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From its brilliancy everything is illuminated.

quote by Guru Nanak
Added by Lucian Velea
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Stress and Headache Free

I am stress and headache free.
To peace I'm dedicated.
Stress and headache free.
To peace I'm dedicated.
I am stress and headache free.
To peace I'm dedicated.
No more nodding medicated.
Or allowing to berated.

I am stress and headache free.
To peace I'm dedicated.
Stress and headache free.
To peace I'm dedicated.
I am stress and headache free.
To peace I'm dedicated.
Dues I had I paid it.
I feel today elated.

I am stress and headache free.
To peace I'm dedicated.
Stress and headache free.
To peace I'm dedicated.
I am stress and headache free.
To peace I'm dedicated.
I'm happy that I've made it.
And there's nothing complicated!

Oh, I'm stressing headache free.
To peace I'm dedicated.
Yes I'm stress and headache free.
To peace I'm dedicated.
I am stress and headache free.
To peace I'm dedicated.
I am happy that I've made it.
There is nothing complicated!
No more nodding medicated.
Or allowing to berated.
Dues I had I paid it.
I feel today elated.
I'm now more animated.
I'm now more animated.
I'm now more animated.
And my life can be paraded.
Since inside I'm illuminated!
Since inside I'm illuminated!
Since inside I'm illuminated!
Since inside I'm illuminated!

I am stress and headache free.
To peace I'm dedicated.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I’ve Heard Some Say

With trembling
voice of desperate hope
with longing
voice of broken hope.

I’ve heard some say.
The sun will rise one day.
I’ve heard some say.
The sun will rise one day.

Yet I welcome not; oncoming light
for all is stark, rigid, clear; obliterating bright
inflexible, absolute; in piercing glaring light
no place to hide, in refuge; as in shelter night.

Intense mushroomed brightness; obliterates sight
a disagreeable dazzling damning; atom splitting light
fierce hard overpowering; atom splitting obliterating sight
no place of mindful refuge lit; as in dreams of hope filled night.

It is hard
to face, oncoming day,
when hope
filled dreams, are stripped away.

To face impossible
fruitless reality, sow mortality.
A decisive bitter blow.
Youth contemplates senility.

When glorious dreams
are shredded ripped apart.
Where can distraught
mind go? To restart?

Fear to face
fresh newborn day.
Fear to face
illuminated mushroomed day.

Illuminated
full
born
prospects.

Heralded in atomic
calculating
mechanical

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Illuminated

Turn the lights on!
Change the channel cuz the fight's on
You know you can't watch all the stars dance without the right song
So turn the music up!
Let it beat on your soul til it uses up
The foolish acoustics, your ears lose enough
Wait, you don't need three squares for a cubic cup

Just do the math
And the read the numbers
They must think they're too clever by two halves
You don't encumber
Cuz you know that
Bright 5th graders can be smarter than a plutocrat

So light it up once
Roll it down twice
Puff puff pass, three steps and the roll the dice
You see it in their eyes
Covered by suits and ties
A darkness that hides all illuminated lies

That wriggle through their teeth
And burrow in the streets
Where walls walk over people bleating like they're sheep
And corporations speak
Because they're people, too
Even though they don't live like normal people do

So hey you, yes you!
They say you have to possess debt
The corporate chain gang needs you
So you can't rest yet
The media will try to hold you in check
Like a chess set
Of TVs that keep asking
If you've found success yet
To borrow more and hit the town
Shining, in some fresh steps

Or give news that gives blues
Until you can't suppress stress
On your block and round the world
‘They're' making their press threats
To your life, but with air strikes
You'll be sure to sleep at night
Because freedom rings true and it reigns in excess
On the backs of camos that melt in the sun
So when they cross Cs
They cannot express

[...] Read more

poem by P.R. Prosper
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Summertime In England

Can you meet me in the country
In the summertime in england
Will you meet me?
Will you meet me in the country
In the summertime in england
Will you meet me?
Well go riding up to kendal in the country
In the summertime in england.
Did you ever hear about
Did you ever hear about
Did you ever hear about
Wordsworth and coleridge, baby?
Did you ever hear about wordsworth and coleridge?
They were smokin up in kendal
By the lakeside
Can you meet me in the country in the long grass
In the summertime in england
Will you meet me
With your red robe dangling all around your body
With your red robe dangling all around your body
Will you meet me
Did you ever hear about . . .
William blake
T. s. eliot
In the summer
In the countryside
They were smokin
Summertime in england
Wont you meet me down bristol
Meet me along by bristol
Well go ridin down
Down by avalon
Down by avalon
Down by avalon
In the countryside in england
With your red robe danglin all around your body free
Let your red robe go.
Goin ridin down by avalon
Would you meet me in the country
In the summertime in england
Would you meet me?
In the church of st. john . . .
Down by avalon . . . .
Holy magnet
Give you attraction
Yea, I was attracted to you.
Your coat was old, ragged and worn
And you wore it down through the ages
Ah, the sufferin did show in your eyes as we spoke
And the gospel music

