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Posted on 03/24/2005 8:35:29 PM PST by Soaring Feather
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Post 41
Sarge, that's fabulous. :)
Thank you for the poems, Old Sarge. :-)
how many many things
they call to mind
these cherry blossoms
Basho
Good night everyone.
The quiet man sits silent by the window
His eye will ruthlessly see all around
And even though he wishes otherwise
This world cannot escape his sightless gaze.
He sees bare lies, dark motives seen as plain
Stark coldness of the world remains in view
Saddened now, he tries to look away
He knows that life must offer more than this.
Downtrodden heart, from where does hope arise?
To victory we know we all are born
But broken eyes and broken hearts agree
The road is long and never seems to end
He pays the check and wraps against the cold
But smiles despite the long and longer odds
To fight the fight is what will lead to triumph
A power even ruthless eyes will see.
3/25/05
Lovely absolutely lovely, both the graphic and the Haiku.
Thanks so much HopeandGlory.
Oh Colonel.
The quiet eyes ever see
the ruthless cruelty dealt
to the sea
of love and kindness
ever to be
the quiet eyes
that I see.
Fabulous, Miss Feather. My heart has been pretty heavy of late but finding my muse seems to help a bit :)
Writing is a good way to get things out
to the light of day where we can see
the snags and traps that stumble us
in the day.
A heavy heart a burden cold
carries harder when you're old
and sometimes when we're young
they be building blocks for a poets tree.
| You Know The Drill Click the pics 
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Coffee & Donuts
Good morning, Sam!
Lovely poem and graphic is morning. Love the tunes too.
Have a wonderful weekend.
Very nice Colonel. Deep too.
Hi feather. I'm enjoying your book. There are some in there that I don't think I've read here in the Lair.
Good morning Sam.
Hi snippy, glad you are enjoying the book.
When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
-W.B. Yeats
Another Song Of A Fool
by William Butler Yeats
This great purple butterfly,
In the prison of my hands,
Has a learning in his eye
Not a poor fool understands.
Once he lived a schoolmaster
With a stark, denying look;
A string of scholars went in fear
Of his great birch and his great book.
Like the clangour of a bell,
Sweet and harsh, harsh and sweet.
That is how he learnt so well
To take the roses for his meat.
He Bids His Beloved Be At Peace
by William Butler Yeats
I HEAR the Shadowy Horses, their long manes a-shake,
Their hoofs heavy with tumult, their eyes glimmering
white;
The North unfolds above them clinging, creeping
night,
The East her hidden joy before the morning break,
The West weeps in pale dew and sighs passing away,
The South is pouring down roses of crimson fire:
O vanity of Sleep, Hope, Dream, endless Desire,
The Horses of Disaster plunge in the heavy clay:
Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat
Over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast,
Drowning love's lonely hour in deep twilight of rest,
And hiding their tossing manes and their tumultuous
feet.
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