And so we watch and so we learn/With eyes wide for our dreams to yearn

Posts tagged ‘others work’

My Littlest Sister

Moon bright, moonlight
Stars fill my eyes
Fire burn, take your turn
To warm the midnight skies

Misery, don’t come to me
As the sea is always there
A mermaid sang with gracefulness
And a mane of silver hair 

Dolphins play, just everyday,
Like moon beams with the sun
My heart is filled with pure joy
Cause I love everyone 

The reefs are filled with wonders
That I’ll never see again
But now the moon has left me
So I’ll wait until I’m ten 

Moon bright, moonlight
Please bless my lucky star
With hope and no misery
I’ll seek out wonders far

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A Series of Unknown Poems

A person I once knew shared these with me. He never gave me any names in regards to who wrote them, but they’ve stuck with me. So now I’m sharing them with you.

*:・゚✧  *:・゚✧ *:・゚✧  *:・゚✧  *:・゚✧ *:・゚✧

Dreams, Pain and Perfection

The music slowly fades away
Giving way to boundless sorrow
Emptiness that won’t disappear
With the coming of any tomorrow.

The darkness deepens by the moment
Shadows lengthen with the dying light
Can you hear the silence growing
Sealing our fate tonight.
 
The dreams go up in smoke,
Scarring deeper than the skin
And when the thoughts begin to choke,
Hope starts to wear thin.
 
The pain and the perfection
Of memories of you,
Reminiscing of times past
And thinking to myself ‘What if’.
 
Too many times I’ve turned away from you,
Looked away when I never wanted to.
Blinded by something I couldn’t see,
Dead to something that was in front of me.
 
Yet now it all seems so right,
What we wanted will be tonight,
And all else slips from my mind,
There’s only one thought I can find.
 
The rain can’t dampen my spirits
Anymore than the pain
So perfect that everything’s wrong,
The mirrored illusion shatters.
 
The dreams go up in smoke,
Scarring deeper than the skin
And when the thoughts begin to choke,
Hope starts to wear thin.
 
The pain and the perfection
Of memories of you,
Reminiscing of times past
And thinking to myself ‘What if’.
 

*:・゚✧  *:・゚✧ *:・゚✧  *:・゚✧  *:・゚✧ *:・゚✧  

 

The Power of Dreams.

 I walk in the shadow of a cloud,
The wind and not the sun adding colour to what is around me.
I implore it to wash away all my dark times.
Those times spent under the sun.
The gale blows my mind clean.
It carries me over the sun,
Something which seemed bright once.
Time is not the only healer after all.
My heart is opened to the storm.
Its raw, numb, coldness soothes and numbs my wounds.
Growing sick of my body, I am lost with nature.
My soul rides the crests of waves,
Floats through the sky on the wings of an albatross,
Explores the deepest chasms and mysteries of the earth.
I cannot describe where I am or what I do.
Nature takes me high, higher than I have ever been.
My mind is healed, so I return to my dead body.
And as life claims it,
I wake up.

*:・゚✧  *:・゚✧ *:・゚✧  *:・゚✧  *:・゚✧ *:・゚✧  

 
Left. Right. Up. Down.
Its a series of twists. Turns. Ups. Downs. Inversions. Madness.
Just to make it less of a mess.
Make all those little colours line up.
Make it look better.
 
There are some who don’t bother.
Who take it as it comes.
They make no effort.
They aren’t bothered by the dissarrayed and disoriented layers.
 
There are some who go by algorithms.
Who just follow someone else’s steps.
Do it over and over again.
Just to see how fast they can get.
And take steps to make it smoother.
Cushion the impact.
No point really.
Doesn’t get you anywhere.
Doesn’t give you anything to be really happy about.
 
Then there are those who do it right.
Use their logic.
Make the right decisions.
Live through the bad luck.
Take advantage of the good luck.
Who take it apart just to find out how it works.
They’re going to end up the best.
 
But the thing is, it doesn’t matter how fast you do it.
Doesn’t even matter if you don’t arrange it all.
If you have it, you’re gifted.
 
Left. Right. Up. Down.
 
Do it whichever way suits you best.
Its yours to choose.
 
And for all of you who haven’t got it.
Its not the cube.
Think outside the box.
This is life.
 
