Pegasus
(olivia newton-john)
There you were in my dream
Flying high just for me
Oh pegasus oh pegasus
White and strong soft and warm
Youve been in my mind so long
Oh pegasus oh pegasus
Where do you come from?
Where have you been?
Where will you go oh?
Ill call for you whenever I need you
Will you take me on your back and fly away?
Will you teach me why Im here and lead the way?
Oh pegasus
Spread your wings Ill climb on
Well explore the stars youre from
Oh pegasus oh pegasus
Youre a myth born of light
Sent to heal my world tonight
Oh pegasus oh pegasus
There you were in my dream
Flying high just for me
Oh pegasus oh pegasus
White and strong soft and warm
Youve been in my mind so long
Oh pegasus oh pegasus
Through all time youll live on
A gift to earth from dark till dawn
Oh pegasus oh pegasus
Creation of magic you live in my heart
Your spirit will guide me though were dimensions apart
There you were in my dream
Flying high just for me
Oh pegasus oh pegasus
Through all time youll live on
A gift to earth from dark till dawn
Oh pegasus
(repeats)
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Pegasus
(clarke / hicks / nash)
Follow me, follow, see what you see.
Ill take somewhere where youve never been.
High on a mountain, deep down in the sea,
To faraway lands, you can travel with me.
Im pegasus, the flying horse.
Im pegasus, the flying horse.
Ride on my back and hold onto my wings
Ill take you by night to a time-leaping dream.
Time has no value where were going to
People are happy; there, theyre never blue.
Chorus
This can only happen to you
If you keep our secret.
Dont tell anyone about our magic horse.
You can go where you want, I can take you anywhere.
Because Im pegasus, the flying horse.
Im pegasus, the flying horse.
Chorus
Verse 1
Chorus
Im pegasus, the flying horse.
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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PEGASUS and BELLEROPHONTE
His Creator was Sea God Poseidon
This winged-horse Pegasus demigod
Spiral horn on forehead his talisman
The Gods of Mt Olympus were awed
Pegasus delivered lightning bolts
When Zeus warred against men
When He put down their revolts
Men are prone to sin now n’ then
One day while drinking from a spring
Hero Bellerophonte captured Pegasus
As hero mounted, with deep voice did sing
“I’m coming for you Chimera”
Then tested flying horse flight n’agileness
They flew afar to slay a hideous monster…
Possessed of lion’s head, goat’s body, serpent’s tail
Whose breath could melt a fighting soldier’s armor
Confidently, astride Pegasus the hero could not fail
From high above they saw the ugly beast
As she wreaked death n’ havoc on the land
Into a downward dive, their speed increased
“The clash of the titans” was at hand
Bellerophonte drew a sword, the monster did behead
Pegasus hoofed Chimera, ensured she was dead
They placed the monster’s head in a basket
Then set off for Mt Olympus far away
At the “Golden gate” the two were met
Welcomed by gods and demigods that day
Heroes come in all shapes n’ sizes
Who justly deserve accolades ‘n prizes
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Pegasus
This song was first released on the spirit album. it is the only album it has been released on.
Peaceful valleys, animals and children asking me
Tell the story that you told of sailors drinking tea
Tell the one about the man who saddled up the wind
Pegasus and flying fish and woodsmen made of tin
A kid knows what he wants to be before hes nine or ten
Cowboys, clowns, and men of war and someone elses friend
But nine grows into big boys pants and then to scars and pain
Twentys fast and hard as nails but doesnt come again
Theres days to fall and days to rise and days for making haste
Days for seeking out yourself but no days you can waste
Nighttimes filled with love so good it aches to rest it down
Endless hallways dark with sleep and rivers dark with sound
Peaceful valleys, animals and children asking me
Tell the story that you told of sailors drinking tea
Tell the one about the man who saddled up the wind
Pegasus and flying fish and woodsmen made of tin
Children climbing on my arms and pigeons on my head
Get thee up my little man and dream a dream instead
Dream a dream of rocking chairs and flying through the night
Dream until the mornings gone and turned the dark to light
Then come and get your daddy if he hasnt blown away
Rock him in your childrens hands and help him find his way
Take him to your hiding place and let him come inside
Hell never tell your secret, cross my heart and hope to die
Peaceful valleys, animals and children asking me
Tell the story that you told of sailors drinking tea
Tell the one about the man who saddled up the wind
Pegasus and flying fish and woodsmen made of tin
Words by joe henry, music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Oubit
It was an hairy oubit, sae proud he crept alang,
A feckless hairy oubit, and merrily he sang-
'My Minnie bad me bide at hame until I won my wings;
I show her soon my soul's aboon the warks o' creeping things.'
