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Beauty in the Night

There is a beauty in the night
A twinkling of a star, Reaching
Pulsating

There is a beauty in the night
a moon showing reflection onto the lake

There is a beauty in the night
Romance and Love, Sensuality

There is beauty in the night
Lush tenderness, tantalizing dreams

There is beauty in the night

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Tonight's The Night

Tonight’s the night,
I said in my head,
I don’t care anymore,
I wish I was dead.

Tonight’s the night,
I thought deep inside,
I haven’t the energy,
To keep trying to hide.

Tonight’s the night,
I said out loud,
So I took the pills;
Not feeling proud.

Tonight’s the night,
I thought for sure,
This pain won’t end,
There is no cure.

Tonight’s the night,
Or so I thought,
I hadn’t taken enough pills;
I was soon taught.

Tonight’s not the night,
I thought as I was sick,
I’ve achieved nothing,
I feel like a prick.

Tonight’s not the night,
I told my friend,
I can’t stand this nightmare,
Will it ever end?

Tonight’s not the night,
My friend said to me,
He’s over the moon,
But I just want to be free.

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Twistin The Night Away

(sam cooke)
Let me tell you about a place, somewhere up in new york way
Where the people are so gay, twistin the night away
Here they have a lot of fun, puttin trouble on the run
Oh man youll find the old and young twistin the night away
Heres a man in evening clothes, how he got here I dont know
But oh man, you ought to see him go, twistin the night away
Hes dancing with a chick in slacks, shes moving up and back
Oh man, there aint nothing like twistin the night away
Feel much better
Heres a fellow in blue jeans, whos dancing with an older queen
Dolled up in her diamond rings, twistin the night away
Man you ought to see her go, twistin to the rock and roll
Here youll find the young and the old twistin the night away
Theyre twistin, twistin, everybodys doing great
Theyre twistin man, twistin, theyre twistin the night away
Twistin, you know theyre twistin, twistin the night away
Theyre twistin, twistin, man twistin the night away
Here they have a lot of fun, puttin trouble on the run
Oh man youll find young and the old twistin the night away
Heres a man in evening clothes, how he got here I dont know
I dont know but man you ought to see him go
Twistin the night away

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In The Night

(m&l - kiske)
In the night Im calling you!
Be my guide help me through!
In the night I call your name
Youre the light in times of shame
The songs I sing
All my love I bring for you
I always try to make the things better
Everything that has go gone wrong
Mighty plans in the right direction
But very lottle has been done
Everyday when I try to get foward
I find myself another mile back
Help me fighting!
Help me breathing!
Why am I falling down instead?
Evry useful minute
Seems to be the thought of you
Evry hour seems like wasted,
Filled with things that I might do
Without love my reactions
Seems the saddest thing, buts true!
In the night Im calling you!
Be my guide help me through!
In the night I call your name
Youre the light in times of shame
Sometimes I cried after all
I lied for you
Free from ourselves and free
From this world we may find
The freedom we search
cause all that we need is inside!
The hours I waste
We may not get back for a while
And when it gets dark
No chance will be there for a try
When I wake up early morning
I catch a book and jump inside
I fill my head with a millon wonders
And try to fill the night with light
The moment when I get things clearer
I see another mountain to climb
And always when I think Im nearer
I realise there is no time
In the night Im calling you!
Be my guide help me through!
In the night I call your name
Youre the light in times of shame
This song I sing
All my love I bring for you

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Under The Night Sea

By the night sea
The palm trees sway in the breeze

There's an adventure under the night sea
So I jump into the sea
And swim underwater

Though it's hard to see underwater
I can see my friend, the hermit crab
He communicates with me and offers me
a ride

As we walk along the sea's floor
We happen to come across a sunken ship
And we both decide to explore it
Inside, gold coins are here, there,
and everywhere
I pocket a couple of them for souvenier
purposes

As we leave the ship
I communicate in a way of saying goodbye
to my hermit crab friend
I must continue to my journey though
And he knows it
He accepts my decision
But I hope someday I'll see him again

Through the night sea
Reaching places that I can reach
Places that my hermit crab friend can't
reach
Continuing on
Swimming along
A big fish waves its fin at me
And me and him become a team
Riding on this back
He speeds through the night sea
Outswimming the tadpoles
And thinking smartly to get us past
all the traps

Reaching a point where he can't go
any further
I get the message that it's on me to
continue
On my own
And so I get off his back
And we wave to each other
Before he swims away

