Gravity
We walk secure, grounded, heavy, oblivious,
safe from perplexing weightlessness,
unlike Life Savers candies on Atlantis spinning theatrically
as glittering Las Vegas floats beneath,
or those rusty spherical droplets
of Tang, humorlessly drifting over the Indian Ocean;
we are safe even as Kubrick's treacherous computer,
tenderly releases the cradled voyager to drift reeling away,
receding, smaller and smaller, no longer a man,
a fading star, and then just gone,
unclaimed even by the false gravity
of his mother-ship.
Yes, we are safe because she holds us tightly, binds
us with unseen, loving coils, lest we range to adventures
too high, too dangerous,
too unnatural;
the bungee jumper, skydiver, snowboarder, eventually all learn
her love is costly,
and even tired, timid professors shudder
when top floor classrooms into basement labs fall;
then, with violent, jerking movement,
her jealous love pulls us, prize seed all,
into the deep, cool soil of newly furrowed cities,
Chendgu, Port-au-Prince, Santiago, Christchurch,
San Francisco,
and Gravity, jealous lover, finally claims us as her own when
in the recesses of our graves we wait,
germinal, for the static earth again
ardently to quake.
poem by Steven Federle
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Related quotes
Piedra de Sol
La treizième revient...c’est encor la première;
et c’est toujours la seule-ou c’est le seul moment;
car es-tu reine, ô toi, la première ou dernière?
es-tu roi, toi le seul ou le dernier amant?
Gérard de Nerval, Arthèmis
Un sauce de cristal, un chopo de agua,
un alto surtidor que el viento arquea,
un árbol bien plantado mas danzante,
un caminar de río que se curva,
avanza, retrocede, da un rodeo
y llega siempre:
un caminar tranquilo
de estrella o primavera sin premura,
agua que con los párpados cerrados
mana toda la noche profecías,
unánime presencia en oleaje,
ola tras ola hasta cubrirlo todo,
verde soberanía sin ocaso
como el deslumbramiento de las alas
cuando se abren en mitad del cielo,
un caminar entre las espesuras
de los días futuros y el aciago
fulgor de la desdicha como un ave
petrificando el bosque con su canto
y las felicidades inminentes
entre las ramas que se desvanecen,
horas de luz que pican ya los pájaros,
presagios que se escapan de la mano,
una presencia como un canto súbito,
como el viento cantando en el incendio,
una mirada que sostiene en vilo
al mundo con sus mares y sus montes,
cuerpo de luz filtrado por un ágata,
piernas de luz, vientre de luz, bahías,
roca solar, cuerpo color de nube,
color de día rápido que salta,
la hora centellea y tiene cuerpo,
el mundo ya es visible por tu cuerpo,
es transparente por tu transparencia,
voy entre galerías de sonidos,
fluyo entre las presencias resonantes,
voy por las transparencias como un ciego,
un reflejo me borra, nazco en otro,
oh bosque de pilares encantados,
bajo los arcos de la luz penetro
los corredores de un otoño diáfano,
voy por tu cuerpo como por el mundo,
[...] Read more
poem by Octavio Paz
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Not In Las Vegas
I don't wanna be alone,
Not in Las Vegas.
Don't wanna be alone.
Not in Las Vegas
No I don't wanna be alone,
Not in Las Vegas.
With neon signs flashing on the 'strip'.
To be busted and no bucks at all.
Not in Las Vegas.
To know no one with no friends to call.
Not in Las Vegas.
To be in a bind with no peace of mind.
Not in Las Vegas.
Not in Las Vegas.
I don't wanna be alone.
I don't wanna be alone.
Don't wanna be alone.
Not in Las Vegas.
To be busted and no bucks at all.
Not in Las Vegas.
To know no one with no friends to call.
Not in Las Vegas.
To be in a bind with no peace of mind.
Not in Las Vegas.
Not in Las Vegas.
With neon signs flashing all over the 'strip'.
And...
Not a single dime to show for it!
No I...
Don't wanna be alone.
I don't wanna be alone.
No I don't wanna be alone...
Showing nothing but some dust in pockets.
And...
Busted when I had a chance to split.
And...
No one visiting 'Vegas' should do this.
So...
Whatever one wins get up and split with it.
'Excuse me...
Would you happen to have an 'extra' ten dollars?
I will sing 'Moon River' for you.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Viva! Las Vegas
{one of two new tracks especially recorded for this package. sung by
Dusty, whose affinity for the big e is well-known to concert-goers
Delighted by his tonsil-blistering treatment of jailhouse rock.