[...] Read more

song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Who Is The Real Problem?

i am the real problem
i Do not have anything to do with my Life, it has only lonelines as the real cause of its misery.

i am the real problem
i Have figured out the real issue
Of the problem and
it is not capable of exact
Definition,

That seemingly is a problem apparently
Appearing to me as life but there is
No life in it
The right to call it life
Cannot be true, this is just to be frank about it.

I refer to the expertise of sorceress
She put some aluminates in cinders
And she figures out the illuminated forms of my
Problem,

a snake is the illuminated form of my misery

There is a snake in my house
Or
could be in my office or could be in my world.

The real problem is i
Do not believe the sorceress
And I am left with nothing to do but figure out the real
Problem in my dreams

Planes taking off and exploding in mid air
Rivers rising flooding and making a town disappear
Bamboo poles with lots of coconut oil rubbed on its sides and I cannot climb
My way of jumping into murky rivers filled with goldfishes floating dead
A brook filled with feces and I am there swimming
A snake chasing me and I cannot run as fast as I can
and it bites me
And I

Wake up
profusely sweating and trembling

i get a glass of water and
ThankGod that everything is simply
a bad dream

The real problem really is,
On the other hand,
I waking up

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Dream

Populated by a swarm of
Warrior ants,
Life can be a dangerous ride,
Hailstones are thrown from the
Messiah’s inner- fury as
Fire is rekindled beneath my feet, ignited by the demons of my past.
Gazing from the eyes of an abandoned child,
Masked by tears of frustration,
And the apprehension of what the future could bring,
I perceive this world to be an unwelcome place.
I would venture one step outside the
Realm of disillusionment,
Although only to follow a path of a different and
Brighter star, and hopefully this path would be,
Though narrow,
More smoothly paved.
To discover mountains in the shadows of skies,
Magenta in their hues and
Rivers of scintillating topaz-blue
Would be my fondest and utmost desire,
With the hope that I would no longer have to
Cross bridges leading to places I cannot walk without stumbling, or
Where I could not dwell in peace and solitude-
Waters illuminated by a light from a different source
That would wash away those painful recollections of my past,
In my dreams I would hope to find.
Fields of wild violets and yellow peace-rose gardens
So enchanting would be to discover,
Free from obstacles as they could be.
Every step I take is one in trepidation, and
Peace and serenity becomes overpowered by an excess of cacophony,
Swarms of threatening people and that
Never abating death fear.
My song though dolorous, is none but melodious,
For it is a part of me and would never harm me, or
Touch another’s soul in a dangerous way, as
On this planet, here, I walk alone.
On my solitary walk through life
My shadow is cast behind me, and
I hope to drown any remaining tears in a tributary of disenchantment,
That in all of my hopes and dreams
Would be washed into a sea of composure-
Life, love, serenity and the mystery of God’s gifts to humanity,
If they could only quench the
Anger that torments my very essence would be my lifelong aspiration.
I would
Climb those majestic mountains, magenta hued,
And swim that river topaz in its crystalline clarity-and
They would drown every menacing hailstone that
Falls from above,

[...] Read more

poem by Claudia Krizay
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City of Moon

City of Moon

If your heart is not ruined by wild beast
Touching the flower the sun spread smell sweet
Because of southern wind’s touch as storm rises in sea
Unknown lady with your touch I want to reach in moon city.

Touching the flower the sun spread smell sweet
Love that goes to brothel is not clean and nit
Unknown lady with your touch I want to reach in moon city
Puzzled vagabond wishes to be illuminated you are not lucky.

Love that goes to brothel is not clean and nit
Dwelling together with moon- is parallel unknown lady sweet
Puzzled vagabond wishes to be illuminated you are not lucky
In favorite dew bathed grass looks at sun and sea.

