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Aleksandr Blok

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"Flaming Signs Of the Mystery..." 1902
Flaming signs of the mystery grow On the wall, that is solid and grim,And the tulips of purple and goldAll the night hang o’er me in my dream.I hide self in the caves’ dark and coldness,Loose remembrance of miracles, past, At a sunrise, the vast bluish monstersLook at me from the heaven’s bright glass. I run back to the past’s early edges;Full of fear, I close my eyes,On the cooling book’s whitening pages,Gold of maiden’s plait fatally lies.The sky’s firmament’s lower hereThe black dream strongly squeezes my breast.My life’s fatal end’s utterly near –   And a war and a fire come next.

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U... ju ju...

 

Land

Two diagonalized wings of blue beat in the sea

Over the Atlantic the inmense diastole of the race

Steam in all the motors of the world

Tied our nerves to all the electric threads

Land

A Cruña looks to the fogs of Ireland

Vigo to the skyscrapers of New York

GALICIA FOR EVER

CRUÑA

Points of the highest tension of the life

VIGO

Land.

Knot of all the threads

Threading all the towns of the world

All the sirens at the same time sounding

Tripods painted of sun making holes in the land

By the side of all the parallels

The arrows of the flooded longings of Atlantis

In our bell gables

Where they ring to the baptism of the new centuries

Aerials to make radiographs of our anthems to the stars

Land

Breaths of millions of chests

Tomorrow

Leap of all the wills

Crash of all the brains

Land

N. S. E. W.

Land

Rain of stars

Dawn

Lightning

X rays

Profecy

Land

The sky broke down from top to bottom

Land

HIP HIP HIP

HURRA

 

 

 

This is a poem of Vicente Risco published in the newspaper "A Nosa Terra" in 1920.

 

The link to the poem image is here, I hope you can see it

Edited by tan_lejos_tan_cerca

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Beginning, The Poem by Rupert Brooke

Some day I shall rise and leave my friends
And seek you again through the world's far ends,
You whom I found so fair
(Touch of your hands and smell of your hair!),
My only god in the days that were.
My eager feet shall find you again,
Though the sullen years and the mark of pain
Have changed you wholly; for I shall know
(How could I forget having loved you so?),
In the sad half-light of evening,
The face that was all my sunrising.
So then at the ends of the earth I'll stand
And hold you fiercely by either hand,
And seeing your age and ashen hair
I'll curse the thing that once you were,
Because it is changed and pale and old
(Lips that were scarlet, hair that was gold!),
And I loved you before you were old and wise,
When the flame of youth was strong in your eyes,
-- And my heart is sick with memories.

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Led Zeppelin: Battle of Evermore

 

Queen of light took her bow, and then she turned to go,

the prince of peace embraced the gloom, and walked the night alone

oh dance in the dark of night, sing to the morning light

the dark lord rides in force tonight, and time will tell us all

 

oh, throw down your plow and hoe, rest not to lock your homes

 

side by side we wait the night for the darkest of them all

 

I hear the horses thunder down in the valley below

I'm waiting for the Angles of Avalon, waiting for the eastern glow

 

The apples of the valley hold, the seeds of happiness

the ground is rich from tender care, repay, don't forget, no, no

dance in the dark of night, sing to the morning light

 

The apples turn brown and black, the tyrants face is red

 

Oh, war is the common cry, pick up your swords and fly

the sky is filled with good and bad that mortals never know

 

oh well, the night is long, the beads of time pass slow

tired eyes on the sunrise, waiting for the eastern glow

the pain of war cannot exceed the wave of after math

the drums will shake the castle wall, the ring wraiths ride in black, ride on

sing as you raise your bow, shoot straighter than before

no comfort has the fire at night that lights the face so cold

oh dance in the dark at night, sing to the morning light

the magic runes are writ in gold to bring the balance back: bring it back

At last the sun is shining, the clouds of blue roll by 

with flames from the dragon of darkness, the sunlight blinds his eyes!