Written by rock n roll hall of famer doc pomus, zzs vlv includes
Echoes from its original performer, beyond the pale. the inspiration
For recording the track was born -- and a rough vocal demo cut -- in
The dressing room of the monroe, la civic auditorium where, legend
Has it, vernon and gladys only surviving son passed the time before
Taking the stage.}
Spoken: yall still want me to come with you?
Bright light city gonna set my soul, gonna set my soul on fire
Theres a whole lot of money thats ready to burn
So get those stakes up higher.
Theres a thousand pretty women just a-waitin out there,
And theyre all livin devil-may-care.
Im just the devil with a love to spare.
Viva las vegas.
Viva las vegas.
Spoken: ah, thank-ya very much baby.
And how I wish that there were more
Than twenty-four hours in the day.
But even if there were forty more,
I wouldnt sleep a minute away.
Oh, theres blackjack and poker and a roulette wheel.
A fortune won and lost on every deal.
All you needs a strong heart and a nerve of steel.
Viva las vegas.
Viva las vegas.
Viva las vegas.
Viva las vegas.
Viva las vegas with your neon flashin,
And your one-armed bandits crashin
All those hopes down the drain.
Viva las vegas turnin day into nighttime,
Turn the night into daytime,
If you see it once, youll never come home again.
Im gonna keep on the run,
Im gonna have me some fun,
If it costs me my very last dime.
If I wind up broke,
Then Ill always remember that I had a swingin time.
Im gonna give it everything Ive got.
Lady luck please let the dice stay hot.
Let me shoot a seven with every shot.
Viva las vegas.
Viva las vegas.
Viva las vegas.
Viva las vegas.
Viva, viva.
song performed by ZZ Top
Added by Lucian Velea
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Notas Perdidas
Es media noche.
Duerme el mundo ahora
bajo el ala de niebla del silencio
vagos rayos de luna
y el fulgor incierto
de lámpara velada
alumbran su aposento.
En las teclas del piano
vagan aún sus marfilinos dedos,
errante la mirada
dice algo que no alcanza el pensamiento.
¡Cómo perfuma el aire el blanco ramo
marchito en el florero,
cuán suave es el suspiro
que vaga entre sus labios entreabiertos!
¡Adriana! ¡Adriana! de tan dulces horas
guardarán el secreto
tu estancia, el rayo de la luna, el vago
ruïdo de tus besos,
la noche silenciosa,
y en mi alma el recuerdo!...
Si en vosotras algún día
se fijan sus ojos bellos,
¡pobres estrofas! habladle
con rumor suäve y ledo
como notas de una música
que oímos ha mucho tiempo,
y que impregnada de aromas
torna en las alas del viento.
Alzada cual leve brisa
besad sus blondos cabellos
y penetrad en su alma
y en los espacios perdeos
como en la santa capilla
las espirales de incienso!...
Como recuerdo de su amor sincero,
recuerdo dulce y único
de aquel amor suave y melancólico
cual la luz del crepúsculo,
guardo en un cofrecito plateado
unas rosas de musgo
las contemplo en mis horas de alegría,
las beso cuando sufro,
¡aún guardan el perfume penetrante
de los cabellos suyos!
[...] Read more
poem by Jose Asuncion Silva
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[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]
POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR
POEMS
1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song
[...] Read more
poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
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Viva Las Vegas
(words & music by doc pomus and mort shuman)
Bright light city gonna set my soul
Gonna set my soul on fire
Got a whole lot of money thats ready to burn,
So get those stakes up higher
Theres a thousand pretty women waitin out there
And theyre all livin devil may care
And Im just the devil with love to spare
Viva las vegas, viva las vegas
How I wish that there were more
Than the twenty-four hours in the day
cause even if there were forty more
I wouldnt sleep a minute away
Oh, theres black jack and poker and the roulette wheel
A fortune won and lost on evry deal
All you needs a strong heart and a nerve of steel
Viva las vegas, viva las vegas
Viva las vegas with you neon flashin
And your one armbandits crashin
All those hopes down the drain
Viva las vegas turnin day into nighttime
Turnin night into daytime
If you see it once
Youll never be the same again
Im gonna keep on the run
Im gonna have me some fun
If it costs me my very last dime
If I wind up broke up well
Ill always remember that I had a swingin time
Im gonna give it evrything Ive got
Lady luck please let the dice stay hot
Let me shout a seven with evry shot
Viva las vegas, viva las vegas,
Viva, viva las vegas
song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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My Head Is Spinning
(lowe/tennant)
----------------------
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
My head is spinning
song performed by Pet Shop Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Courtship of Miles Standish
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Added by Poetry Lover
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Courtship of Miles Standish, The
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Four Seasons : Autumn
Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more,
Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost
Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring
Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns
Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.
