Sourabh2/Poem_MultiM · Datasets at Hugging Face

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	i am a singing of leaves under the touch of your warm lips
	and suddenly the lungs full of tiny sharp aches and the air fluttering helplessly
	wait for those unguarded moments relax the mood and like the child dropping off to sleep the subject often reveals his truest self
	there is a window again where they do not sleep again maybe they are drinking wine maybe they are just sitting maybe just two of them could not part their hands you can find such a window in every house my friend
	these are the clouds about the fallen sun the majesty that shuts his burning eye the weak lay hand on what the strong has done till that be tumbled that was lifted high and discord follow upon unison and all things at one common level lie and therefore friend if your great race were run and these things came so much the more thereby have you made greatness your companion although it be for children that you sigh
	supposing i became a chanpa flower just for fun and grew on a branch high up that tree and shook in the wind with laughter and danced upon the newly budded leaves would you know me mother
	on which we strew petal by petal the flower of our heart the end lost in dream they float past our view we only watch their glad early start freighted with hope crimsoned with joy we scatter the leaves of our opening rose their widening scope their distant employ
	sittin' here resting my bones and this loneliness won't leave me alone listen two thousand miles i roam just to make this dock my home now
	and this our life exempt from public haunt finds tongues in trees books in the running brooks sermons in stones and good in everything
	reaching down arm-deep into bright water i gathered on white sand under waves shells drifted up on beaches where i alone inhabit a finite world of years and days i reached my arm down a myriad years to gather treasure from the yester-milliennial sea-floor held in my fingers forms shaped on the day of creation building their beauty in three dimensions over which the world recedes away from us and in the fourth that takes away ourselves
	snails don't walk they slither and slide along wet pathways gleam and glide squeezed between the grasses green polished houses shell-like gleam
	as to some lovely temple tenantless long since that once was sweet with shivering brass knowing well its altars ruined and the grass grown up between the stones yet from excess of grief hard driven or great loneliness the worshipper returns and those who pass marvel him crying on a name that was so is it now with me in my distress your body was a temple to delight cold are its ashes whence the breath is fled
	my thoughts like the sun down silent beaches run quick fevers passing warmly over cool sand and through the intermittently cloudy sky of mind realization breaks like waves of sun and sea as each moment swings cleanly into view synchronized frames softly click and slide memories like stones turning gently in the sand reveal themselves to me with such tenderness
	in the scenery of spring nothing is better nothing worse the flowering branches are of themselves some short some long
	oh the summer time is gone and the leaves are sweetly turning and the wild mountain thyme blooms across the purple heather
	rain in the morning soft beginning of the day inviting stillness
	dead hair cannot dance cannot argue with the breeze cannot fall on frozen ears cannot woo fingers or birds
	there'll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of dover tomorrow just you wait and see there'll be love and laughter and peace ever after tomorrow when the world is free
	against my love shall be as i am now with times injurious hand crushd and oerworn when hours have draind his blood and filld his brow with lines and wrinkles when his youthful morn hath travelld on to ages steepy night and all those beauties whereof now he s king are vanishing or vanishd out of sight stealing away the treasure of his spring for such a time do i now fortify against confounding ages cruel knife
	where once the waters of your face spun to my screws your dry ghost blows
	indeed the night is in my interest first of all it reduces ambition moreover it corrects thoughts then it collects the grief and makes it more bearable it dissects the silence with respect in the gardens it stresses smell but above all night envelops
	i know of people in the grave who would be very glad to know the news i know tonight if they the chance had had 'tis this expands the least event and swells the scantest deed my right to walk upon the earth if they this moment had
	broken windows and empty hallways a pale dead moon in the sky streaked with gray human kindness is overflowing and i think it's going to rain today scarecrows dressed in the latest styles with frozen smiles to chase love away human kindness is overflowing and i think it's going to rain today lonely lonely tin can at my feet
	i am a singing of leaves under the touch of your warm lips