Dwelling together with moon- is parallel unknown lady sweet
Alas! The slaves become ruined when the sun and sea meet
In favorite dew bathed grass looks at sun and sea
Glided light is laughing as you appear to me.

poem by Bongokobida Zakaria
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Among the attributes of God, although they are all equal, mercy shines with even more brilliancy than justice.

quote by Miguel De Cervantes
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Bear in mind, if you are going to amount to anything, that your success does not depend upon the brilliancy and the impetuosity with which you take hold, but upon the ever lasting and sanctified bulldoggedness with which you hang on after you have taken hold.

quote by A.B. Meldrum
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Before a diamond shows its brilliancy and prismatic colors it has to stand a good deal of cutting and smoothing.

anonym
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If a civil word or two will render a man happy, he must be a wretch, indeed who will not give them to him. Such a disposition is like lighting another man's candle by one's own, which loses none of its brilliancy by what the other gains.

quote by William Penn
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Reflexion is careful and laborious thought, and watchful attention directed to the agreeable effect of one's plan. Invention, on the other hand, is the solving of intricate problems and the discovery of new principles by means of brilliancy and versatility.

Vitruvius in De architectura
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Not to discriminate every moment some passionate attitude in those about us, and in the very brilliancy of their gifts some tragic dividing on their ways, is, on this short day of frost and sun, to sleep before evening.

quote by Walter Pater
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When, according to habit, I was contemplating the stars in a clear sky, I noticed a new and unusual star, surpassing the other stars in brilliancy. There had never before been any star in that place in the sky.

quote by Tycho Brahe
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But my most favourite pursuit, after my daily exertions at the Foundry, was Astronomy. There were frequently clear nights when the glorious objects in the Heavens were seen in most attractive beauty and brilliancy.

quote by James Nasmyth
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The Bluebell

The Bluebell is the sweetest flower
That waves in summer air :
Its blossoms have the mightiest power
To soothe my spirit's care.

There is a spell in purple heath
Too wildly, sadly dear ;
The violet has a fragrant breath,
But fragrance will not cheer,

The trees are bare, the sun is cold,
And seldom, seldom seen ;
The heavens have lost their zone of gold,
And earth her robe of green.

And ice upon the glancing stream
Has cast its sombre shade ;
And distant hills and valleys seem
In frozen mist arrayed.

The Bluebell cannot charm me now,
The heath has lost its bloom ;
The violets in the glen below,
They yield no sweet perfume.

But, though I mourn the sweet Bluebell,
'Tis better far away;
I know how fast my tears would swell
To see it smile to-day.

For, oh! when chill the sunbeams fall
Adown that dreary sky,
And gild yon dank and darkened wall
With transient brilliancy;

How do I weep, how do I pine
For the time of flowers to come,
And turn me from that fading shine,
To mourn the fields of home!

poem by Emily Brontë from Selections from the literary remains of Emily and Anne Brontë (1850)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Sunset Hour

No! I have not forgotten yet the gentle sunset hour,
That comes with such a soothing touch, to shut the brightleaved flower;
Nor have I yet forgotten those, who shared its light with me,
Amidst a scene I fondly love, though distant far it be.

A gleaming of its parting light is lingering even now,
With dim and faded brilliancy, around my lifted brow;
While memory flings aside the veil that hangs o'er parted things,
And drives the shadow from the past, before her glancing wings.

I seem to see thee, gentle friend, before me even yet!
So meekly in thy wonted place, beside the casement set,
With calm still brow and placid eye across the landscape bent,
Where all of nature's varied charms are beautifully blent.

The gliding stream, the low white mill, the hill upswelling high,
With its few crowning forest-trees so painted on the sky;
The vine-hung crag, the shadowy wood, the fields of tufted maize,
And emerald meadow-slopes, that gleam beneath the sunset rays.

In sooth, it is a lovely scene; alas! that some as fair,
Man's lawless selfishness should make the home of dark despair.
That ‘midst glad nature's purity, the bending slave should tread,
And proud oppression o'er the earth a waste of anguish spread!

Hath God's rich mercy form'd the earth so beautifully bright,
For man to wrap his brother's soul in gloominess and night?
That all its charms must be unseen, its loveliness unfelt,
By eyes and hearts all dimm'd and broke by cruelty and guilt.