Onslow! the Muse, ambitious of thy name,
To grace, inspire, and dignify her song,
Would from the public voice thy gentle ear
A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows,
The patriot virtues that distend thy thought,
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow;
While listening senates hang upon thy tongue,
Devolving through the maze of eloquence
A roll of periods, sweeter than her song.
But she too pants for public virtue, she,
Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will,
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart,
Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame.
When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days,
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year;
From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook
Of parting Summer, a serener blue,
With golden light enliven'd, wide invests
The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise,
Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid clouds
A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head.
Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain:
A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air
Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow.
Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky;
The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun
By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field,
And black by fits the shadows sweep along.
A gaily chequer'd heart-expanding view,
Far as the circling eye can shoot around,
Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn.
These are thy blessings, Industry! rough power!
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain;
Yet the kind source of every gentle art,
And all the soft civility of life:
Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast,
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods
And wilds, to rude inclement elements;
With various seeds of art deep in the mind
[...] Read more
poem by James Thomson
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Ten Little Indians
Ten little indian boys
The first little indian gave squaw pretty feather
(little indian boy)
The second little indian made her an indian dollar
(fighting over a squaw)
Well the third little indian gave her moccasin leather
(little indian boy)
The squaw didnt like em at all
The fourth little indian took her riding in his big canoe
(little indian boy)
The fifth little indian took her down the waterfall
(fighting over a squaw)
The sixth little indian taught the squaw how to woo-woo
(little indian boy)
But the squaw didnt like em at all
One little, two little, three little indians
(keep us humming were the ten little indians)
Four little, five little, six little indians
(keep us humming were the ten little indians)
Seven little, eight little, nine little indians
(keep us humming were the ten little indians)
Ten little indian boys
The seventh little indian took her over to his teepee
(little indian boy)
The eighth little indian tried to give her a love poem
(fighting over a squaw)
The ninth little indian said youre my kemosabe
(little indian boy)
The squaw didnt like em at all
The tenth little indian said it really didnt matter
(little indian boy)
He acted like himself and he didnt look at her
(fighting over a squaw)
The squaw didnt care if he never did a thing
(little indian boy)
Cause she loved the tenth indian boy
Loved the tenth indian boy
Loved the tenth indian boy
Loved the tenth indian boy
song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ooh Las Vegas
(gram parsons/rik grech)
Ooh, las vegas
Aint no place for a poor boy like me
Ooh, las vegas
Aint no place for a poor boy like me
Every time I hit your crystal city you know
Youre gonna make a wreck outta me
Well, the first time I lose I drink whiskey
Second time I lose I drink gin
Third time I lose I drink anything
cause I think Im gonna win
Ooh, las vegas
Aint no place for a poor boy like me
Ooh, las vegas
Aint no place for a poor boy like me
Every time I hit your crystal city you know
Youre gonna make a wreck outta me
Well, the queen of spades is a friend of mine
The queen of hearts is a bitch
Someday when I clean up my mind
Ill find out which is a which
Ooh, las vegas
Aint no place for a poor boy like me
Ooh, las vegas
Aint no place for a poor boy like me
Every time I hit your crystal city you know
Youre gonna make a wreck outta me
Well, I spend all night with the dealer
Tryin to get ahead
Spend all day at the holiday inn
Tryin to get out of bed
Ooh, las vegas
Aint no place for a poor boy like me
Ooh, las vegas
Aint no place for a poor boy like me
Every time I hit your crystal city you know
Youre gonna make a wreck outta me
song performed by Emmylou Harris
Added by Lucian Velea
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Drifting
Drifting, drifting, drifting away.
I got myself a mansion, then I gave it away.
It's not the world that's heavy, just the things that you save.
And I'm drifting, drifting away.
Drifting, drifting, drifting along.
I rid myself of worries, and the worries were gone.
I only run when I want to and I sleep like a dog.
I'm just drifting, drifting along.
The suitcoats say, "There is money to be made."
They get so damn excited, but I guess it's their way.
My road it may be lonely just because it's not paved.
It's good for drifting, drifting away.
The suitcoats say, "There is money to be made."