	why did i wash my breasts and comb apart each hair in the narrow mirror empty are my hands and bed
	i have learned to hear the words and not hear anything i have learned to see the world but not see anything oh my god will you let me disappear today hey no one wants us no one hears us friends here we go now
	upon a garden's perfum'd bed with various gaudy colours spread beneath the shelter of a rose a butterfly had sought repose faint with the sultry beams of day supine the beauteous insect lay a bee impatient to devour the nectar sweets of ev'ry flow'r returning to her golden store a weight of fragrant treasure bore
	for the call of the running tide is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied and all i ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying and the flung spray and the blown spume and the sea-gulls crying
	a poem at your side through the valleys and the shadows in the day in the night communion of poetry
	the mushrooms in the wood tread softly in woods my child hear the damp grow and know the soft pushings of magic the fungi towers of the dawn
	the sun does not shine for a few trees and flowers but for the wide world's joy
	why did i wash my breasts and comb apart each hair in the narrow mirror empty are my hands and bed
	silence is the moment between everyone is the best friend you have in the world that moment in time will help you to survive
	through the house give gathering light by the dead and drowsy fire every elf and fairy sprite hop as light as bird from brier and this ditty after me sing and dance it trippingly
	my banks they are furnish'd with bees whose murmur invites one to sleep my grottoes are shaded with trees and my hills are white over with sheep
	this love is a convict sentenced to death it will die in two short months the world features space and time you will leave me the world features futility and necessity i cannot keep you with any kiss
	i watch as life passes by hoping that one day it will pause to whisk me away into its arms of excitement but for now i will sit on my doorstep and watch the world go by
	women have no beginning only continual flows though rivers flow women are not rivers women are not roses they are not oceans
	ravenously my fingers into your fingers our skin the glint of a warm today a tomorrow born of our touch congeals the august stars into chill
	smooth it slides upon its travel here a wimple there a gleam o the clean gravel o the smooth stream sailing blossoms silver fishes paven pools as clear as air how the child wishes to live down there we can see our colored faces floating on the shaken pool
	the hen so soon as she an egg doth lay about the yard she cackling now doth go to tell what 'twas she at her nest did do just thus it is with some professing men if they do ought that good is like our hen they can but cackle on't where e'er they go what their right hand doth their left hand must know
	don't leave my hyper heart alone on the water cover me in rag and bone sympathy 'cos i don't wanna get over you
	why did i wash my breasts and comb apart each hair in the narrow mirror empty are my hands and bed
	the moon is a curving flower of gold the sky is still and blue the moon was made for the sky to hold and i for you the moon is a flower without a stem the sky is luminous eternity was made for them to-night for us
	how simple can simple be when verdant thumbs even in sweet poverty cannot boast that columned lilys trumpet could efface the garden's majesty like dent de lion does no formal bounds
	a rich mans eldest thomas gunn got up one morning with the sun and helped himself to daddys dough and piled in a barrow though he would have got it in due turn tom put in the grate to burn his dad got up he hit the roof when witnessing the sooty proof that all his loot was carbonised cor blimey how he agonised
	teach me gentle flowers to wait for springtime showers in this winter world to grow green and strong beneath the snow
	such sheets of fire such bursts of horrid thunder such groans of roaring wind and rain
	ravenously my fingers into your fingers our skin the glint of a warm today a tomorrow born of our touch congeals the august stars into chill
	at this moment words fail me and my visions unclear blind to the truth likes hands reaching out in the darkness through the gift of surrender im embracing the fight breaking the cold is carried on the horizon i will not live under a shadow of fear
	while the flowers pale and unreal in the moonlight floated away upon the river and thus do greater things that once were in our breasts and near our hearts flow from us to the eternal seas
	all summer she scattered the daisy leaves they only mocked her as they fell she said: the daisy but deceives 'he loves me not ' 'he loves me will one story no two daisies tell ah foolish heart which waits and grieves under the daisy's mocking spell
	o heart of spring spirit of light and love and joyous day so soon to faint beneath the fiery summer still smiles the earth eager for thee alway welcome art thou soever short thy stay thou bold thou blithe newcomer whither o whither this thy journeying o heart of spring o heart of spring after the stormy days of winters reign
