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A sweet sound is framing – as the liquor of an evening,
anxious hearts – a sundown of springs:
are watching me into deepness, overwhelmed as a pain –
infinite, with an eye in soul and with another in quietness...
`this night – without night, with white walls, of lime –
we are both climbing up, secretly, in the osuary`s time(...)

poem by from Emotions into Multiverse (25 July 2010), translated by Adrian ConstantinescuReport problemRelated quotes
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Walk this Night

Dark clouds will move
Light rays will come
Dark night will end
Bright day will start
But walk this night

Walk seeing its stars
Seeing its bright light
Seeing its white shine
It’s the beauty of night
So seen only in night

Walk seeing its moon
Seeing its moon light
Seeing its bright shine
It’s also beauty of night
So shines only in night

So walk this night
Walk seeing its light
And awake in light
Walk seeing its beauty
And awake in beauty

So walk this night
To wake in shine
If not the next day
It will be other day
For now walk this night

So move, said my heart

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The sweet sound of sorrow

I have had my share do not despair
the sweet sound of sorrow
Sorrow so deep I could not sleep
Thinking this must all end tomorrow
If your looking for another that understands your sorrow
Drop me A line and I will fallow
And I'll show you some time
how when I can not sleep I weep
The sweet sound of sorrow

© By Stone

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On This Night Of Stars And Tender Kisses

On this night of stars and tender kisses

when the lights are falling from the sky

and embraced in charm they sink and glisten

I am wondering if the moon still shines for us,

if the treasures hidden in the darkness

come resplendent with a thousand shards of heart

or will turn to tears in quiet moments

and return in vest of falling stars

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This Night Is Done

Recording all the memories.
Writing another one down in the diary of jane.
A complementation of the mentally insane.
Riding the rails of this train.
Such a long train.
It goes on an on.
Someday, someway, I will look back and say wow that was me.
I was definitely kinda crazy.
I was a shaker and a heart breaker.
Getting down at a quarter after 9.
The party would continue all night long.
I would drink till the moon was gone.
Watching another rising dawn.
Settling down when the lights come on.
Sometime you need to give the body mind and soul a break.
Their is never enough time.
Can anyone else relate
An observation with two steps back.
So slow to react.
All the sensations have become numb.
The painless fun.
This night is done.

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Patrick White

And This Night

And this night that is ending,
bruising into the blue of an impossible rose,
and the windows opening their eyes to the light
that pales the stars from the sky like dreams;
and a man trying to keep the starving candle in his skull
from going out, the emptiness of the dark from demanding
oblivion from the day, the mouth of the morning
no beginning, but the start of a busy grave;
how can he tell his heart what his eyes already see
in the mirrors that mourn like hired grief,
some distant galaxy expanding into space,
some island of light in the forsaken depths of time,
that he's already the ghost of a future memory,
that a silo of ashes isn't enough to feed the flame
of the fire he's cherished in the boat of his hands
like a wounded bird he taught to sing for years,
and how to fly higher than the world is kind
like a hawk with broken wings, or an injured mind?

I see eyes in the dark soaked up like rain,
wildflowers in a field, the keys of unbound clocks,
and they're staring at me on a rocky precipice alone,
the lip of a vast abyss where even the winds don't go,
and they seem to know who I am, and why I must suffer
more deeply than the words of an eloquent man
who no longer answers his pain in silver tongues
but stands voiceless in the gulf of the silence before him,
mute, broken, baffled, a ladder stripped of rungs.

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Fly Into This Night

First the high and then a low
Getting ero-mantic vertigo
In the rain then the drought
Thats what loving you is all about
Fly, fly into this night
And rectify my dreams
I, I love you more than life
Though seldom Im serene
Feel the cold in the heat
Im questioning my blind fidelity
Love is sweet love is tart
Loving you is a crime when were apart
Fly into this night
And still my fantasies
I love you more than life
Through seldom Im at peace

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Night (This night, agitated by the growing storm)

This night, agitated by the growing storm,
how it has suddenly expanded its dimensions--,
that ordinarily would have gone unnoticed,
like a cloth folded, and hidden in the folds of time.