They get so damn excited, nothing gets in their way
My road it may be lonely just because it's not paved.
It's good for drifting, drifting away.
Drifting, drifting, drifting, uh huh.
I feel like going back there, but never for long.
I sometimes wonder if they know that I'm gone.
I'm just drifting, drifting along.
Drifting, drifting along. Drifting, drifting along.
Merry Christmas...
song performed by Pearl Jam
Added by Lucian Velea
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Tsunami Aftermath-Lividly living corpse
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of unprecedented misery; with the wrath of the inexplicably crippling disaster transforming every trace of robust innocence into a mortuary of stinking death,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of hapless uncertainty; as boundless number of impeccable heads stared in distraught disbelief; for relentless hours towards empty sky,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of morbid blood; from which emanated the stench of pricelessly inimitable honesty hopelessly blended with the diabolical devil,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of unceasing sadness; in which perpetually floated innumerable lifeless bones of their enchanting siblings; children and immortal beloved,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of sadistic ridicule; where even the most eternally fructifying form of living kind was rendered to worthlessly lugubrious foam; salt and soap,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of parasitically ribald lechery; where man brutally asphyxiated his counterpart man; in an eventual bid to frenetically survive,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of cannibalistic hatred; from which spawned only the corridors of devilish hell; diffusing pain; pain and only intolerably inconsolable pain,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of bizarrely tawdry helplessness; where they were reduced to just infinitesimal frigid eunuchs; not able to do anything as the wave gobbled every trace of their celestial happiness,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of frenzied deliriousness; which apocalyptically shrieked the cry of ultimate extinction; the wholesome disappearance of this symbiotic planet from the map of this bountifully redolent Universe,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of unceasing remorsefulness; with the coffins of satanic oblivion ghoulishly transcending every conceivable happening in the atmosphere,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of limitless disbelief; with every stroke of destiny seeming to treacherously unfurl from the mouth of the venomously slandering devil,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of ominously pulverizing lies; where as if sacrilegiously wanton abuse had forever overridden the brilliantly majestic scepter of emollient truth,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of wastrel nothingness; with every wave that arose; hedonistically darting towards the infinite infinity of unfathomable despair,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of endless unemployment; where even the most divinely innocent source of life; was indiscriminately weighed on the scales of carnivorous crime,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of intransigently besmirching trauma; which licentiously gave birth to the graveyards of blackness; blackness and only savagely decrepit blackness,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of emotionlessly penalizing neglect; unforgivably ripping them apart from every tangible and intangible aspect and fabric of the civilized society,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of devastating disorientation; with even the most synergistically resplendent of smiles metamorphosing into gorily inane waywardness,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of unendingly excruciating torture; with human skin and emotions being ruthlessly excoriated apart like the inadvertent shedding of the lizard’s skin,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of amorphously sinful vindication; as fathomless deplorably orphaned took a solemn pledge; never to respect Mother Nature in their lifetimes again,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of ungainly fretfulness; with the horrendously wrinkled eye dispersing nothing else but blood; blood and punitively aggrieved blood,
Their countless tears did definitely fill an ocean all right; but it was an ocean of unparalleled divestation; with every beat of the heart; breath and blood; being transformed forever and ever and ever; as an aftermath of the murderous Tsunami; into a lividly living corpse….
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Canto the Fourth
I.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand:
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter’s wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying glory smiles
O’er the far times when many a subject land
Looked to the wingèd Lion’s marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles!
II.
She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers:
And such she was; her daughters had their dowers
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East
Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.
In purple was she robed, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased.
III.
In Venice, Tasso’s echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear:
Those days are gone - but beauty still is here.
States fall, arts fade - but Nature doth not die,
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!
IV.
But unto us she hath a spell beyond
Her name in story, and her long array
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond
Above the dogeless city’s vanished sway;
Ours is a trophy which will not decay
With the Rialto; Shylock and the Moor,
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away -
The keystones of the arch! though all were o’er,
For us repeopled were the solitary shore.
V.
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Dream
'TWAS summer eve; the changeful beams still play'd
On the fir-bark and through the beechen shade;
Still with soft crimson glow'd each floating cloud;
Still the stream glitter'd where the willow bow'd;
Still the pale moon sate silent and alone,
Nor yet the stars had rallied round her throne;
Those diamond courtiers, who, while yet the West
Wears the red shield above his dying breast,
Dare not assume the loss they all desire,
Nor pay their homage to the fainter fire,
But wait in trembling till the Sun's fair light
Fading, shall leave them free to welcome Night!