This feckless hairy oubit cam' hirpling by the linn,
A swirl o' wind cam' doun the glen, and blew that oubit in:
Oh when he took the water, the saumon fry they rose,
And tigg'd him a' to pieces sma', by head and tail and toes.
Tak' warning then, young poets a', by this poor oubit's shame;
Though Pegasus may nicher loud, keep Pegasus at hame.
Oh haud your hands frae inkhorns, though a' the Muses woo;
For critics lie, like saumon fry, to mak' their meals o' you.
Eversley, 1851.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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Wishes
i wish i do not have wings
come Pegasus
i wish i do not have hoofs
and horns
i wish i do not have the shield
and the sword
i wish i do not kill any dream
i wish i have not loved your smile
i wish i have forgotten your kisses
i wish i am lost and that you cannot find me
i wish i have space i wish i have more time
all these have been granted with the slight movement of the wand
of fantasy
i wish you have not known me.
i wish i have not written any poem at all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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New England Magazine
Upon Bottle Miche the autre day
While yet the nuit was early,
Je met a homme whose barbe was grey,
Whose cheveaux long and curly.
'Je am a poete, sir,' dit he,
'Je live where tres grande want teems—
I’m faim, sir. Sil vous plait give me
Un franc or cinquatite centimes.'
I donne him vingt big copper sous
But dit, 'You moderne rhymers
The sacre poet name abuse—
Les poets were old timers.'
'Je know! I know!' he wept, contrite;
'The bards no more suis mighty:
Ils rise no more in eleve flight,
Though some are beaucoup flighty.
'Vous wonder why Je weep this way,
Pour quoi these tears and blubbers?
It is mon fault les bards today
Helas! suis mere earth-grubbers.
'There was a time when tout might see
My grande flights dans the saddle;
Crowned rois, indeed, applauded me
Le Pegasus astraddle.
'Le winged horse avec acclaim
Was voted mon possession;
Je rode him tous les jours to fame;
Je led the whole procession.
'Then arrivee the Prussian war—
The siege—the sacre famine—
Then some had but a crust encore,
We mange the last least ham-an’
'Helas! Mon noble winged steed
Went oft avec no dinner;
On epics il refusee feed
And maigre grew, and thinner!
'Tout food was gone, and dans the street
Each homme sought crusts to sate him—
Joyeux were those with horse’s meat,
And Pegasus! Je ate him!'
My anger then Je could not hide—
To parler scarcely able
'Oh! curses dans you, sir!' Je cried;
'Vous human livery stable!'
He fled! But vous who read this know
Why mon pauvre verse is beaten
By that of cinquante years ago
‘Vant Pegasus fut eaten!
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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To Miss Edith M. Thomas
Your Pegasus, Edith, is hitched to a star,
While mine drags along a Sixth Avenue car;
Yours bears you away to the far empyrean,
Mine carries me down through the quarters plebeian.
Now, soaring aloft, you stop at Antares,
Call it home, that 's the place for Penates and Lares;
Or back to old Greece with her heroes and gods,
You get up a flirtation in sonnets and odes.
(Though they hailed from Olympus, that classical spot,
These "old parties," confess, were a pretty bad lot.)
Then with dear Mother Nature you make very free
To fathom her secrets of bird, flower, and tree;
To live with her ever on intimate terms,
A freedom on your part, she always confirms,
Although so exclusive she is with the rest of us,
Never giving her password or key to the best of us.
But you have them both, and can seek at your pleasure
Her most secret haunts, her most precious treasure;
And she calls you in accents as winning and mild,
As some fond old grandmother calls a pet child.
The round of my Pegasus lies through the town;
He travels and travels, now up, and now down;
I pull on the strap, and he willingly stops,
And leaves me to visit the markets and shops.
(My car, you perceive, is the bobtail variety
So little admired by the press and society.)