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Carl Rakosi: In what sense I am I

 

 

In what sense

                       I am I

A minor observer

                            as in a dream

absorbed in the interior

a beardless youth

                             unaccountability

remote yet present

                              at the action

reminding me faintly

                                of prufrock....

a diminutive figure

                              barely discernable

seemingly ageless

                              escapes me

the original impulse

                               to sing

compressed

                    into one exhausted note

breaks out

                 of the chest space

vibrating along

                        the shoulders

in the presence

                          of full-bodied

womanliness

                     the eyes dark

in the inner scene

                            the hair long

and black

                 our dark lady

inmate of courtship

she does not speak

                               she is nameless

the reason for her

                             presence then

is unknown

a shepherd

                   vaguely associated

stands

           at a distance

under

          a birch tree

casually playing a flute

sweetness

                 streams across...

also

        from the balance

and the position

                          of each

it issues

neither moves

                       the scene

is not matter

                    that can pall

or diminish

                  it's secret holds

as fast as I

as in Giorgione

                         the suspense

is eternal

Edited by littlejoe3

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Things have done

 

Things have done.

Days are numbered.

here

we have prayed

next to  the sleeping river.

 

there

ice has gone

in the days of Spring.

And faded, the days!

How far!

 

My fulfilled day

has finished itself,

my naked spirit

it sings for all.

 

Sick, in love,

i wait for you,

dark, sleepless,

cold as ice.

 

Alessandro Blok

 

4th of March 1903

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it is a world, maybe far, maybe never seen..

I ve noticed that tranlastions can be different.

 

 

 

 

 

The Unknown Lady

 

By Aleksandr Blok

 

The restaurants on hot spring evenings

Lie under a dense and savage air.

Foul drafts and hoots from drunken revelers

Contaminate the thoroughfare.

 

Above the dusty lanes of suburbia

Above the tedium of bungalows

A pretzel sign begilds a bakery

And children screech fortissimo.

 

And every evening beyond the barriers

Gentlemen  of practiced wit and charm

Go strolling beside the drainage ditches-

Derby tilted, lady at the arm.

 

The squeak of oarlocks comes over the lake water

A woman’s shriek assaults the ear

While above, in the sky, inured to everything,

The moon looks on with a mindles leer.

 

And every evening my one companion

Sits here, reflected in my glass.

Like me, he has drunk of bitter mysteries.

Like me, he is broken, dulled, downcast.

 

The sleepy lackeys stand beside tables

Waiting for the night to pass

And tipplers with the eyes of rabbits

Cry out:  “In vino veritas!”

 

And every evening (or am I imagining?)

Exactly at the appointed time

A girl’s slim figure, silk raimented,

Glides past the misted window  grime.

 

 

And slowly, passing through the revelers,

Unaccompanied, always alone,

Exuding mists and secret fragrances,

She sits at the table that is her own.

 

Something ancient, something legendary

Surrounds her presence in the room,

Her narrow hand, her silk, her bracelets,

Her hat, the rings, the ostrich plume.

 

Entranced by her presence, near, enigmatic,

I gaze through the dark of her lowered veil

And I behold an enchanted shoreline

An enchanted hinterland, far and pale.

 

I am made a guardian of higher mysteries,

Someone’s sun is entrusted to my control.

Tart wine has pierced the last convolution

Of my bent, labyrinthine soul.

 

And now the drooping plumes of ostriches,

Asway in my brain, droop slowly lower

And two eyes, limpid, blue, and fathomless

Are blooming on a distant shore.

 

Inside my soul a treasure is buried,

The key is here, and it is mine.

How right you are, you drunken monster!

I know: the truth is in the wine.

 

The poet is Russian.

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suddenly

a breath blows

and kisses gently

my face,

it moves sprightly the sinew.

a solitary wind.

Alone

but not abandoned

to bad feelings

or dirty thoughts

i play a song

with the guitar,

i don't want

a Catherine's wheel,

nor a grass snake

or a siren

i am searching

a complete

melody

so i look

at the sky

outside the window

and i look for inspiration,

it will come

it wil come.

 

(it's me writing)

Edited by paoladegliesposti

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Beginning, The Poem by Rupert Brooke

Some day I shall rise and leave my friends

And seek you again through the world's far ends,

You whom I found so fair

(Touch of your hands and smell of your hair!),

My only god in the days that were.

My eager feet shall find you again,

Though the sullen years and the mark of pain

Have changed you wholly; for I shall know

(How could I forget having loved you so?),

In the sad half-light of evening,

The face that was all my sunrising.