So when some Chief, whose name through realms afar
Was still the watchword of succesful war,
Met by the fatal hour which waits for all,
Is, on the field he rallied, forced to fall,
The conquerors pause to watch his parting breath,
Awed by the terrors of that mighty death;
Nor dare the meed of victory to claim,
Nor lift the standard to a meaner name,
Till every spark of soul hath ebb'd away,
And leaves what was a hero, common clay.
Oh! Twilight! Spirit that dost render birth
To dim enchantments; melting Heaven with Earth,
Leaving on craggy hills and rumning streams
A softness like the atmosphere of dreams;
Thy hour to all is welcome! Faint and sweet
Thy light falls round the peasant's homeward feet,
Who, slow returning from his task of toil,
Sees the low sunset gild the cultured soil,
And, tho' such radliance round him brightly glows,
Marks the small spark his cottage window throws.
Still as his heart forestals his weary pace,
Fondly he dreams of each familiar face,
Recalls the treasures of his narrow life,
His rosy children, and his sunburnt wife,
To whom his coming is the chief event
Of simple days in cheerful labour spent.
The rich man's chariot hath gone whirling past,
And those poor cottagers have only cast
One careless glance on all that show of pride,
Then to their tasks turn'd quietly aside;
But him they wait for, him they welcome home,
Fond sentinels look forth to see him come;
The fagot sent for when the fire grew dim,
The frugal meal prepared, are all for him;
For him the watching of that sturdy boy,
[...] Read more
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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The Georgics
GEORGIC I
What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what star
Maecenas, it is meet to turn the sod
Or marry elm with vine; how tend the steer;
What pains for cattle-keeping, or what proof
Of patient trial serves for thrifty bees;-
Such are my themes.
O universal lights
Most glorious! ye that lead the gliding year
Along the sky, Liber and Ceres mild,
If by your bounty holpen earth once changed
Chaonian acorn for the plump wheat-ear,
And mingled with the grape, your new-found gift,
The draughts of Achelous; and ye Fauns
To rustics ever kind, come foot it, Fauns
And Dryad-maids together; your gifts I sing.
And thou, for whose delight the war-horse first
Sprang from earth's womb at thy great trident's stroke,
Neptune; and haunter of the groves, for whom
Three hundred snow-white heifers browse the brakes,
The fertile brakes of Ceos; and clothed in power,
Thy native forest and Lycean lawns,
Pan, shepherd-god, forsaking, as the love
Of thine own Maenalus constrains thee, hear
And help, O lord of Tegea! And thou, too,
Minerva, from whose hand the olive sprung;
And boy-discoverer of the curved plough;
And, bearing a young cypress root-uptorn,
Silvanus, and Gods all and Goddesses,
Who make the fields your care, both ye who nurse
The tender unsown increase, and from heaven
Shed on man's sowing the riches of your rain:
And thou, even thou, of whom we know not yet
What mansion of the skies shall hold thee soon,
Whether to watch o'er cities be thy will,
Great Caesar, and to take the earth in charge,
That so the mighty world may welcome thee
Lord of her increase, master of her times,
Binding thy mother's myrtle round thy brow,
Or as the boundless ocean's God thou come,
Sole dread of seamen, till far Thule bow
Before thee, and Tethys win thee to her son
With all her waves for dower; or as a star
Lend thy fresh beams our lagging months to cheer,
Where 'twixt the Maid and those pursuing Claws
A space is opening; see! red Scorpio's self
His arms draws in, yea, and hath left thee more
Than thy full meed of heaven: be what thou wilt-
For neither Tartarus hopes to call thee king,
[...] Read more
Mogg Megone - Part I.
Who stands on that cliff, like a figure of stone,
Unmoving and tall in the light of the sky,
Where the spray of the cataract sparkles on high,
Lonely and sternly, save Mogg Megone?
Close to the verge of the rock is he,
While beneath him the Saco its work is doing,
Hurrying down to its grave, the sea,
And slow through the rock its pathway hewing!
Far down, through the mist of the falling river,
Which rises up like an incense ever,
The splintered points of the crags are seen,
With water howling and vexed between,
While the scooping whirl of the pool beneath
Seems an open throat, with its granite teeth!
But Mogg Megone never trembled yet
Wherever his eye or his foot was set.
He is watchful: each form in the moonlight dim,
Of rock or of tree, is seen of him:
He listens; each sound from afar is caught,
The faintest shiver of leaf and limb:
But he sees not the waters, which foam and fret,
Whose moonlit spray has his moccasin wet, -
And the roar of their rushing, he bears it not.