Where the stars give resistance it does not stop there,
neither does it begin within the forest's depths,
nor show upon the surface of my face
nor with your appearance.

The lamps keep swaying, fully unaware:
is our light lying?
Is night the only reality
that has endured through thousands of years?

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

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The New Theory

A butterfly's wing
moving gracefully
in a still Asian dawn
works up a storm
that beats the hell
out of us in Pennsylvania.
I used to think it was
a woman somewhere
on he other side of the world,
turning, maybe, in her sleep,
or tossing the hair
from her face with a soft flip,
that has wakened me
on this lonely dark night,
not a sound, not a glint
of light out the window,
and no air at all
on this night when I need
air, even if only
what comes of a butterfly
passing, or a woman
turning, or tossing her hair.

Anonymous submission.

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The soul and the core of every language

The soul and the core of every language
lie in the lines and rhymes of its poetry
As the divine poets spirit should
Guide us to built our emerging human hood
With universal sublime inner soul nurturing food
Drawn and scale in select proportion fair
From honest mold and vagabond air
From that foul awful dreadful night
Into joyful rebirth bright day light
From antique ashes, whose departed flame
In us a finer life and a longer instated fame
From injuries and wounds; pains and balms
From the quiet after storm that calms

Copy rights 2010
All rights reserved

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Sonnet 38: This Night While Sleep Begins

This night while sleep begins with heavy wings
To hatch mine eyes, and that unbitted thought
Doth fall to stray, and my chief powers are brought
To leave the scepter of all subject things,

The first that straight my fancy's error brings
Unto my mind, is Stella's image, wrought
By Love's own self, but with so curious draught,
That she, methinks, not only shines but sings.

I start, look, hark, but what in clos'd-up sense
Was held, in open'd sense it flies away,
Leaving me nought but wailing eloquence:

I, seeing betters sights in sight's decay,
Call'd it anew, and wooed sleep again:
But him her host that unkind guest had slain.

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Unto You This Night

On a night so long ago
By the light of one bright star
Two weary travelers far from galilee
Took refuge in a stable
Where a little child was born
To bring the gift of love to you and me
When the angels told the shepherds of his birth
There came a great rejoicing on the earth
And they sang glory to God in the highest
Dawning that first christmas morn
Peace on earth and ridings of great joy
For unto you this night a child is born
And, lo, these many years since then
That ancient star still guides us
And now again our christmas voices ring
Blessed we are and safe at home
With loved ones her beside us
And in the still and silent night we sing
How the angels told the shepherds of his birth
And there came a great rejoicing on the earth
Repeat chorus:

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How Yearn I For A Potioned Wine – This Night!

How yearn I for a potioned wine – this night!
How race and run the drops of blood
How race the red, red drops of blood – this night!

How from the face of heaven the clouds
Seem swept away by some full-scathing broom
How smiling the pale moon!

Ah! methinks that the moon, the modest moon
Has in itself somehow sometime infused
The red, red drops of Bacchus – lo in it
The wanness cool is turning to a red
And on its cheek already ruddying goeth:
And merry looks the moon this merry night.

Never would I have thought the moon to be
Votary of Bacchus and his ivied green:
Nor of its conquest by the sweaty arms
Of satyrs fauns and nymphs of Bacchus wild:

And in my cheeks like the wan moon
So will I potion myself with red, red wine
Cool from the earth in cooler beakers kept
Delicious as the drops of red, red blood
Were to Dracula.

Then will I yearn to sleep and drowse and dream.