So then at the ends of the earth I'll stand

And hold you fiercely by either hand,

And seeing your age and ashen hair

I'll curse the thing that once you were,

Because it is changed and pale and old

(Lips that were scarlet, hair that was gold!),

And I loved you before you were old and wise,

When the flame of youth was strong in your eyes,

-- And my heart is sick with memories.

 

this is beautiful.. :)  :)

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What may come: by Skye Tandy

 

Not everything is as it seems

And no one is ever truly happy here

Mostly because were told to drop our dreams

 

But no one ever addresses our needy fears

somehow we've been handed the end of the rope

Left alone to make the muddy waters clear

 

In the midst of all the chaos we cope

By seeking out the comfort amidst the pain

Looking into the things that should install hope

 

What is hope and reality that it stains

for anyone can see that it exists not

Shed a tear as you watch goodness wane

Instead it's gratification sought

Within a world that can't make up it's mind

Instant feeling with it's lost souls are brought

 

Where is the path? Through what does it wind?

Curving here, breaking past the man made walls

Descending, until the broken spirit is all one finds

 

From all directions, the way words path seems to call

not caring who the confusion leads astray

And then stepping back, so as not to take the fall

 

Yet the path carries on, blindly leading the day

And everyone allows it one more fleeting move

Blindly groping the invisible, hand hold that's taken away

 

When will the awakening arrive, making us prove

That we are more than simple minded machines?

Trying desperately to avoid the looks that disapprove

 

Why must we carry on, strapped to a ride that careens?

Tossing us, throwing us, like a rag doll in are child's hands

Shouldn't there be more to this Macabre  Scene?

 

Eyes open, I see all of this, eyes closed, I weep and demand-

Is this the way we had our world originally planned?

post-672870-0-58925600-1428670185_thumb.jpg

Edited by littlejoe3

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Poem from Dark Matter

First light through the limbs of the trees. And then

the trees. Each morning the hum of traffic

through the freeway wall. And then the traffic

we’re bottled in. Each thing first betrayed

by the shapes around it. As if shadows held

all our weight. Like the empty space that props

each fiery nest of stars, the smooth circumference

of every heavenly body toward which astronomers

might dream. I’m at the kitchen window, early light.

Reading science for tea leaves. Pluto, it seems,

is far colder than we thought. Even the constant

speed of light is decaying. And look where thoughts

can lead: Somewhere in a lonely future, a man

hears his heart stop beating long before the world

goes black. So slow the rate at which nothing

approaches. Or maybe like an ostrich we’ll outrun

our past. And then our present. And this, my gift

to you, whatever you’ll make of it. The soul, a ship

in a bottle lost at sea. Drops its anchor anyway.

***

 

Timothy Green

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Lodged: Robert Frost

 

The rain to the wind said,

" you push and I'll pelt."

They so smote the garden bed

That the flowers actually knelt,

and lay lodged-- though not dead.

I know how the flowers felt.

post-672870-0-25111200-1428924467_thumb.jpg

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To the Muse

 

 

In your hidden memories
There are fatal tidings of doom...
A curse on sacred traditions,
A desecration of happiness;

And a power so alluring
That I am ready to repeat the rumour
That you have brought angels down from heaven,
Enticing them with your beauty...

And when you mock at faith,
That pale, greyish-purple halo
Which I once saw before
Suddenly begins to shine above you.

Are you evil or good? You are altogether from another world
They say strange things about you
For some you are the Muse and a miracle.
For me you are torment and hell.

I do not know why in the hour of dawn,
When no strength was left to me,
I did not perish, but caught sight of your face
And begged you to comfort me.

I wanted us to be enemies;
Why then did you make me a present
Of a flowery meadow and of the starry firmament --
The whole curse of your beauty?

Your fearful caresses were more treacherous
Than the northern night,
More intoxicating than the golden champagne of Aï,
Briefer than a gypsy woman's love...

And there was a fatal pleasure
In trampling on cherished and holy things;
And this passion, bitter as wormwood,
Was a frenzied delight for the heart!