But wherever we go he signally fails
To lift me above the street levels and rails.
So you see that our steeds are not matched for a race,
And with all best endeavors can never keep pace.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Wish Horse
My mother told me,
Of a lovely horse.
That will come to you if you want to see,
It galloping though the night.
It might be a lovely winged Pegasus,
Gliding from moon to star.
Or it could be a circus horse,
Its head held up high.
It could be an Arabian beauty,
Its feet in the desert sand.
It might be a brumby,
Just for me.
A carthorse, a Shetland,
Or rocking horse.
It could be,
Any thing you want it to be.
For the choice is not up to me,
So what will it be?
You can decide,
For it is not my mind to find
poem by Mandy Jane
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the white winged Pegasus and the dreamer....
writing most likely as felt (by me) is more of a travel in the past,
you reminisce, your nostalgia bloats like a trouble in your kidney
you wish to filter all dirt from clean memories, hoping that what finally must be written are only those good and health ones, those that can propel you to a better destination,
sometimes Pegasus comes and lands on your writing table to the size of a pen, blows his nose, waggles it tail telling you that he is now ready to take you to that wasted patch of your past,
and you take heed, ride on its back, taken by his wings to one segment of your life
with mother, in her birthplace, somewhere in Mindanao, before the war broke out,
she was with your Aunt Olang, whose U.S. army husband succumb to the bionets of the Japanese platoon,
and who for just a short time finds the substitute of the local guerrilla named Magno, who sharpens his bolo to gather coconut wine,
in the kitchen you cousin Panit is opening a can of sardines to be cooked with some yellow noddles for supper
wood is scarce and so is water, but laughter is innumerable,
it seems that people laugh for no reason at all, in the middle of that war
you look at the roof with leaks, rain comes at night and everyone is transferring places since the pillows and blankets are all wet
there is suffering then, but laughter is always there to cure all the
lapses and insufficiency
harshness, hardships have no place for people whose hearts are attuned to being contented with what is available for the moment
you want to settle there but the winged Pegasus is already restless
he has to serve other clients who still want to go back to their pasts
you wonder if this white winged horse understand people who want to live
and bury their future in the past, accepting the fact that in there
they are happier....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Into The Blue
Into the blue
Falling and falling
My love to you
Never again calling
Freedom is harmony
Dust on the roadway
Now at last I'm free
From what you've to say
My road is new
Take out your heart
You never were true
Only a fire start
Freedom is breaking
From breeze at night
New thoughts awaking
In Pegasus flight
Into the blue
Never again to wonder
Those times are thru
Each of their ponder
Freedom is liberty
No dark reaching out
Now at last I'm free
Flying my thoughts about
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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A special gift
the sword of truth and light
provides the truth which
lights the way
through the darkness
for the fairy princess
sunprincess was surprised
with an enchanted Pegasus
for her sister-
fairy princess says
one good turn deserves
another
later in the evening
she arrives back
to the sparkling castle
through
the doorway of time
to be greeted by
the king of dreams
poem by Rachel Nichols
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Pegasus
If I am a Pegasus, the winged horse in Greek mythology.
Definitely I would have changed my stable, jockey and reins
As I want to be free myself.
I am sure that my Master would have released me
And I find a short cut for my loved ones.
I promise him to be returned with my lost identity.
Then I could have request from my Master to be a Stallion as usual
And give back the wings according to my phenomenon.
Master, please do not count my teeth as I am a workhorse without the working papers.