Climbing out of the night sea
On to a small piece of land
I catch my breath

A frog hops out of the water
And offers me a ride on his back
Wanting to help me reach the end

And so we head back into the night sea
Swimming past all the twisted coral

Reaching the end of the night sea
I get off the frog's back
And on to dry land
I wish him well
As he submerges and quickly swims away

I make my way over to a palm tree
With as much strength as I have left
And sit beside it
Reflecting on my adventure under the night sea
As well as clutching the gold coins from
the sunken ship in my pocket
And being in a dream-like state of mind

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There Are Times/ When All The Beauty Of This World

THERE ARE TIMES/ WHEN ALL THE BEAUTY OF THIS WORLD

There are times
When all the Beauty of this world
Is not.
When fear and darkness are all
When inside anxiety reigns
And nothing can help
Against the fear.

There are times
When it seems
Nothing good will ever come again

And in these times
Poetry too seems like empty words
Whose very sound means only
Nothing and more nothing.

There are times
When even a poem
Cannot help.

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The Mother of Beauty and Love

Through thine heart, and times portal,
Thine give me truth and love immortal
No love, if there is love, is like thee
Sometimes I ponder if love is what thou be?
Or if love we did know before was just a charade
A propriety, a clandestine façade
To satiate sinister lust
That infects us…
For when thy walk, thou dance to me
And when thou talk, thou words paint
In my sweet soul of loves immortality
The contours of thy body which hide in my souls eye
thine beauty, mine sadness… should thy beauty die
And thy beauteous soul leave like an autumn tree
All its beauty for my heart to see…
I write this poem to immortality
the mother of love of beauty!

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There Is No Light Like The Morning Light

THERE IS NO LIGHT LIKE THE MORNING LIGHT

There is no light like the morning light-
And no sun like the morning sun-
And no world like the morning world-

Every day is a new day,
And a chance to dream again-
The Beauty of Life
will be ours.

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There Is A Link Between The Two Of Us (Cavatina)

(for Daleen)

There is a link between the two of us,
with you and me,
as that binding the meandering river
with the great sea;
in you there is an uncommon sheer grace,
some great beauty
that I cannot express within a word,
nothing does its lovely spirit record.

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There Is No Beauty For Me

THERE IS NO BEAUTY FOR ME / LIKE THE FACE OF A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN

There is no beauty for me,
Like the face of a beautiful woman-
How from childhood
The pleasure of seeing
Has been my sin-

And still in old age
When desire cannot even feel itself
That pleasure that longing that beauty-

There is no beauty
Like the face of a beautiful woman.

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There Are Poems That Tear The Soul

There are poems that tear the soul
And leave us gasping for breath
They make us recall
Our losses in life
And our disappointments
They hurt us with their Beauty
And we do not know
What to do with them.

Like people we loved once
Who are far away
And like times in our life
Which were happy
And now are recalled in regret
There are poems that tear the soul
And leave us wondering
Why all this pain is life
And why there is
So much we will never know or have
Though we long for and would die for.

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Patrick White

There's A Bitterness In The Light

And there’s a bitterness in the light that fails me this morning
like a new nail bowing to the hand it could not penetrate,
the enforced humility of tempered steel
hissing in my blood like an iron serpent, the old folio
of an undiscovered sorrow
folding the edge of a secret sword day after day
into an implacable edge so exquisitely refined and lethal
even the slightest eyelid of the cherry tree is cleft
and even space is bleeding, the sky sheered
on the electric keeness of its honed horizon. Maybe
the only mercy is in a quick kill, the jugular slashed
and the startled elixirs of life released like poppies and roses
to find their own way home among the weary refugees,
their lives slumped like corpses and pillars of smoke
across the yokes of their hill-born shoulders,
and maybe there are underground shadows somewhere,
a habit of haggard roots holding out like fire
against the odds of ever recovering my heart
like a feather in an oilslick from the dark offices of its toxic occupiers,
the long stairwells down to its private deflation,
the lachrymose rubber of a punctured tire,
the parachutes of the daylilies wattled like soggy trumpets.
And I want to cry, I’m nudged to tears
by the wet noses of the gathering wolves,
the sympathetic carbons who sense my desolation as their own
in a ruined wilderness of snarling rosaries
cutting to the quick of their prayers like chainsaws;
but no grief rises from her bath, or virginity renewed
that isn’t a figure of tar, salt, wax, glass, vinegar and acid,
her berries boiled in the poison of red army ants,
and a blindfold of nettles across her eyes, and every word
that comes from her mouth, a mass grave
of contagious swans wintering under an ode of lime
to contain the infection, the caustic snowfall of a blithe extinction.
And I want to cry for the unknown beauty of a ravaged queen,
violet monsoons of tropical tears as long as anacondas,
tears from wells that have been boarded up for years
behind deserted farmhouses
left like a last assurance of return
to a nervous levy of family graves; old canning jars
encrusted with flies and bees; I want to cry
for afflictions that have gnawed
at the decaying orbits of the moon for eras of untold longing,
sit down on the ground, my face in the coffin of my hands
and weep the violent cocoon of the grey storm away
that cauterizes my wings with blisters of mutant lightning
that burn like salt in the shadow of a whip
thrashing over old burial grounds,
a severed powerline in an epileptic fit, my tongue
seized and swallowed like the struggling toad in my throat
that kicks like a baby against the walls of its womb.
I need time, I need space, I need money, light and liars
with morning hands and ample breasts, with thighs
that open like gates at the sound of my voice,
and the lips of enraptured cherries running down my chest,
and norms of oblivion to refute my wanderlust;
and I want somebody to take the straightrazor
out of the hands of the psychotic clock that keeps
nicking and and slashing its way around the sun;
I need somebody to convince me my life
is not a corruption of the original text I was bound to live,
that I’m not smouldering with the weeds
in a heap of rotten planks
stripped from the vertebrae of genetically dangerous stairs;
that my life and my love and my work
are not the smashed empties of last night’s ecstasy
fallen from their nests in the morning
disgusted with their inability to fly,
wingless in a sickening syrup of yellow eyes.

