Dreams poems
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Day
© George William Russell
IN day from some titanic past it seems
As if a thread divine of memory runs;
Born ere the Mighty One began his dreams,
Or yet were stars and suns.
Echoes
© George William Russell
THE MIGHT that shaped itself through storm and stress
In chaos, here is lulled in breathing sweet;
Under the long brown ridge in gentleness
Its fierce old pulses beat.
Desire
© George William Russell
WITH Thee a moment! Then what dreams have play!
Traditions of eternal toil arise,
Search for the high, austere and lonely way
The Spirit moves in through eternities.
Ah, in the soul what memories arise!
Destiny
© George William Russell
LIKE winds or waters were her ways:
The flowing tides, the airy streams,
Are troubled not by any dreams;
They know the circle of their days.
Dusk
© George William Russell
DUSK wraps the village in its dim caress;
Each chimneys vapour, like a thin grey rod,
Mounting aloft through miles of quietness,
Pillars the skies of God.
Unity
© George William Russell
ONE thing in all things have I seen:
One thought has haunted earth and air:
Clangour and silence both have been
Its palace chambers. Everywhere
Symbolism
© George William Russell
Nearer to Thee, not by delusion led,
Though there no house fires burn nor bright eyes gaze:
We rise, but by the symbol charioted,
Through loved things rising up to Loves own ways:
By these the soul unto the vast has wings
And sets the seal celestial on all mortal things.
The Guardian Angel Of The Private Life
© Jorie Graham
All this was written on the next day's list.
On which the busyness unfurled its cursive roots,
pale but effective,
and the long stem of the necessary, the sum of events,
The Guardian Angel Of The Little Utopia
© Jorie Graham
restless irritations
for? A bit dizzy from the altitude of everlastingness,
the tireless altitudes of the created place,
in which to make a life -- a liberty -- the hollow, fetishized, and starry
Celestial Music
© John Donne
I have a friend who still believes in heaven.
Not a stupid person, yet with all she knows, she literally talks to God.
She thinks someone listens in heaven.
On earth she's unusually competent.
Brave too, able to face unpleasantness.
The Dream
© John Donne
Dear love, for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream;
It was a theme
For reason, much too strong for phantasy:
In Flight Convergence
© Michael Burch
Serene, almost angelic,
the lights of the city attend
upon lumbering behemoths
shrilly screeching displeasure;
Pan
© Michael Burch
... Among the shadows of the groaning elms,
amid the darkening oaks, we fled ourselves ...... Once there were paths that led to coracles
that clung to piers like loosening barnacles ...... where we cannot return, because we lost
the pebbles and the playthings, and the moss ...... hangs weeping gently downward, maidens hair
The Watch
© Michael Burch
Moonlight spills down vacant sills,
illuminates an empty bed.
Dreams lie in crates. One hand creates
wan silver circles, left unread
by its companion--unmoved now
by anything that lies ahead.
The Miseries of Man
© Anne Killigrew
As a fit Place to take the sad Relief
Of Sighs and Tears, to ease oppressing Grief.
Near to the Mourning Nimph she chose a Seat,
And these Complaints did to the Shades repeat.
THE Complaint of a Lover
© Anne Killigrew
Deep underneath a Cave does lie,
Th' entrance hid with dismal Yew,
Where Phebus never shew'd his Eye,
Or cheerful Day yet pierced through.
The Poet
© Hermann Hesse
Only on me, the lonely one,
The unending stars of the night shine,
The stone fountain whispers its magic song,
To me alone, to me the lonely one
Current
© Anna Piutti
Fibers,
flesh. Electricitytransudes through a
sigh.Sun-bordered clouds migrate from
your eyes to my core:swooshing of curtains, temples
I Held A Shelley Manuscript
© Gregory Corso
Quickly, my eyes moved quickly,
sought for smell for dust for lace
for dry hair!
Gregory Corso
© Gregory Corso
Budger of history Brake of time You Bomb
Toy of universe Grandest of all snatched sky I cannot hate you
Do I hate the mischievous thunderbolt the jawbone of an ass
The bumpy club of One Million B.C. the mace the flail the axe
