eyed girl with sun-browned legs
Dances on the edge of his dream
And her voice rings in his ears
Like the music of the spheres
The boy lies in the grass, unmoving
Staring at the sky
His mother starts to call him
As a hawk goes soaring by
The boy pulls down his baseball cap
And covers up his eyes
Too many hands on my time
Too many feelings ---
Too many things on my mind
When I leave I dont know
What Im hoping to find
When I leave I dont know
What Im leaving behind...
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Analog Kid
A hot and windy August afternoon
Has the trees in constant motion
With a flash of silver leaves
As they're rocking in the breeze
The boy lies in the grass with one blade
Stuck between his teeth
A vague sensation quickens
In his young and restless heart
And a bright and nameless vision
Has him longing to depart
You move me --
You move me --
With your buildings and your eyes
Autumn woods and winter skies
You move me --
You move me --
Open sea and city lights
Busy streets and dizzy heights
You call me --
You call me --
The fawn-eyed girl with sun-browned legs
Dances on the edge of his dream
And her voice rings in his ears
Like the music of the spheres
The boy lies in the grass, unmoving
Staring at the sky
His mother starts to call him
As a hawk goes soaring by
The boy pulls down his baseball cap
And covers up his eyes
Too many hands on my time
Too many feelings --
Too many things on my mind
When I leave I don't know
What I'm hoping to find
When I leave I don't know
What I'm leaving behind
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Everybody Dance (The Dance Of The Dead)
As the sun sinks upon the horizon,
As the dark night creeps in,
The dead dance.
On the streets they roam,
Silent,
Alone.
Everybody dances,
The saints and the sinners,
Everybody dances,
To the sound of the rhythm,
Everybody dances,
The dance of the dead.
The dance of the dead goes on,
And on,
Never stops,
Never slows,
Time does not matter to the dead.
Everybody dances,
The poor and the rich,
Everybody dances,
To the cries to the babies,
Everybody dances,
The dance of the dead.
As your time goes up,
The dead dance into your room,
Filled with silent movements,
They twirl with grace,
And style
And ease.
They reach out their hands,
And you take it,
And join the dance of the dead.
Everybody dance,
The young and the old,
Everybody dance,
The music is playing,
Everybody dance,
To the dance of the dead.
C’mon,
Everybody dance,
Soldiers and lovers,
Oh,
Everybody dance,
To sound they cry,
So,
Everybody dance,
To the dance of the dead,
The dance of the dead.
Oh,
Everybody dances,
Because the dance never stops.
6/05/06
poem by Charlie F. Kane
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At Utter Loaf
I.
An afternoon as ripe with heat
As might the golden pippin be
With mellowness if at my feet
It dropped now from the apple-tree
My hammock swings in lazily.
II.
The boughs about me spread a shade
That shields me from the sun, but weaves
With breezy shuttles through the leaves
Blue rifts of skies, to gleam and fade
Upon the eyes that only see
Just of themselves, all drowsily.
III.
Above me drifts the fallen skein
Of some tired spider, looped and blown,
As fragile as a strand of rain,
Across the air, and upward thrown
By breaths of hayfields newly mown--
So glimmering it is and fine,
I doubt these drowsy eyes of mine.
IV.
Far-off and faint as voices pent
In mines, and heard from underground,
Come murmurs as of discontent,
And clamorings of sullen sound
The city sends me, as, I guess,
To vex me, though they do but bless
Me in my drowsy fastnesses.
V.
I have no care. I only know
My hammock hides and holds me here
In lands of shade a prisoner:
While lazily the breezes blow
Light leaves of sunshine over me,
And back and forth and to and fro
I swing, enwrapped in some hushed glee,
Smiling at all things drowsily.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Walking in the Early Afternoon
When walking in the early afternoon
I think of you and wish you here with me;
The woods are such a lovely place in June,
You would enjoy it, this I guarantee.
Walking down the trails relieves my stress,
The beauty all around envelops me;
If you were here with me I could express
The happiness I feel with you and what I see.
Come take a walk with me some afternoon,
If you can find the time to get away;
The woods are such a lovely place in June,
We’ll savor every step along the way.
poem by Gail Grierson
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Morning in North Sligo
Slowly back the mist cloud moves,
as if drawn, like a duvet,
from a sleepers dream.
Like a stage curtain in
a drama, opens a play.
The moving mists the day.
Birds, thrushes and starlings
play on air, swoop and dip,
like scouts in early summer river,
dammed up beside their summer tent.
The mountains, awaken the ferns,
purple colored pall.
Rocks as if giants spoons,
turned upside down.
Old pigeons coughing a sound
on branches of trees,
observing, just that.