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Does The Night Have A Poem?

DOES THE NIGHT HAVE A POEM?

Does the Night have a poem?
Is there anything worth saying now?

To hear the Quiet is a kind of poem,
But I do not know-

The Night says the Wind now,
But is a small breeze enough

To make Heart and Mind
Come to Life again?

The Night is silent now
And Darkness is no answer either.

Night, Quiet, Sound, Light, Love,
The Beauty of simply being alive.

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Darkness of the night, engulfed the day light

Darkness of the night
Engulfed the day light
The moon
Came from behind
The mountains
Showed its shining face
Showered cool light
The Sky was full of
Twinkling stars
My first
Meeting with her
Came to my mind
I could now see
Her beautiful face
In front of my eyes
I prayed
To the almighty
Do not let the moon
Go away
Let it stay forever
So that I keep on
Seeing her
Mesmerizing beauty
Throughout my life
My prayers remain
Unanswered
As night passed by
The moon slowly slipped
Behind the mountains
Giving way to sun light
Like all other moonlit
Nights
She vanished
Left me
Lonely and crying
11-03-2012
344-77-03-12

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Who Can Tell All The Moods Of A Single Life And Love?

WHO CAN TELL ALL THE MOODS OF A SINGLE LIFE?

Who can tell all the moods of a single life and love?
Much less of two together?
Who can explain the lonelinesses and the distances
Two can feel with each other?
Or the tendernesses and intimacies
One may know while the other is somewhere else?
Who can explain all the intricacies of anger and pain and joy
When they mix in sudden strange ways?

Our lives are mysteries to us-
So too our relations with those we love-
In all their Beauty there is still something we cannot find and make our own –

Love is a deep thing perhaps the deepest
But too with it there may remain questions-

Why oh holy and close now and why in a second some other distance we never dreamed and are forced against our wish and will to feel?

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William Cowper

Watching Unto God In The Night Season

Sleep at last has fled these eyes,
Nor do I regret his flight,
More alert my spirits rise,
And my heart is free and light.

Nature silent all around,
Not a single witness near;
God as soon as sought is found;
And the flame of love burns clear.

Interruption, all day long,
Checks the current of my joys;
Creatures press me with a throng,
And perplex me with their noise.

Undisturbed I muse all night,
On the first Eternal Fair;
Nothing there obstructs delight,
Love is renovated there.

Life, with its perpetual stir,
Proves a foe to love and me;
Fresh entanglements occur--
Comes the night, and sets me free.

Never more, sweet sleep, suspend
My enjoyments, always new:
Leave me to possess my friend;
Other eyes and hearts subdue.

Hush the world, that I may wake
To the taste of pure delights;
Oh the pleasures I partake--
God, the partner of my nights!

David, for the selfsame cause,
Night preferred to busy day;
Hearts whom heavenly beauty draws,
Wish the glaring sun away.

Sleep, self–lovers, is for you--
Souls that love celestial know
Fairer scenes by night can view
Than the sun could ever show.