 

*:・゚✧  *:・゚✧ *:・゚✧  *:・゚✧  *:・゚✧ *:・゚✧  

 
Looking up at the stars,
I wondered how they got so high,
What they were motivated by to reach such dizzy heights..
I saw their true state,
To be more free than a bird over the ocean,
Than a whale in the sea,
To be held back by nothing but your own will,
To have nothing higher than you,
To be more than human…
The majority of humanity still remained,
Held back by the shackles of mortality,
Encased, cocooned tightly in the web of life,
Stuck forever with no escape,
Fumbling in the darkness with unseeing eyes,,
That could not open,
Even for a rare glimpse of the sky.
I then looked upon what we were missing,
The whole, open, unseen outside.
Where the visionaries and heroes dwelt,
Those who had taken the leap,
Not looking back but only going farther,
Purposeful, yet purposeless,
Bending the world with pure will,
They lived, nay, existed with a freedom that was real,
Impossibly breaking out of the cocoon of mortality.
How was I to cast off the chains?
Where would I find the key to the lock?
The strength to jump that high,
The strength to jump that high and not look down.
Where were life’s secrets hidden?
Looking inside me,
Searching my very soul,
I found all I needed.
It was enlightenment.
In addition to mundane senses,
I saw what was real.
Using pure will, I cut the cocoon.
The chains vanished into nothingness,
I decided to be a star.
I was now master of myself,
Time had no power over me,
For I controlled it with pure will.
I was free, unbound, to use mundane language.
Not looking down onto the cocoon,
For I had evolved,
I was more than human.
Looking forward, I could not stop going farther.
I was higher than everything else,
God could not hear me,
For I went higher than he.
My experience now transcended language.
For humanity,
I left this manuscript in the cocoon,
To try and give,
A rare glimpse of the sky.  
 

Having a Coke with You

Frank O’Hara

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them

I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully as the horse

it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it


And in reading this I know that I love you. That the mere minutes, every shred of time I have been blessed enough to have, to know you, watch you smile and hear you laugh, are never going to lessen in value for me. You are golden, beautiful, human masterpieces, flawed and real and vivid and confusing. And I love you. I will always love you, all of you, and I will never stop thanking the stars for the chance I had, to know you.

The underlined parts are the parts that I most found moving and profound, just because it seems poetry can be read either as a whole, or as a collaboration of words seeking to connect with others who feel something as well.

I hope that maybe, maybe, you felt something, too.

 

Luthien and Beren

Luthien and Beren. ~> de Deathen. Shush. Read it.

Sit By the Fire and Think

I sit beside the fire and think
Of all that I have seen,
Of meadow-flowers and butterflies
In summers that have been;
Of yellow leaves and gossamer
In autumns that there were,
With morning mist and silver sun
And wind upon my hair.
I sit beside the fire and think
Of how the world will be
When winter comes without a spring
That I shall ever see.
For still there are so many things
That I have never seen:
In every wood in every spring
There is a different green.
I sit beside the fire and think
Of people long ago,
And people who will see a world
That I shall never know.
But all the while I sit and think
Of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
And voices at the door

Tolkien again, I believe. Stumbled across it and just, oh yes. Yes yes yes. Doesn’t it just feel right? Pensive and contemplative, comfort and curiosity, what will happen, what could have happened, what did happen and why? Dreaming of then and now and all in between. It’s the sort of poem that goes with comfy couches and long thoughts, a slow ticking grandfather clock, a darken window reflecting the lamplight.
This, reader, is a poem written to be savoured.

Hello World – edit :P

BECAUSE, Siobhan forgot to mention that she’s also my sister. And rather a brilliant writer in her own style, which you shall hopefully see within the next few weeks quite thoroughly. This isn’t a community blog or anything, just two female humans living life on this planet earth as best we can. And hopefully with us both writing, we’ll egg each other on to write better/more.

But, its 2.45 am and not much can be said without a headspace you do not gain without coffee, inspiration, or tumblr. So, reader, I leave you with a poem bold of heart and strengthening of faith. A poem right of mind and left of vanquishability.

A poem that stirred the unquenchable spirit of those all across the globe, from my very own sister to Nelson Mandela himself!
…Okay, enough theatrics.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

~ by William Ernest Henley