(To my poet friend Max.Reif)
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Tones of Mystic (to a friend)
I have played on white raven's golden harp
With the strings of the icy crystals glow
From the glaciers of the northern light snow
Tones of the arctic in moon dance warp
Blue to blue beams in their traveling lights
Into the dim oceans of unknown dreams
Seen some the feathers of Pegasus flights
And sighted the twinkling of wishing stars reams
Felt all the emotion in my own heart
Where pleasures were given to come alive
In endless weaving of tomorrow's dawn
Tones of mystic that never depart
Are the true filling and the inside drive
When later on - to chariots of fire I'm drawn
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Magic Number
sunprincess reached up to the blue sky
just to feel the sun's warm embrace
then off to the far kingdom on her pegasus
past the forest, and across the ocean
to the far lands of the east
far past the valley of the kings
to the enchanted kingdom of evermore
so beautiful this castle by the sea
here she meets the sun bronzed prince
he is so handsome- she couldn't stop smiling
he is with his sister- endless happiness
together they meet sunprincess
for this day will be a celebration of the twelve
for everyone knows the number twelve is magical
poem by Rachel Nichols
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I Like To Write An Epic
i like to write an epic
about a prince who went away to find
his destiny
who met his enemies
beasts and bad spirits
who slew them all
who found his own kingdom
on top of the tallest mountains
reaching the skies
who rode on a Pegasus
and swept away another Helen
there was this war for a thousand years
and there were betrayals
and losses and gains
and at the end
the tragedy happens
the epic is unfinished
all the while i will finish it
but then my friend
you fall short of time
at the happy ending
when the prince finally comes home
as a king
you are dead.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Don Juan: Canto the Twelfth
LIV
But now I will begin my poem. 'Tis
Perhaps a little strange, if not quite new,
That from the first of Cantos up to this
I've not begun what we have to go through.
These first twelve books are merely flourishes,
Preludios, trying just a string or two
Upon my lyre, or making the pegs sure;
And when so, you shall have the overture.LV
My Muses do not care a pinch of rosin
About what's call'd success, or not succeeding:
Such thoughts are quite below the strain they have chosen;
'Tis a "great moral lesson" they are reading.
I thought, at setting off, about two dozen
Cantos would do; but at Apollo's pleading
If that my Pegasus should not be founder'd,
I think to canter gently through a hundred.
Sound As A Bench
Poetry should be mysterious as silence
and as sound as a bench
and as hard as a floor
so I read in poems
by Denise Levertov
Poets are like worms
building from their innards
castles of metaphor
She advises poets to relearn
the alphabet
from anguish and ardor
through somnolent grotto
to the flank of Pegasus
and home to the present
I learn more from one line
about the twelfth letter
of the alphabet
according to Levertov
than most of the stuff
other people have drilled
into me since puberty!
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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A Word For It
'Scorn not the sonnet.' Well, I reckon not,
I would not scorn a rondeau, villanelle,
Ballade, sestina, triolet, rondel,
Or e'en a quatrain, humble and forgot,
An so it made my Pegasus to trot
His morning lap what time he heard the bell;
An so it made the poem stuff to jell-
To mix a met.-an so it boil'd the pot.
Oh, sweet set form that varies not a bit!
I taste thy joy, not quite unknown to Keats.
'Scorn? ' Nay, I love thy fine symmetric
grace.
In sonnets one knows always where to quit,
Unlike in other poems where one cheats
And strings it out to fill the yawning
space.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Poetry Reading
To be a boxer, or not to be there
at all. O Muse, where are our teeming crowds?
Twelve people in the room, eight seats to spare
it's time to start this cultural affair.
Half came inside because it started raining,
the rest are relatives. O Muse.
The women here would love to rant and rave,
but that's for boxing. Here they must behave.
Dante's Infemo is ringside nowadays.
Likewise his Paradise. O Muse.
Oh, not to be a boxer but a poet,
one sentenced to hard shelleying for life,
for lack of muscles forced to show the world
the sonnet that may make the high-school reading lists
with luck. O Muse,
O bobtailed angel, Pegasus.
In the first row, a sweet old man's soft snore:
he dreams his wife's alive again. What's more,
she's making him that tart she used to bake.
Aflame, but carefully-don't burn his cake!
we start to read. O Muse.
poem by Wislawa Szymborska
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mortgaged
These spotted trousers, now too short,
Were once some verses smoothly wrought,
The worn-out bluchers on my feet
Twin sonnets to My Lady Sweet,
This 'decker' hanging round my nose
The product of an ODE TO ROSE;
The collar, tie and underpants
Are still an editor's advance
For some wild Bacchanalian song
The gods, I hope, will send along...
To work a dead horse off one's hand
(More so, of Pegasus's brand)
Is what a poet hates to do,
Yet still is what Fate drives us to.
Ah me, I feel my soul is ripe
For forty couplets' worth of tripe,
Three lines of beer, a verse of bread,
But O ... I'll have to pay instead
That d___d old Editor!!
poem by Hugh McCrae
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