No! never hath he meant that those, within whose forms are shrined
The rich and deep capacities of an undying mind,
Should ‘neath a brother's foot be crush'd, be loaded with his chains,
And drain, to feed his riot waste, the life-blood from their veins.

poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Lost One

COME to the grave--the silent grave! and dream
Of a light, happy voice--so full of joy,
That those who heard her laugh, would laugh again,
Echoing the mirth of such an innocent spirit;
And pause in their own converse, to look round,
Won by the witchery of that gleesome tone.
Come to the grave--the lone dark grave! and dream
Of eyes whose brilliancy was of the soul,
Eyes which, with one bright flash from their dark lids,
Seemed at a glance to read the thoughts of others;
Or, with a full entire tenderness,
The pure expression of all-perfect love,
(Of woman's love, which is for you alone,
While your's is for yourself)--gave in that look
The promise of a life of meek affection.
Come to the grave--the mouldering grave! and dream
Of a fair form that glided over earth
One of its happiest creatures:--to her cheek

The lightest word might bring the blushing blood
In pure carnation;--down her graceful neck,
The long rich curls of jet hung carelessly,
Untortured by the cunning hand of art:
And on her brow, bright purity and joy,
Twin sisters, sate,--as on a holy throne.
Come yet unto the grave--the still, damp grave!
And dream of a young heart that beat with life,
And all life's best affections; of a heart
Where sorrow never came, nor fear, nor sin--
Nor aught save innocence, and perfect love:
And, having dreamed of such a lovely being--
So gay, so bright, so pure, so fond, so meek--
Having thus conjured up a form of love
In thine own pausing and regretful mind;--
A vision will be present to thy soul,
A faint, but faithful portraiture, of one
Most dearly loved, and now for ever lost!

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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The Wargeilah Handicap

Wargeilah town is very small,
There's no cathedral nor a club,
In fact the township, all in all,
Is just one unpretentious pub;
And there, from all the stations round,
The local sportsmen can be found.

The sportsmen of Wargeilah-side
Are very few but very fit;
There's scarcely any sport been tried
But they can hold their own at it;
In fact, to search their records o'er,
They hold their own and something more.

The precincts of Wargeilah town
An English new-chum did infest:
He used to wander up and down
In baggy English breeches drest;
His mental aspect seemed to be
Just stolid self-sufficiency.

The local sportsmen vainly sought
His tranquil calm to counteract
By urging that he should be brought
Within the Noxious Creatures Act.
"Nay, harm him not," said one more wise,
"He is a blessing in disguise!

"You see, he wants to buy a horse,
To ride, and hunt, and steeplechase,
And carry ladies, too, of course,
And pull a cart, and win a race.
Good gracious! he must be a flat
To think he'll get a horse like that!

"But, since he has so little sense
And such a lot of cash to burn,
We'll sell him some experience
By which alone a fool can learn.
Suppose we let him have The Trap
To win Wargeilah Handicap!"

And her, I must explain to you
That round about Wargeilah run
There lived a very aged screw
Whose days of brilliancy were done.
A grand old warrior in his prime --
But age will beat us any time.

A trooper's horse in seasons past

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Undying One' - Canto I

MOONLIGHT is o'er the dim and heaving sea,--
Moonlight is on the mountain's frowning brow,
And by their silvery fountains merrily
The maids of Castaly are dancing now.
Young hearts, bright eyes, and rosy lips are there,
And fairy steps, and light and laughing voices,
Ringing like welcome music through the air--
A sound at which the untroubled heart rejoices.
But there are hearts o'er which that dancing measure
Heavily falls!
And there are ears to which the voice of pleasure
Still vainly calls !
There's not a scene on earth so full of lightness
That withering care
Sleeps not beneath the flowers, and turns their brightness
To dark despair!

Oh! Earth, dim Earth, thou canst not be our home;
Or wherefore look we still for joys to come?
The fairy steps are flown--the scene is still--
Nought mingles with the murmuring of the rill.
Nay, hush! it is a sound--a sigh--again!
It is a human voice--the voice of pain.
And beautiful is she, who sighs alone
Now that her young and playful mates are gone:
The dim moon, shining on her statue face,
Gives it a mournful and unearthly grace;
And she hath bent her gentle knee to earth;
And she hath raised her meek sad eyes to heaven--
As if in such a breast sin could have birth,
She clasps her hands, and sues to be forgiven.
Her prayer is over; but her anxious glance
Into the blue transparency of night
Seems as it fain would read the book of chance,
And fix the future hours, dark or bright.
A slow and heavy footstep strikes her ear--
What ails the gentle maiden?--Is it fear?
Lo! she hath lightly raised her from the ground,
And turn'd her small and stag-like head around;
Her pale cheek paler, and her lips apart,
Her bosom heaving o'er her beating heart:
And see, those thin white hands she raises now
To press the throbbing fever from her brow--

In vain--in vain! for never more shall rest
Find place in that young, fair, but erring breast!
He stands before her now--and who is he
Into whose outspread arms confidingly
She flings her fairy self?--Unlike the forms
That woo and win a woman's love--the storms

[...] Read more

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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