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0029 This night, this night of endless miracle

On this Mediterranean night with its light breeze
scented with the sun-warmed herbs
drifting down from cooling, stony hills,
a million stars you’ve never seen before
shine on a million crickets singing
as if from eternity to eternity

and you cannot say, and there’s
no need to say, which is which;
the trembling of the stars,
the susurration of cicadas,
join as in endless praise
of the imagination of their maker
who made imagination too

and though the cicadas, singing, may never know
that the stars they sing to
are shining from a thousand years ago
and though the stars may never know
that the cicadas that they shine upon
are a thousand years here from their now,

it’s all known, to the mind that made the vines
that made the grapes that made the wine
singing in my veins tonight
like cicadas susurrating in the starlight
as you hear them now
this night, this night of endless miracle

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On This Night Of A Thousand Stars

Che: Now Eva Peron had every disadvantage
You need if you're gonna succeed
No money no cash no father no bright lights
There was nowhere she'd been at the age of 15
As this Tango singer found out
Augustin Magaldi
Who has the distinction of being the first
Man to be of use to Eva Duarte

Magaldi: On this night of a thousand stars
Let me take you to Heaven's door
Where the music of love's guitars
Plays forevermore

In the glow of those twinkling lights
We shall love through eternity
On this night in a million nights
Fly away with me

I never dreamed that a kiss could be as sweet as this
Now I know that it can
I used to wander alone without a love of my own
I was a desperate man
But all my grief disappeard and all the sorrow I feared
Wasn't there anymore
On that magical day when you first came my way
Mi amor

On this night
On this night
On this night of a thousand stars
Let me take you to Heaven's door
Where the music of love's guitars
Plays forevermore

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Nightingale of Eyelashes and Dreams

Dulcet voiced chanteuse,
song birds burn and flutter from within you,
your voice soars and shines,
dispersing over the night
like a flock of phosphorescent plumes.

Sing me your melancholy melodies and
mellifluous carols of unbridled revelry,
drown me in those salty waves of your yours,
flood the void left in the stilly suburban night
with your misty eyed nocturne.

Cut my ears with your sweet accompaniment of
silver shard piano keys.
Haunt my every thought with the harp string's
wounded maudlin echoing.

I keep your torch song burning
in a tinder box beneath my pillow,
at times I suffer high fevers,
and have succumb to many
a sleepless night.
However, I do not mind:

You are my Nightingale,
nurse of my eyelashes and dreams.

For your bedside remedies,
I've become a fiend,
when your voice is clean, healthy,
sterile of woe,
it possesses pure curative qualities:

sing to me just one of your songs each night,
and I shall live, youthful and vigorous,
for a hundred more years to come.
For every kiss, each morning,
would add another year upon that.

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There Is The Mood Of A Poem For This Night


There is the mood of a poem for this night
There is the mood of a love from long ago
That is forever lost-

There is a mood of a too rainy and too cold night
There is a mood of more inside than saying can mean-

There is a mood of many things-

And all these moods are not one mood
And yet in me now largely indescribable-

For there is a mood which takes the person away
Into a land of dreams and beyond
And another mood and another poem
Which simply stays where it is
In longing for itself-

So while I have many moods
And may write many poems of those moods
I know that there is no mood tonight
Which is the one and only one love
I would always have-

And no mood which can say again
All that a person may have when young
And never know again in old age-

There is a mood of being forever sad and forever regretful-

But considering how much Beauty life has
And how many different ways there are of finding it
I will listen to the music of the light tonight
And hear the poetry of many great souls
And in a mood of joy
Quietly go to rest
As if happiness really were the mood beyond and within everything.

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Just Get Through This Night

(Bob (Aku Aku) Young)
"Help me Fans.... We'll make history tonight"
"I hear you fellow listees...Meet me at the voting booth"
This could be the longest night in recorded history
And as for sleep, you might as well just cross it off the list of
(Now) The booth is in crazy mode
And this is just a fan fight
But I would smile if my man won
If I just get through this night
Oh, Oh
I could spend my time online
Defending my side
Pour my soul into each and every sentence
Then brace myself from the tide
Of attacks from the others
They'll state you don't know both sides
And I could bear the cold and stormy winter
If I just get through this fight
Oh, oh
Don't you know there's no place on this earth
Where you can run to escape the pain of a broken band?
We want them to make up but it's out of our hands,
Oh, oh
But now I've gotta get a life
Spend some time with kids and wife
And no longer to fly'
Styx could be a reborn star
The king of retro bands
Make us fly, attending many concerts
But they've split their loyal fans
If they would, end this current rift today
And know magic comes from the Big Three
They could blow us all away
If they'd only find their way, oh
If they just get through this fight, oh
So we'll have to get through this night