	if you realize that all things change there is nothing you will try to hold on to if you aren't afraid of dying there is nothing you can't achieve
	ah sunflower weary of time who countest the steps of the sun seeking after that sweet golden clime where the traveller's journey is done where the youth pined away with desire and the pale virgin shrouded in snow arise from their graves and aspire where my sunflower wishes to go
	kiss me honey honey kiss me thrill me honey honey thrill me don't care even if i blow my top but honey honey don't stop i'd like to play a little game with you a little game especially made for two if you come close then i will show you how closer closer now you kiss so well my lips begin to burn and i can tell i've got a lot to learn
	from cocoon forth a butterfly as lady from her door emerged a summer afternoon repairing everywhere without design that i could trace except to stray abroad on miscellaneous enterprise the clovers understood her pretty parasol be seen contracting in a field
	ravenously my mouth into your mouth and my hands tangled in roots your hair the narrowed gleam of love sliced the sky in half
	the wise man said just walk this way to the dawn of the light the wind will blow into your face as the years pass you by hear this voice from deep inside it's the call of your heart close your eyes and your will find the passage out of the dark here i am will you send me an angel
	truth is a golden thread seen here and there in small bright specks upon the visible side of our strange being's parti-coloured web how rich the universe 'tis a vein of ore emerging now and then on earth's rude breast but flowing full below
	warm summer sun shine kindly here warm southern wind blow softly here green sod above lie light lie light good night dear heart good night good night
	flowers have an expression of countenance as much as men and animals some seem to smile some have a sad expression some are pensive and diffident others again are plain honest and upright like the broad-faced sunflower and the hollyhock
	the sky would rain down roses as they rain from off the shaken bush why will it not then all the valley would be pink and white and soft to tread on they would fall as light as feathers smelling sweet and it would be like sleeping and like waking all at once
	there's a place out of time out of space its lights are black its blacks are gilded wine gushes from its fountains grains of sand are mountains concept of gravity is useless tilling vanity is the mess in its pace there's no deep no weep no steep slopes no up no down neither wrong
	my gardens green the colour green as if the skys been raining green and even when you take it in there's really nothing else but green and yet more peeping behind from leaves unseen sage green grass green leaf green fern green lilac leaf green subtle sorrel green
	many paths lead from the foot of the mountain but at the peak we all gaze at the single bright moon
	inch by inch row by row gonna make this garden grow all it takes is a rake and a hoe and a piece of fertile ground inch by inch row by row someone bless these seeds i sow someone warm them from below 'til the rain comes tumbling down pulling weeds and picking stones man is made of dreams and bones feel the need to grow my own 'cause the time is close at hand
	i burn as green moons over the dead darkened day suddenly you know - that my lips are red - salty tasting here comes the blood
	the cattle are grazing their heads never raising there are forty feeding like one
	the heart can think of no devotion greater than being shore to the ocean holding the curve of one position counting an endless repetition
	accidentally touristing in a plain unflowered shirt intentionally flowing shadowed glowing only old not owed yet irregularly indignant two sizes too large two decades too long to linger always still and still in time still time to aim a lame finger a singer of silence
	well it's not far down to paradise at least's not for me if the wind is right you can sail away and find tranquility oh the canvas can do miracles just you wait and see believe me it's not far to never never land reason to pretend and if the wind is right you can find the joy of innocence again oh the canvas can do miracles
	i'm back home from our flick meet up i think i had the best week of my life i will need time to realize all the amazing impressions i'm at home my soul is still there the image reflects my feelings of the week - freedom we lived in a world without rules and time with good music and wonderful surroundings already miss it she creates mind blowing portraits and is such an inspiring person it was a honor to work with her
	our sky is the same unchanged unchanging our wings are the same untamed untamable our heartbeat sounds the same only unheard unhearable we're circling same aerial place but different heights not enough to turn our stare down and up our eyes are blind blinded by our blinding same irresistible lights we would not see what's just inside every single teardrop dripping