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The Night Is A Wild Beast Foaming

The night is a wild beast foaming at the teeth
The crescent moon a Cheshire cats smile
Keeping lunar illumination upon the clouds that pass on by.
The stars are pin prick holes in a shroud of death
Promising life upon the other side of the new day dawning.
As rising – re born from the ashes of the past
The solar phoenix is bursting forth upon the skylines of another realm
Here it is darkness – void – the abyss.
Here I find myself tangled within a web of delusional love
Missing the dream of kissing you
At the mercy of brutal and ruthless killers below
Those that cling to the memory of the shadow.

The river has burst its banks
The city is dying
Disease is eating away at the flesh of those breathing stagnant air.
Mothers are seeking there children in pits of tar
Fathers are slaying there Fathers in a motion to rise
Where are the children?
Those bright eyed starry gazed children, half crazed and rotting in the lair of the piper.
Maggots are nesting in the eyes of those still crying
As Mothers sigh, holding tightly in their arms the grey shades of still born babes.
What God will save them now?
What spirit of the forest night will rise to save those
That in their consumption of nature oppose the life of beauty incarnate.

What does a mirror look like?
If that clocks wrong, what’s right?

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A Day Of Laugh And Love In The Sun

A day of laugh and love in the sun
The winds blew gently through whitening leaves as naked flames
The scent of spring flowers spread softly as carried by hands of a nun
Sea and vast echoing duns, her sound speaking, repeating my name

My name on her voluptuous lips erupted my heart so high
That there was noting left inside me; my spirit flew free
Bouncing on the sands; lifting into the vaults of boundless sky
Diving into the sapphire depth of the magic sea

A day of laugh and love in the sun
Where are you day? where you hide where you run?
All I know your comrades days gray and slow come and go one by one
Her picture froze; never to return to meadows and do the not done

The day of laugh and love do not hesitate, come not of late
Flinging the gloom secluded nights
On my painful heart; bring back your joy, laugh and lights
Pull me, take me out of this horrible mind of state

Come again with morning fresh light mist
With her again, the beauty queen whose stately brow
The dew pearled winds of dawn have kissed
So incorrigibly I yearn to re play that day in meadow and in show

Stay on her floating locks and lovely freight
Of overflowing blooms, and earliest shoots
In lea of green hues, yielding safe pledge to their fruits
we will watch the bird leading her soft colored broods

Now in cold winter tide on what shall I hope or stare?
Except naked trunks, and the black frigid earth with brilliance rare.


Copy rights 2010
All rights reserved.

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Fallen In The Night!

IT dressed itself in green leaves all the summer long,
Was full of chattering starlings, loud with throstles' song.
Children played beneath it, lovers sat and talked,
Solitary strollers looked up as they walked.
O, so fresh its branches! and the its old trunk gray
Was so stately rooted, who forbode decay?
Even when winds had blown it yellow and almost bare,
Softly dropped its chestnuts through the misty air;
Still its few leaves rustled with a faint delight,
And their tender colors charmed the sense of sight,
Filled the soul with beauty, and the heart with peace,
Like sweet sounds departing--sweetest when they cease.

Pelting, undermining, loosening, came the rain;
Through its topmost branches roared the hurricane;
Oft it strained and shivered till the night wore past;
But in dusky daylight there the tree stood fast,
Though its birds had left it, and its leaves were dead,
And its blossoms faded, and its fruit all shed.

Ay, and when last sunset came a wanderer by,
Watched it as aforetime with a musing eye,
Still it wore its scant robes so pathetic gay,
Caught the sun's last glimmer, the new moon's first ray;
And majestic, patient, stood amidst its peers
Waiting for the spring-times of uncounted years.

But the worm was busy, and the days were run;
Of its hundred sunsets this was the last one:
So in the quiet midnight, with no eye to see,
None to harm in falling, fell the noble tree!

Says the early laborer, starting at the sight
With a sleepy wonder, 'Fallen in the night!'
Says a schoolboy, leaping in a wild delight
Over trunk and branches, 'Fallen in the night!'

O thou Tree, thou glory of His hand who made
Nothing ever vainly, thou hast Him obeyed!
Lived thy life, and perished when and how He willed;--
Be all lamentation and all murmurs stilled.
To our last hour live we--fruitful, brave, upright,
'T will be a good ending, 'Fallen in the night!'

