Colorful ocean
A real, heavy fear falling
at the perfect pace
Tag: poets
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Frenetic wasteland blues
Sing me a cosmic song
Light the midnight with passion
This is where we belong
Breathe the smoky fire in the cold air
Laid my teeth on a yellow blade
Fell into the warps of timeSubmit your work to Fiction & Ideas
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Once a dream did weave a shade
O’er my angel-guarded bed,
That an emmet lost its way
Where on grass methought I lay.Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangle spray,
All heart-broke, I heard her say:“Oh my children! do they cry,
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look abroad to see,
Now return and weep for me.”Pitying, I dropped a tear:
But I saw a glow-worm near,
Who replied, “What wailing wight
Calls the watchman of the night?“I am set to light the ground,
While the beetle goes his round:
Follow now the beetle’s hum;
Little wanderer, hie thee home!”Note: This poem is in the public domain and can be found here. William Blake (1757-1827) was an English poet, painter, mystic, and printmaker. He was largely unrecognized during his life, but Blake is now considered a seminal figure in the history of poetry and art in the Romantic era.
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Ah me! I shall not waken soon
From dreams of such divinity!
A spirit singing ‘neath the moon
To me.Wild sea-spray driven of the storm
Is not so wildly white as she,
Who beckoned with a foam-white arm
To me.With eyes dark green, and golden-green
Long locks that rippled drippingly,
Out of the green wave she did lean
To me.And sang; till Earth and Heaven seemed
A far, forgotten memory,
And more than Heaven in her who gleamed
On me.Sleep, sweeter than love’s face or home;
And death’s immutability;
And music of the plangent foam,
For me!Sweep over her! with all thy ships,
With all thy stormy tides, O sea! –
The memory of immortal lips
For me!Note: This poem is in the public domain and can be found here. Madison Julius Cawein (1865-1914) was a poet from Louisville, Kentucky. A year before his death, Cawein published a poem called “Waste Land” that scholars say may have been the inspiration for T.S. Eliot’s poem The Waste Land.
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Angels sing, the heavens cry
Cosmic tears fall from skies
Colors burst, the world’s release
Sharing the taste of their impulses
Choir madness and moans
I see a galaxy hidden in the land
Galaxies grasped, then forgotten
Angels sing heavens cry
Cosmic tears fall swiftly
A melancholy, blue-tinted skySubmit your work to Fiction & Ideas
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Why do you run from the fire?
Rose the roar outside the house
Felt the cold moon into her blue arms
Her fire is bright and iron
Light the night with her rage
Spread my tears on the covers
Proud of my blackened speech
Smolder without a trace of regretSubmit your work to Fiction & Ideas
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When the shy star goes forth in heaven
All maidenly, disconsolate,
Hear you amid the drowsy even
One who is singing by your gate.
His song is softer than the dew
And he is come to visit you.O bend no more in revery
When he at eventide is calling.
Nor muse: Who may this singer be
Whose song about my heart is falling?
Know you by this, the lovers chant,
Tis I that am your visitant.Note: This poem is in the public domain and can be found here. James Joyce (1882-1941) was an Irish novelist, poet, and literary critic who is known mainly for his novels like Ulysses and short-story collection Dubliners. He contributed to the modernist avant-garde movement with his stream of consciousness style, and he’s widely regarded as one of the most influential writers of the 20th century.
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Psychics, however hard they try,
Will always be soaked in blood
Do psychics make you cry?I cannot help but stop and look at the haunted gifts
Never forget the concerned offeringsI cannot help but look at the digital interfaces
A boundary is thin, sparing
An interface before me, cryingSubmit your work to Fiction & Ideas
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