	how far has this worn feather travelled across how many skies how has it come to this evening creeps on last of the children playing on the still quiet sands
	the church says that the earth is flat but i know that it is round for i have seen the shadow on the moon and i have more faith in the shadow than in the church
	autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay
	i rose because he sank i thought it would be opposite but when his power dropped my soul grew straight and so with thews of hymn and sinew from within and ways i knew not that i knew i lifted him
	it's clouds illusions i recall i really don't know clouds at all
	i had just a bit of spring in my fingers wind in my hair a smile scattered with a slender shudder on the water i was poor
	how clear how lovely bright how beautiful to sight those beams of morning play how heaven laughs out with glee where like a bird set free up from the eastern sea soars the delightful day to-day i shall be strong no more shall yield to wrong shall squander life no more
	nothing can be found a mirror image of itself nothing is perfectly white flat true understood or wrong but we need it to be we love symmetry the perfect circle the balance of good and bad reward justice reason and we sit chewing crumpets watching lebanon bombed on tv
	it is as if a sweet-scented flower were poised and for me did open
	this flower shames me with its bitter proficiency at smell i am unable in the gold of simplicity to look the rising sun in the eye
	way up there in the poison glen sun's going down on the misty mountain and i'm watching and wondering feeling something from long ago haunted echo that surrounds the glen the heather creeping through the burned out ruins and i'm watching and wondering
	occured to me the other day you've been gone now a couple years well i guess it takes while for someone to really disappear and i remember where i was when the word came about you it was a day much like today the sky was bright and wide and blue
	smile an ever lasting smile a smile can bring you near to me dont ever let me find you gone cause that can bring a tear to me
	walking along the path i spot puffy white orb a dandelion a weed infinitely more beautiful than its grassy fellows endless identical to me i feel akin to this fluffy oddball i am drawn
	under bare ben bulben's head in drumcliff churchyard yeats is laid an ancestor was rector there long years ago a church stands near by the road and ancient cross no marble no conventional phrase on limestone quarried near the spot by his command these words are cut cast a cold eye on life on death
	kiss me beneath the milky twilight lead me out on the moonlit floor lift your open hand strike up the band and make the fireflies dance silver moon's sparkling so kiss me
	a cloud does not know why it moves in just such a direction and at such a speed it feels an impulsion this is the place to go now but the sky knows the reasons and the patterns behind all clouds and you will know too when you lift yourself high enough to see beyond horizons
	right now it's too early for our eyes to see how perfect a painter old autumn can be in a week she'll shower us all and render the splender of the beauty of fall her brush strokes are many amp her portraits are fine
	the best kind of rain of course is a cozy rain this is the kind the anonymous medieval poet makes me remember the rain that falls on a day when you'd just as soon stay in bed a little longer write letters or read a good book by the fire take early tea with hot scones and jam and look out the streaked window with complacency
	the color of springtime is green but the color of pain dim blood congealed shines in the lake moon runs high with a stream of words
	with spots of burnish roasted on is proof against the sun yet prone to shut its spotted fan and panting on a clover lean as if it were undone
	and all your memories are as precious as gold and all the honey and the fire which you stole have you running through all your red-cheeked days shaking loose these souls from their sacred hiding space
	oh better far to live and die under the brave black flag i fly than play a sanctimonious part with a pirate head and a pirate heart away to the cheating world go you where pirates all are well-to-do but ill be true to the song i sing and live and die a pirate king
	this is your hand these are my hands this is the world which is round but not flat and has more colors than we can see it begins it has an end this is what you will come back to this is your hand
	sweet so would i yet i should kill thee with much cherishing good night good night parting is such sweet sorrow that i shall say good night till it be morrow
	who loves not the shady trees the smell of flowers the sound of brooks the song of birds and the hum of bees murmuring in green and fragrant nooks the voice of children in the spring along the field-paths wandering