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On This Night

White sheets fall around the car
For it is not too far
The roads are white, and un-changing sheets of ice surround it
The roads are lightly lit
It is not far now something will happen, something will move
You always knew the car would loose
This battle of the night
You start to loose your sight
The roads are hidden from your gaze
The windows in a soft haze
The wheel moves, you turn trying to stop before the gate
It is too late
The brakes won’t save you know, the car skids to the side
This will be your last ride.
The impact sends you towards the windshield you cover your eyes and head
This is the end you know inside
You’ll never see your children’s smiling faces
Your mind is in a maze
You do not know what is happening you do not remember
All you know is it is December
The month of giving, you shall not give you shall not receive but death shall find were you stand
The car comes to a stop wheels spinning above you, the blood on your hands
The light fades all around you flames dance
The light is now no more, you lay still flames around you in the night, the snow falls on
It does not notice, but fills on your sweet face; you hear the voices above roll on
It is too late
For this night holds your fate
For on this night you shall loose your site

(poem dedicated to: Kai and Susan craig who died in a car reck on their way to denver for Kai to get an art reward R.I.P Kai and Susan)

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The Edge Of Time

Rain never falls upon the edge of time.
Yesterday was a nightmare for me; I would awaken in hell’s brushfire
Every morning and
In the evening you sing before flames around a campfire-
I would sing songs of death and persecution and
You would sing cheering folk songs-
Tomorrow you would play with
The stones and sticks you found
By the creek side-
You are and always have been the blissful one while
I feel the tears day and night-
Once happy, forever content-
You were born under a different sign-
You never believed in signs or games we would play but
They were all I had to depend on for hope-
You grew tall and made it in this world and
I retreated into a world of my own, fabricated
For me alone- reality to me and to you, none but a delusion?
I remember rain falling upon the edge of time-
I am standing on the edge about to jump-
If you would spread your wings you would fly proudly above
The world and all of its pain and misfortune-
I would fall, being a bird with broken wings-
I remember nothing- I am burning into
None but a cinder- you have made it and have won the battle
That battle that I have lost- what is it?
It is none but fate- some people make it in this lifetime and others fail,
And their spirits die- it hardly matters how hard you try-
Some people, born to find fortune no matter how hard they fight the battles-
Others give their all and become outcasts. I am an outcast and
Rain has fallen upon my horizon-drowning me-
There is no time for salvation, I have reached the end and foresee no future-
Perhaps in another lifetime, rain in my dreams with some hope shall
Make beautiful flowers grow….

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A Letter From A Writer Searching For Her Soul And Wanting To Feel Not With Her Hands

Hello (to whom it may concern) ,

It's been awhile since we exchanged messages. Sorry, I'm not much of an |'onliner' these days. I resigned from my job. I'm, in the process of soul searching. Funny but I don't really know why I'm looking for a soul, my soul, when I cannot even see it. I'm on an unplanned vacation in some quaint town some miles outside the city while writing this email.

I guess I never had the chance to tell you how you took the glint from my eye. To write from the soul and not for the awards. I have overlook that writing is an Art. Thus it is priceless. A gold medal does not define you as an artist. Write until it ceases to become a craft.But more than just stringing words after words, conscious of your weary grammar, punctuations, right words, and subject matter. To write is to turn your heart inside out.

Beyond 'writing' and its technical definitions, it is actually a journey - a self surrender - towards the oblivion you are willing to traverse with your pen. And you find yourself in another state.

To write is to 'see' but not with your eyes. To 'feel' but not with your hands. And at the end of it all, you know that it's there. Writing takes over you. Thus, I often wonder: am i writing with the pen? Or is it the pen using me to write? But I know somewhere deep inside, there is a thing mightier than the pen that prompts me to write. And that is the soul.

I want to find my center. My creative process in writing. Ironic, but to find it, I must loose myself.

hahahahaha. whew. I know i sound stupid. Sorry. Thanks for bearing with me. Hope it's not too late to greet you a Happy New Year! ! ! ! =)

(name witheld, but this could be you)

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