 

Alexsandr Alexsandrovic Blok
Edited by paoladegliesposti

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U2 Trip Through your wires

 

www.youtube.com/watch?v=YHFxthGFGas

 

In the distance

She saw me coming round

I was calling out

I was calling out

Still shakin

Still in pain

You put me back together again

I was cold and you clothed me honey

I was down and you lifted me honey

Angle

Angle, or devil

I was thirsty

And you wet my lips

You, I'm waiting for

You set my desire

I trip through your wires

I was broken, bent out of shape

I was naked in the cloths you made

lips were dry, throat like rust

You gave me shelter from the heat and the dust

No more water in the well

No more water, water

Angle

Angle, or devil

I was thirsty

And you wet my lips

You I'm waiting for

You, set my desire

I trip through your wires

Thunder, thunder on the mountain

There's a rain cloud in the desert sky

In the distance she saw me coming round

I was calling out

I was calling out

Edited by littlejoe3

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People have the power   by Patti Smith

 

I was dreaming in my dreaming
of an aspect bright and fair
and my sleeping it was broken
but my dream it lingered near
in the form of shining valleys
where the pure air recognized
and my senses newly opened
I awakened to the cry
that the people / have the power
to redeem / the work of fools
upon the meek / the graces shower
it's decreed / the people rule

The people have the power
The people have the power
The people have the power
The people have the power

Vengeful aspects became suspect
and bending low as if to hear
and the armies ceased advancing
because the people had their ear
and the shepherds and the soldiers
lay beneath the stars
exchanging visions
and laying arms
to waste / in the dust
in the form of / shining valleys
where the pure air / recognized
and my senses / newly opened
I awakened / to the cry

Where there were deserts
I saw fountains
like cream the waters rise
and we strolled there together
with none to laugh or criticize
and the leopard
and the lamb
lay together truly bound
I was hoping in my hoping
to recall what I had found
I was dreaming in my dreaming
god knows / a purer view
as I surrender to my sleeping
I commit my dream to you

The power to dream / to rule
to wrestle the world from fools
it's decreed the people rule
it's decreed the people rule

LISTEN
I believe everything we dream
can come to pass through our union
we can turn the world around
we can turn the earth's revolution
we have the power
People have the power ...

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© Lucy Rudman

March 2011

 

Where Words Fail Music Speaks

 

Where words fail
music speaks.
It speaks of the pain
of the sorrow.
Of the lost,
of the life we live.
It shares emotions
it's a way to connect,
to understand
what others feel.
Where words fail,
music speaks.
It tells the truth
whether you want it to
or you don't.
Music shares the souls
of those we're around,
of those in the world
that we're living.
I wish to share
my music with you.
So you can understand
the pain I feel.
So I can share my soul with you.
So you can understand
What I'm going through.

 
 
 
Edited by paoladegliesposti

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I believe to remember i had an idea.
An idea that was about the female figure. I was not unaware of what is narrated about the female Universe.
Many poems of different Italian and foreign authors, newspaper articles on the subject, women's magazines.
Religious notions learned in childhood age.
I was a young woman.
Maybe I had the vision of a picture, a television scene. Well, I wanted to put into practice the idea.
A stage, the costumes to make,the makeup, the interpretation of a concept.
Three girls symbolizing the inspiration / s, the female figure / s,
innocence, fragility and aggressiveness.
The lights turned on and the wonder of creativity was, they saw the three creatures.
They were alive, they were composed in their role and above all they were true.
And I occasionally on stage I approached and interacted with them, otherwise in other matters
entertained.

 

(it's me writing.)

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Quiet Girl: Langston Hughes

 

 

I would liken you

to a night without stars

were it not for your eyes.

I would liken you

to sleep without dreams

were it not for your songs.

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Do not be afraid, for I am with you. Do not gaze about, for I am your God. I will fortify you. I will really help you. I will really keep fast hold of you with my right hand or righteousness.

"Look! All those getting heated up against you will become ashamed and be humiliated. The men in a quarrel with you will become as nothing and will perish. You will search for them but you will not find them, those men in a struggle with you. They will become as something nonexistent and as nothing, those men at war with you.

For I Jehovah your God am grasping your right hand, the One saying to you, 'Do not be afraid. I myself will help you.'

 

"Isaiah 41:10-13"

 

 

 

I have to say Maela your writing is lovely :)

Edited by 123love

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4)  For not with their own sword did they conquer the land,

     Nor did their own arm make them victorious,

But it was your arm and your right hand

and the light of your countenance,

in your love for them.

 

Ps 43 (44)

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