i am a singing of leaves under the touch of your warm lips

and suddenly the lungs full of tiny sharp aches and the air fluttering helplessly

wait for those unguarded moments relax the mood and like the child dropping off to sleep the subject often reveals his truest self

there is a window again where they do not sleep again maybe they are drinking wine maybe they are just sitting maybe just two of them could not part their hands you can find such a window in every house my friend

these are the clouds about the fallen sun the majesty that shuts his burning eye the weak lay hand on what the strong has done till that be tumbled that was lifted high and discord follow upon unison and all things at one common level lie and therefore friend if your great race were run and these things came so much the more thereby have you made greatness your companion although it be for children that you sigh

supposing i became a chanpa flower just for fun and grew on a branch high up that tree and shook in the wind with laughter and danced upon the newly budded leaves would you know me mother

on which we strew petal by petal the flower of our heart the end lost in dream they float past our view we only watch their glad early start freighted with hope crimsoned with joy we scatter the leaves of our opening rose their widening scope their distant employ

sittin' here resting my bones and this loneliness won't leave me alone listen two thousand miles i roam just to make this dock my home now

and this our life exempt from public haunt finds tongues in trees books in the running brooks sermons in stones and good in everything

reaching down arm-deep into bright water i gathered on white sand under waves shells drifted up on beaches where i alone inhabit a finite world of years and days i reached my arm down a myriad years to gather treasure from the yester-milliennial sea-floor held in my fingers forms shaped on the day of creation building their beauty in three dimensions over which the world recedes away from us and in the fourth that takes away ourselves

snails don't walk they slither and slide along wet pathways gleam and glide squeezed between the grasses green polished houses shell-like gleam

as to some lovely temple tenantless long since that once was sweet with shivering brass knowing well its altars ruined and the grass grown up between the stones yet from excess of grief hard driven or great loneliness the worshipper returns and those who pass marvel him crying on a name that was so is it now with me in my distress your body was a temple to delight cold are its ashes whence the breath is fled

my thoughts like the sun down silent beaches run quick fevers passing warmly over cool sand and through the intermittently cloudy sky of mind realization breaks like waves of sun and sea as each moment swings cleanly into view synchronized frames softly click and slide memories like stones turning gently in the sand reveal themselves to me with such tenderness

in the scenery of spring nothing is better nothing worse the flowering branches are of themselves some short some long

oh the summer time is gone and the leaves are sweetly turning and the wild mountain thyme blooms across the purple heather

rain in the morning soft beginning of the day inviting stillness

dead hair cannot dance cannot argue with the breeze cannot fall on frozen ears cannot woo fingers or birds

there'll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of dover tomorrow just you wait and see there'll be love and laughter and peace ever after tomorrow when the world is free

against my love shall be as i am now with times injurious hand crushd and oerworn when hours have draind his blood and filld his brow with lines and wrinkles when his youthful morn hath travelld on to ages steepy night and all those beauties whereof now he s king are vanishing or vanishd out of sight stealing away the treasure of his spring for such a time do i now fortify against confounding ages cruel knife

where once the waters of your face spun to my screws your dry ghost blows

indeed the night is in my interest first of all it reduces ambition moreover it corrects thoughts then it collects the grief and makes it more bearable it dissects the silence with respect in the gardens it stresses smell but above all night envelops

i know of people in the grave who would be very glad to know the news i know tonight if they the chance had had 'tis this expands the least event and swells the scantest deed my right to walk upon the earth if they this moment had

broken windows and empty hallways a pale dead moon in the sky streaked with gray human kindness is overflowing and i think it's going to rain today scarecrows dressed in the latest styles with frozen smiles to chase love away human kindness is overflowing and i think it's going to rain today lonely lonely tin can at my feet