The moonlight, through the open bough
Of the gnarl'd beech, whose naked root
Coils like a serpent at his foot,
Falls, checkered, on the Indian's brow.
His head is bare, save only where
Waves in the wind one lock of hair,
Reserved for him, whoe'er he be,
More mighty than Megone in strife,
When breast to breast and knee to knee,
Above the fallen warrior's life
Gleams, quick and keen, the scalping-knife.
Megone hath his knife and hatchet and gun,
And his gaudy and tasselled blanket on:
His knife hath a handle with gold inlaid,
And magic words on its polished blade, -
'Twas the gift of Castine to Mogg Megone,
For a scalp or twain from the Yengees torn:
His gun was the gift of the Tarrantine,
And Modocawando's wives had strung
The brass and the beads, which tinkle and shine
On the polished breach, and broad bright line
Of beaded wampum around it hung.
What seeks Megone? His foes are near, -
Grey Jocelyn's eye is never sleeping,
[...] Read more
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Lament for Atlantis
Mighty gods, O rulers of all beneath ye,
hear this lamentation I bear, that speaks of
fair Atlantis, place of my birthplace, lost now,
drowned by the ocean.
Lonely lies the land of Atlantis, lost now
under ocean. Once it was full of wonders,
once it was full of people and temples, drowned now
under the deep waves.
Drowned, she lies, lost under the ocean's broad reach;
once a queen, now draped in a corpse's wound sheet,
fair Atlantis lay as a pearl above all pearls,
above all known lands.
Once an empress over all lands, she lies drowned;
deep beneath the ocean she lies, she lies low
under endless waves while the years and the ages
pass like a swift wind.
No-one comes to comfort her, ease her sorrow.
All her friends have left her alone in sorrow,
all the lands have dealt with her treacherously,
left her unmourned, lorn.
Fair Atlantis lies in the ocean's deep breast
while the nations come no more, under dyed sails,
bring no gifts of gold or else costly cargoes
under the dyed sails.
All her temples lie in the ocean's deep breast,
all her festivals and sacred statues,
all her sacred slaves and her holy virgins
lie in its deep breast.
All her sacred groves, and her many fair fields
lie beneath the ocean; and all her cities
lie beneath the waves that ye caused to rise up,
drown it in one day.
All her enemies have become as great kings,
saying: 'Fair Atlantis is lost for all time,
let us rule the Earth while she lies destroyed, dead
under the deep waves.'
Fair Atlantis calls to her former fair friends:
'High I raised you, gave you the gifts of great lore,
yet you all exult in my sudden downfall,
strut like a vain cock.'
[...] Read more
poem by Phillip Ellis
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Rosalind and Helen: a Modern Eclogue
ROSALIND, HELEN, and her Child.
SCENE. The Shore of the Lake of Como.
HELEN
Come hither, my sweet Rosalind.
'T is long since thou and I have met;
And yet methinks it were unkind
Those moments to forget.
Come, sit by me. I see thee stand
By this lone lake, in this far land,
Thy loose hair in the light wind flying,
Thy sweet voice to each tone of even
United, and thine eyes replying
To the hues of yon fair heaven.
Come, gentle friend! wilt sit by me?
And be as thou wert wont to be
Ere we were disunited?
None doth behold us now; the power
That led us forth at this lone hour
Will be but ill requited
If thou depart in scorn. Oh, come,
And talk of our abandoned home!
Remember, this is Italy,
And we are exiles. Talk with me
Of that our land, whose wilds and floods,
Barren and dark although they be,
Were dearer than these chestnut woods;
Those heathy paths, that inland stream,
And the blue mountains, shapes which seem
Like wrecks of childhood's sunny dream;
Which that we have abandoned now,
Weighs on the heart like that remorse
Which altered friendship leaves. I seek
No more our youthful intercourse.
That cannot be! Rosalind, speak,
Speak to me! Leave me not! When morn did come,
When evening fell upon our common home,
When for one hour we parted,--do not frown;
I would not chide thee, though thy faith is broken;
But turn to me. Oh! by this cherished token
Of woven hair, which thou wilt not disown,
Turn, as 't were but the memory of me,
And not my scornèd self who prayed to thee!
ROSALIND
Is it a dream, or do I see
And hear frail Helen? I would flee
Thy tainting touch; but former years
Arise, and bring forbidden tears;
[...] Read more
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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