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Patrick White

The Night Comes On

The night comes on like a bayonet in the eye of a baby. The mirror shatters. Shards of shining try to get their act together like small Balkan countries practicing their traditional viciousness. And yes, the world is dark, brutal, treacherous and you're walking skinless through a field of nettles, your heart exposed like an igneous stone to the dead nun weeping in the acid rain. Buried alive in your own avalanche of judgment and delusion, do you hope to send down roots? Poor baby, you think I'm cruel, that when I tell you the diamond is mud, I'm trying to transplant you into some mythic crystal clarity you have not yet attained. Wrong where there is no wrong, because you're there already. Isn't it obvious your roots are in the sky; isn't it perfectly clear that everything is perfectly clear. Don't talk to me about confusion and chaos and the seven crossroads to nowhere that lie before you like a crippled starfish. I've pushed deathcarts in the morning through the back-alleys of Calcutta and evicted squatters from the satin slums of the cemetery. There is no sin or virtue in my seeing, no little coffin of concept waiting at the end of the boat-tour for a corpse.

You're not innocent; you're not corrupt. You drink the purple blood of night like everyone else and think it's a secret. You love the criminal because you think it's more sublime than intelligence, but you don't see that you're only a butterfly in the dragon's mouth; you don't understand that ritualizing heresy is not a bridge to the other side, not the crossing of any real taboo. Be absolutely certain, you're the only firefly in this man's dark vastness, but you've cranked your own ambivalence too long not to go through withdrawal into the deep assurance of the unseen light that wants to befriend you like a small green planet glowing with life. And screw the man who thinks he's a guru when he says this; burn the mask he wears to his own funeral along with the rest of his tainted marrow. Why cavil?

If the thorns think they're the crown of the rose, should the rose care, disposing of itself petal by petal, sky by sky, like the pages of an over-read book about the dangers of reading? Do you see? The wind shimmers like waves through the tall summer grass; and at night, the stars shine down on everyone alike, ignorant of their own burning legends. Deep within you, there is a hidden moon, a blind pearl, one of the lost ruby eyes of the phoenix who put himself out like a torch in the darkness of your holy waters. Why do you look outside yourself for the world you already are? Hate me if you must, but don't curse the absence of someone who loves you outside of the net. If I'm cruel, if I'm mean, if I risk the obscenity of human lovelessness to love you; don't ask me to forgive your hive of killer bees because it's so painful to get near the honey. I'm not the Titanic and you're not an ice-berg and the worst of tragedies are those that never happen. Live, if you can, beyond the billboards you call yourself; walk out into the fields of being beyond and see, truly see, what the rest of your life's been doing while you posed like a freak in a circus tent for three grams a day. Or persist in your shadows like some third generation Nazi who can't get it up enough to hate with any authority, but, likewise, is too fond of his designer straitjacket to love. What's the point of using your head for a doorstop when you're afraid to cross your own thresholds? Why lick the paper-plates for morsels of thought at a garabage-dump and call it a feast of sages? I might be stupid, I might be wrong, I might be the willing dupe of your most cherished delusion, but at least I can see you in a clear heart, your depth and beauty and agony, three flowers growing in a crevice of your well-wall. Haven't the fish already learned to walk; the birds to swim. Don't the stars drown, drunk, in you every night, and not one in the morning with a hangover? Go ahead, tattoo hell on your eyelids and pretend you're awake to the world that's hanging from the end of your nose. I love your tears when they fall; you're a steep mountain in spring, the end of an ice-age, a fountain that's learning to crawl.

But I'm not looking for your tears, and I'm almost as sorry as you that I am who I am under this gravestone in this six-storey cemetery of your fears. Do I die well or do I disappoint your witching wands when you come looking for me like a personalized parking space in the city of the dead? And don't tell me you're fragile, you're young, you're smudged across your own reflection like lipstick on a junkie's bathroom mirror. I think too much of you to believe you. Here, here's a new dagger, a clean knife, stronger metal and a more acute blade than any you've got in that soft copper arsenal of yours. I'll even provide the forge and a blacksmith and the knowledge to fashion your own. Love isn't love that doesn't offer its artery to the beloved or complains when it's being killed. O you who think the world is such a bad place, an ugly face, go ahead and try with your space-razor to separate the moonlight from the water. You want the flower and the fruit but you despise the root. You set fire to your own nerves like fuses and try to convince me it's the work of mystic terrorists. Who knows; maybe you're trying to overthrow yourself like a repressive regime and there's no place in your politics for a firing squad still loyal to the wishes of a raving queen?

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There Is No Beauty Like Music's Beauty

There is no Beauty like Music's Beauty
Deeper than Light-
Beauty Music's Beauty
Intensest life.

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