i am a singing of leaves under the touch of your warm lips

why did i wash my breasts and comb apart each hair in the narrow mirror empty are my hands and bed

i have learned to hear the words and not hear anything i have learned to see the world but not see anything oh my god will you let me disappear today hey no one wants us no one hears us friends here we go now

upon a garden's perfum'd bed with various gaudy colours spread beneath the shelter of a rose a butterfly had sought repose faint with the sultry beams of day supine the beauteous insect lay a bee impatient to devour the nectar sweets of ev'ry flow'r returning to her golden store a weight of fragrant treasure bore

for the call of the running tide is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied and all i ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying and the flung spray and the blown spume and the sea-gulls crying

a poem at your side through the valleys and the shadows in the day in the night communion of poetry

the mushrooms in the wood tread softly in woods my child hear the damp grow and know the soft pushings of magic the fungi towers of the dawn

the sun does not shine for a few trees and flowers but for the wide world's joy

why did i wash my breasts and comb apart each hair in the narrow mirror empty are my hands and bed

silence is the moment between everyone is the best friend you have in the world that moment in time will help you to survive

through the house give gathering light by the dead and drowsy fire every elf and fairy sprite hop as light as bird from brier and this ditty after me sing and dance it trippingly

my banks they are furnish'd with bees whose murmur invites one to sleep my grottoes are shaded with trees and my hills are white over with sheep

this love is a convict sentenced to death it will die in two short months the world features space and time you will leave me the world features futility and necessity i cannot keep you with any kiss

i watch as life passes by hoping that one day it will pause to whisk me away into its arms of excitement but for now i will sit on my doorstep and watch the world go by

women have no beginning only continual flows though rivers flow women are not rivers women are not roses they are not oceans

ravenously my fingers into your fingers our skin the glint of a warm today a tomorrow born of our touch congeals the august stars into chill

smooth it slides upon its travel here a wimple there a gleam o the clean gravel o the smooth stream sailing blossoms silver fishes paven pools as clear as air how the child wishes to live down there we can see our colored faces floating on the shaken pool

the hen so soon as she an egg doth lay about the yard she cackling now doth go to tell what 'twas she at her nest did do just thus it is with some professing men if they do ought that good is like our hen they can but cackle on't where e'er they go what their right hand doth their left hand must know

don't leave my hyper heart alone on the water cover me in rag and bone sympathy 'cos i don't wanna get over you

why did i wash my breasts and comb apart each hair in the narrow mirror empty are my hands and bed

the moon is a curving flower of gold the sky is still and blue the moon was made for the sky to hold and i for you the moon is a flower without a stem the sky is luminous eternity was made for them to-night for us

how simple can simple be when verdant thumbs even in sweet poverty cannot boast that columned lilys trumpet could efface the garden's majesty like dent de lion does no formal bounds

a rich mans eldest thomas gunn got up one morning with the sun and helped himself to daddys dough and piled in a barrow though he would have got it in due turn tom put in the grate to burn his dad got up he hit the roof when witnessing the sooty proof that all his loot was carbonised cor blimey how he agonised

teach me gentle flowers to wait for springtime showers in this winter world to grow green and strong beneath the snow

such sheets of fire such bursts of horrid thunder such groans of roaring wind and rain

ravenously my fingers into your fingers our skin the glint of a warm today a tomorrow born of our touch congeals the august stars into chill

at this moment words fail me and my visions unclear blind to the truth likes hands reaching out in the darkness through the gift of surrender im embracing the fight breaking the cold is carried on the horizon i will not live under a shadow of fear

while the flowers pale and unreal in the moonlight floated away upon the river and thus do greater things that once were in our breasts and near our hearts flow from us to the eternal seas

all summer she scattered the daisy leaves they only mocked her as they fell she said: the daisy but deceives 'he loves me not ' 'he loves me will one story no two daisies tell ah foolish heart which waits and grieves under the daisy's mocking spell