The others swoop and dive
upon the air,
await another time,
when tents rolled up,
and curtain closes over,
and drama is complete,
the story acted out
of generations,
another night.
poem by Bernard Kennedy
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Concert
Music drifts threw the air
I can almost see the notes
They float around my head in the most delightful way
We worked hard to play in such a wonderful way
I leaves the best impression on our critics
We are the best
That's what we think
That's what we know
Now I can taste success
We did it
Its over
Our music has been played
Our music has been heard
Our music has been loved
poem by Jimmy Hoffa
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Et Memoria
Come and walk through my life today
while we remember our yesterdays,
a new day is unfolding for us
and leave an impression of you,
painted against the canvas of my thoughts
because every new tomorrow
is born from our yesterdays
and you stay part of me, even though
everything between us is past,
I see you in the sparkle of the sun,
the dew that are sparkling on leaves
and now I realize, that love
in every moment of remembering
starts new again
and how slowly I still stretch out moments
that is already past
as if it’s always part of my humanity
but I am aware
that our relationship is far past being dead,
that tonight
you will find heat with someone else
as if I am only
part of a quenched flame.
[Reference: Et Memoria by Japie S. Strydom:
“Come walk tonight
through my tomorrow,
and page with me through my dreams,
draw your body here
in my soft covered book,
since our today is born in yesterdays and tomorrows:
you are a flash of the sun,
the early morning dew;
summer dreams on a late afternoon,
an early spring morning–
tonight I know,
that the days of our lives (love?) ,
again,
starts in every remembrance:
how slowly I weaved you
and carried you down
– into the cocoon of yesterdays and tomorrows
in remembrance of drawn out longing
to the wool blanket of my conscience.
Tonight I know
that your feet
unaccustomed to the strangeness -
will separate from me coldly shy.” (My English translation.) ]
4
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Calendar of Sonnets: November
This is the treacherous month when autumn days
With summer's voice come bearing summer's gifts.
Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts
Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze
Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,
And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,
The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts
Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning's rays
Willidly shine upon and slowly melt,
Too late to bid the violet live again.
The treachery, at last, too late, is plain;
Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt.
What joy sufficient hath November felt?
What profit from the violet's day of pain?
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Woods and Hills at Ponmudi
Seclusion under the foliage
Enchants me amidst wild melody.
Bowing blossoms give me homage
In the afternoon breezy.
Wood is fresh as virgin of village;
It’s chill puts out all embers softly.
Woods and hills are lovely so;
Spend a week there I wish I could.
Farms in woods are pensive so;
Scatter my seeds I wish I could.
In the darkness, fire-worms flash and out go;
Return with thought fruits I wish I could.
Soon all my wishes are milled,
While all clutched the mind under.
Again, down the hill I am pulled
By some gravitation power.
I am always thus pulled
To the same busy corner.
poem by Fabiyas M V
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Adored in Somnolence
He curls up behind her
His every curve
Melting into her own.
The setting sun
Reflects from the lake
And dances across the ceiling
Like the aurora borealis
And they watch the display
In sleepy silence.
The temperature slowly drops.
He pulls the cover higher
On her.
For the first time in her life,
She feels safe.
His hand cups her breast,
As she drifts to dreaming,
With a tiny smile on her face.
He kisses her hair
And follows her.
Goodnight.
© 2012
poem by Ruby Honeytip
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Severance
It was in
The late afternoon
On this sultry day in late summer, that
I heard
The sirens
Screaming,
At that time
I heard
A voice
Call from afar.
Not one sound was present, except
For the singing of crickets
And the sighing of maple trees;
Late summer, it was the time
Of the rising of the dead,
The falling of the leaves,
Stark, green, and envious,
Though shamelessly transforming into a
Putrid, mottled brown mass
Falling haphazardly into a heap onto the
Yellowing grass below.
Hiding beneath were the sparrows,
Playing their flutist’s music,
As wild violets wafting in the gentle breeze
Sang their tune in accordance.
The screams of the sirens were shrill and high pitched.
Closer and closer
They became, though they did not muffle the voices
I could still hear from afar-
Quiescence was shattered, as
Flutist’s music intensified,
Church bells sounded at vespers-Almost cacophonously,
Nearly off-key, they were, in their sound.
Crickets carried their tune,
Leaves –sea green and as damp as new moss
Metamorphosis into gold and red,
Not regal, though, daunting
As insects skated across the nearby creek,
Elusive as they could be, they lived without a care.
In that nearby churchyard, I stood, where
I could hear my calling,
A voice invoked my name, - my mission…
Sirens, shrill, were still shrieking,
Closer they came, as
Summer turned to autumn,
I was surrounded by the
Dancing of high reeds intertwining and
Towering fir trees.
Within this late summer’s squall
I was to be swept away.
I could still hear voices calling from afar,
No one was present- although
Always obedient, I was to their lurid commands.
Stark, green and never envious
Was the foliage upon the trees
Where I would hide in solitude behind a thicket,
Listening to the sparrows’ flutist’s music of the
First born.
Thunder would clap and obliterate the sound
Of the approaching sirens, no matter how close,
I could always hear that voice calling from afar,
Church bells were ringing.