o heart of spring spirit of light and love and joyous day so soon to faint beneath the fiery summer still smiles the earth eager for thee alway welcome art thou soever short thy stay thou bold thou blithe newcomer whither o whither this thy journeying o heart of spring o heart of spring after the stormy days of winters reign

if you realize that all things change there is nothing you will try to hold on to if you aren't afraid of dying there is nothing you can't achieve

ah sunflower weary of time who countest the steps of the sun seeking after that sweet golden clime where the traveller's journey is done where the youth pined away with desire and the pale virgin shrouded in snow arise from their graves and aspire where my sunflower wishes to go

kiss me honey honey kiss me thrill me honey honey thrill me don't care even if i blow my top but honey honey don't stop i'd like to play a little game with you a little game especially made for two if you come close then i will show you how closer closer now you kiss so well my lips begin to burn and i can tell i've got a lot to learn

from cocoon forth a butterfly as lady from her door emerged a summer afternoon repairing everywhere without design that i could trace except to stray abroad on miscellaneous enterprise the clovers understood her pretty parasol be seen contracting in a field

ravenously my mouth into your mouth and my hands tangled in roots your hair the narrowed gleam of love sliced the sky in half

the wise man said just walk this way to the dawn of the light the wind will blow into your face as the years pass you by hear this voice from deep inside it's the call of your heart close your eyes and your will find the passage out of the dark here i am will you send me an angel

truth is a golden thread seen here and there in small bright specks upon the visible side of our strange being's parti-coloured web how rich the universe 'tis a vein of ore emerging now and then on earth's rude breast but flowing full below

warm summer sun shine kindly here warm southern wind blow softly here green sod above lie light lie light good night dear heart good night good night

flowers have an expression of countenance as much as men and animals some seem to smile some have a sad expression some are pensive and diffident others again are plain honest and upright like the broad-faced sunflower and the hollyhock

the sky would rain down roses as they rain from off the shaken bush why will it not then all the valley would be pink and white and soft to tread on they would fall as light as feathers smelling sweet and it would be like sleeping and like waking all at once

there's a place out of time out of space its lights are black its blacks are gilded wine gushes from its fountains grains of sand are mountains concept of gravity is useless tilling vanity is the mess in its pace there's no deep no weep no steep slopes no up no down neither wrong

my gardens green the colour green as if the skys been raining green and even when you take it in there's really nothing else but green and yet more peeping behind from leaves unseen sage green grass green leaf green fern green lilac leaf green subtle sorrel green

many paths lead from the foot of the mountain but at the peak we all gaze at the single bright moon

inch by inch row by row gonna make this garden grow all it takes is a rake and a hoe and a piece of fertile ground inch by inch row by row someone bless these seeds i sow someone warm them from below 'til the rain comes tumbling down pulling weeds and picking stones man is made of dreams and bones feel the need to grow my own 'cause the time is close at hand

i burn as green moons over the dead darkened day suddenly you know - that my lips are red - salty tasting here comes the blood

the cattle are grazing their heads never raising there are forty feeding like one

the heart can think of no devotion greater than being shore to the ocean holding the curve of one position counting an endless repetition

accidentally touristing in a plain unflowered shirt intentionally flowing shadowed glowing only old not owed yet irregularly indignant two sizes too large two decades too long to linger always still and still in time still time to aim a lame finger a singer of silence

well it's not far down to paradise at least's not for me if the wind is right you can sail away and find tranquility oh the canvas can do miracles just you wait and see believe me it's not far to never never land reason to pretend and if the wind is right you can find the joy of innocence again oh the canvas can do miracles

i'm back home from our flick meet up i think i had the best week of my life i will need time to realize all the amazing impressions i'm at home my soul is still there the image reflects my feelings of the week - freedom we lived in a world without rules and time with good music and wonderful surroundings already miss it she creates mind blowing portraits and is such an inspiring person it was a honor to work with her

our sky is the same unchanged unchanging our wings are the same untamed untamable our heartbeat sounds the same only unheard unhearable we're circling same aerial place but different heights not enough to turn our stare down and up our eyes are blind blinded by our blinding same irresistible lights we would not see what's just inside every single teardrop dripping

how far has this worn feather travelled across how many skies how has it come to this evening creeps on last of the children playing on the still quiet sands

the church says that the earth is flat but i know that it is round for i have seen the shadow on the moon and i have more faith in the shadow than in the church

autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay

i rose because he sank i thought it would be opposite but when his power dropped my soul grew straight and so with thews of hymn and sinew from within and ways i knew not that i knew i lifted him

it's clouds illusions i recall i really don't know clouds at all

i had just a bit of spring in my fingers wind in my hair a smile scattered with a slender shudder on the water i was poor

how clear how lovely bright how beautiful to sight those beams of morning play how heaven laughs out with glee where like a bird set free up from the eastern sea soars the delightful day to-day i shall be strong no more shall yield to wrong shall squander life no more

nothing can be found a mirror image of itself nothing is perfectly white flat true understood or wrong but we need it to be we love symmetry the perfect circle the balance of good and bad reward justice reason and we sit chewing crumpets watching lebanon bombed on tv

it is as if a sweet-scented flower were poised and for me did open

this flower shames me with its bitter proficiency at smell i am unable in the gold of simplicity to look the rising sun in the eye

way up there in the poison glen sun's going down on the misty mountain and i'm watching and wondering feeling something from long ago haunted echo that surrounds the glen the heather creeping through the burned out ruins and i'm watching and wondering

occured to me the other day you've been gone now a couple years well i guess it takes while for someone to really disappear and i remember where i was when the word came about you it was a day much like today the sky was bright and wide and blue

smile an ever lasting smile a smile can bring you near to me dont ever let me find you gone cause that can bring a tear to me

walking along the path i spot puffy white orb a dandelion a weed infinitely more beautiful than its grassy fellows endless identical to me i feel akin to this fluffy oddball i am drawn

under bare ben bulben's head in drumcliff churchyard yeats is laid an ancestor was rector there long years ago a church stands near by the road and ancient cross no marble no conventional phrase on limestone quarried near the spot by his command these words are cut cast a cold eye on life on death

kiss me beneath the milky twilight lead me out on the moonlit floor lift your open hand strike up the band and make the fireflies dance silver moon's sparkling so kiss me

a cloud does not know why it moves in just such a direction and at such a speed it feels an impulsion this is the place to go now but the sky knows the reasons and the patterns behind all clouds and you will know too when you lift yourself high enough to see beyond horizons

right now it's too early for our eyes to see how perfect a painter old autumn can be in a week she'll shower us all and render the splender of the beauty of fall her brush strokes are many amp her portraits are fine

the best kind of rain of course is a cozy rain this is the kind the anonymous medieval poet makes me remember the rain that falls on a day when you'd just as soon stay in bed a little longer write letters or read a good book by the fire take early tea with hot scones and jam and look out the streaked window with complacency

the color of springtime is green but the color of pain dim blood congealed shines in the lake moon runs high with a stream of words

with spots of burnish roasted on is proof against the sun yet prone to shut its spotted fan and panting on a clover lean as if it were undone

and all your memories are as precious as gold and all the honey and the fire which you stole have you running through all your red-cheeked days shaking loose these souls from their sacred hiding space

oh better far to live and die under the brave black flag i fly than play a sanctimonious part with a pirate head and a pirate heart away to the cheating world go you where pirates all are well-to-do but ill be true to the song i sing and live and die a pirate king

this is your hand these are my hands this is the world which is round but not flat and has more colors than we can see it begins it has an end this is what you will come back to this is your hand

sweet so would i yet i should kill thee with much cherishing good night good night parting is such sweet sorrow that i shall say good night till it be morrow

who loves not the shady trees the smell of flowers the sound of brooks the song of birds and the hum of bees murmuring in green and fragrant nooks the voice of children in the spring along the field-paths wandering