Somewhere in that churchyard
I would hide- at vespers praying for severance
From fear, at that hour,
I heard my calling,
At that moment they had come to
Carry me home…
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Under The Summer Rain
Drops rippling
In the lake where we were raised,
In the place where we met each other
Under the summer rain
Thunder cracks
Lightning threatens
Shadows on the dock, silenced
Calm, listening
To the summer rain
A splash in the distance
All of us wondering what emerged
Through the summer rain
The woods where we play empty
Heeding directions we’ve heard all these years
Under the summer rain
The time goes by so fast
Wasn’t it yesterday when we were
Six, seven, eight, listening
To the summer rain?
But we’re just as beautiful now
Peaceful, with everyone watching us
Through the summer rain
Don’t tell us we’re not like we used to be
We want it, we can’t help it
But we’re just as beautiful now
Watching the summer rain
Sonnet to Isa Sleeping
As graceful as the Babylonian willow
Bending, at noontide, over some clear stream
In Palestine, in beauty did she seem
Upon the cygnet-down of her soft pillow;
And now her breast heaved like some gentle billow
Swayed by the presence of the full round moon
Voluptuous as the summer South at noon
Her cheeks as rosy as the radiant dawn
When heaven is cloudless! When she breated, the air
Around was perfume! Timid as the fawn,
And meeker than the dove, her soft words were
Like gentle music heard at night, when all
Around is still until the soul of care
Was soothed, as noontide by some waterfall.
poem by Thomas Holley Chivers from The Lost Pleiad (1854)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Autumn Months
The Autumn Months
The month of September
lazily have arrived
and soon will roll by
the autumn will be crowned
with great splendor
when nature splashes its beauty
like bride at the wedding night
the colorful foliage
will be in panoramic display
There will be trees
that shed their leaves
like hot tears
saying farewell to
the summer months
it is the year life cycle
that revolves like a carousel
in an amusement park
we are going for a ride
in an eternal delight
poem by Sherif Monem
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Autumnal Sonnet
Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods,
And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt,
And night by night the monitory blast
Wails in the key-hold, telling how it pass'd
O'er empty fields, or upland solitudes,
Or grim wide wave; and now the power is felt
Of melancholy, tenderer in its moods
Than any joy indulgent summer dealt.
Dear friends, together in the glimmering eve,
Pensive and glad, with tones that recognise
The soft invisible dew in each one's eyes,
It may be, somewhat thus we shall have leave
To walk with memory,--when distant lies
Poor Earth, where we were wont to live and grieve.
poem by William Allingham
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Fawn Ghazal
Inside a snowy blanket which put the trees to sleep,
I heard a fawn.
Out past the window's ice coat in the morning, I
found a sleeping fawn.
There are men in yellow kitchens watching hands of
brown-eyed women
while men in orange jackets dream in secret, of
capturing a fawn.
When I was younger I was taught, but have forgotten,
sweet timidity.
When I am older I will learn, by necessity, the
light-footedness of fawns.
Someone left a lily on my doorstep, eggshell white
with speckled leaves;
the card of introduction said the flower's name was
Fawn.
Sages wonder if it's possible for men to turn to
animals.
I wonder if they've pondered the agility of fawns.
Submitted by Joe Shields
The Voice of Love
After a long solitary confinement
In deep love for someone
I heard a song
A song in the woods
Where I stood
The woods which stood in the solitude
There was nobody
Nobody except me
Nobody heard the song
Which rapped in the woods
Somewhere, but I didn't know where
The song I heard wasn't raspy
Neither soft nor melodious
The song I heard was heart-strucken'd
There was a tone
A tune where you can find
A rapt of love.
The song has given pathogen in me
Who's that guy?
Singing in love
Crying and dying in love?
I listened to the song carefully
Now I found
The lonely woods are in me
And the song I heard
was the voice
The voice of love in me.
poem by D'menz Veen
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When I am asked, "What do you think of our audience?" I answer, "I know two kinds of audiences only - one coughing, and one not coughing."
Arthur Schnabel in My Life and Music (1961)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Actor
The curtain rises on the scene
With someone shouting to be free
The play unfolds before my eyes
There stands the actor who is me
The sleeping hours takes us far
From traffic, telephones and fear
Put out your problems with the cat
Escape until a bell you hear
Our reasons are the same
But theres no-one we can blame
For theres nowhere we need go
And the only truth we know comes so easily
The sound I have heard in your hello
Oh, oh, darling, youre almost part of me
Oh, oh, darling, youre all Ill ever see
Ah, ah, ah
Its such a rainy afternoon
No point in going anywhere
The sounds just drift across my room
I wish this feeling I could share
Its such a rainy afternoon
She sits and gazes from her window
Her mind tries to recall his face
The feeling deep inside her grows
Our reasons are the same
But theres no-one we can blame
For theres nowhere we need go
And the only truth we know comes so easily
The sound I have heard in your hello
Oh, oh, darling, youre almost part of me
Oh, oh, darling, youre all Ill ever see
The sound I have heard in your hello
Oh, oh, darling, youre all Ill ever see
Oh, oh, darling, youre almost part of me
Ah, ah, ah
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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