Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
1.0k · Jan 2017
Dance of the Dervishes
Tim Peetz Jan 2017
Where lonely camels roam, dunes in darkness lay
And myriads of stars glow in disarray.
Solely the morning star, lone wanderer, shines bright
And thus illuminates this dark Arabian night.

As the gleaming eye of heaven rises in the East,
wake the weary nomad and his weary beast.
And as it reaches zenith, the heat burning the flesh,
they reach their destination: the vibrant Marrakech.

Explosion of colors, spices galore
Sold on bazaars selling infinitely more
A snake tamer plays his tunes in a trance
and the dervishes do their habitual dance.

And with every turn, every swish, every sway,
Unfolds like a dream the Arabian day.
'Til the sun sets again in this wondrous land
To darken once more the kingdom of sand.
Tim Peetz Dec 2016
I dreamed I stood upon a little hill,
And at my feet there lay a ground, that seemed
Like a waste garden, flowering at its will
With buds and blossoms. There were pools that dreamed
Black and unruffled; there were white lilies
A few, and crocuses, and violets
Purple or pale, snake-like fritillaries
Scarce seen for the rank grass, and through green nets
Blue eyes of shy peryenche winked in the sun.
And there were curious flowers, before unknown,
Flowers that were stained with moonlight, or with shades
Of Nature's wilful moods; and here a one
That had drunk in the transitory tone
Of one brief moment in a sunset; blades
Of grass that in an hundred springs had been
Slowly but exquisitely nurtured by the stars,
And watered with the scented dew long cupped
In lilies, that for rays of sun had seen
Only God's glory, for never a sunrise mars
The luminous air of Heaven. Beyond, abrupt,
A grey stone wall, o'ergrown with velvet moss
Uprose; and gazing I stood long, all mazed
To see a place so strange, so sweet, so fair.
And as I stood and marvelled, lo! across
The garden came a youth; one hand he raised
To shield him from the sun, his wind-tossed hair
Was twined with flowers, and in his hand he bore
A purple bunch of bursting grapes, his eyes
Were clear as crystal, naked all was he,
White as the snow on pathless mountains frore,
Red were his lips as red wine-spilith that dyes
A marble floor, his brow chalcedony.
And he came near me, with his lips uncurled
And kind, and caught my hand and kissed my mouth,
And gave me grapes to eat, and said, 'Sweet friend,
Come I will show thee shadows of the world
And images of life. See from the South
Comes the pale pageant that hath never an end.'
And lo! within the garden of my dream
I saw two walking on a shining plain
Of golden light. The one did joyous seem
And fair and blooming, and a sweet refrain
Came from his lips; he sang of pretty maids
And joyous love of comely girl and boy,
His eyes were bright, and 'mid the dancing blades
Of golden grass his feet did trip for joy;
And in his hand he held an ivory lute
With strings of gold that were as maidens' hair,
And sang with voice as tuneful as a flute,
And round his neck three chains of roses were.
But he that was his comrade walked aside;
He was full sad and sweet, and his large eyes
Were strange with wondrous brightness, staring wide
With gazing; and he sighed with many sighs
That moved me, and his cheeks were wan and white
Like pallid lilies, and his lips were red
Like poppies, and his hands he clenched tight,
And yet again unclenched, and his head
Was wreathed with moon-flowers pale as lips of death.
A purple robe he wore, o'erwrought in gold
With the device of a great snake, whose breath
Was fiery flame: which when I did behold
I fell a-weeping, and I cried, 'Sweet youth,
Tell me why, sad and sighing, thou dost rove
These pleasant realms? I pray thee speak me sooth
What is thy name?' He said, 'My name is Love.'
Then straight the first did turn himself to me
And cried, 'He lieth, for his name is Shame,
But I am Love, and I was wont to be
Alone in this fair garden, till he came
Unasked by night; I am true Love, I fill
The hearts of boy and girl with mutual flame.'
Then sighing, said the other, 'Have thy will,
I am the Love that dare not speak its name.'
This poem was written by Lord Alfred Douglas and published in "The Chameleon" in December 1894.
866 · Dec 2016
Tim Peetz Dec 2016
Wenn wallende Wolken
Wie Wattebauschen
Den Himmel berauschen,
Die Sterblichen lauschen
Dem Klang der ewig unendlichen

When swirling clouds
Befuddle the sky
Like cotton-wool *****,
Mortals hear eternal and infinite
Freedom ring.

This poem entered my head while watching the clouds one day and I wanted to share it.(:
Since the rhyme scheme and rhythm only work in German, I decided to post it in its original form.
795 · Dec 2016
"A Blackboard."
Tim Peetz Dec 2016
Blackness is green in a setting of grey and the surface as chalky and white as snow.
Sharp edges are rounded, wood is metallic, black is green and green is white.
White is being wiped, green emerges and black is as absent as green in winter.
The powdery substance of snow is mimiced by lines of white traversing black
which is not black but green.
Blackness is green.
A tribute to Gertrude Stein, inspired by her work "Tender Buttons" (1914).
765 · Jan 2017
Tim Peetz Jan 2017
Between the conception and the creation
                                                        ­                Falls the Shadow.
Blinding lights, a crowded terrace,
Flickers, music, ballroom dance
Suddenly, the image shatters -
Darkness, rest from unknown lands.
S-spiralling-ing down to nimbus
Infinity yet to explore
Commotion woke me from my dreams
and left me yearning for ____
Hypnagogia is the experience of the transitional state from wakefulness to sleep: the hypnagogic state of consciousness, during the onset of sleep. Mental phenomena that occur during this "threshold consciousness" phase include lucid thought, lucid dreaming, hallucinations and sleep paralysis.

Etymology: late 19th ct., from French "hypnagogique", from Greek "hupnos" - sleep + "agōgos" - leading.

This poem was inspired by Viki Bennett's short film "The Big Sleep" (2014).
546 · Dec 2016
Tim Peetz Dec 2016
On a train.
Inside, a mosaic of faces
Eternal strangers
Passing by, changing places
Pace increases
My heart races.

Outside, life flashes by
Blurry instances and faces
A melange of random places.
Pace increases and in flashes
Shadowlights traverse my lashes
Leaving imprints on my soul.

Akin to impressionism
Colors, forms and spaces mix
Unifying to become
A prism of the Unknown.
430 · Dec 2016
After the Dazzle of Day
Tim Peetz Dec 2016
After the dazzle of day is gone,
Only the dark, dark night shows to my eyes the stars;
After the clangor of ***** majestic, or chorus, or perfect band,
Silent, athwart my soul, moves the symphony true.
This poem was written by Walt Whitman and appeared in his major poetry collection called "Leaves of Grass" (1855, multiple revisions).
415 · Dec 2016
Summer song
Tim Peetz Dec 2016
While willows swing in the summer breeze
a silvery ode fills the air
On a branch near the water
the little artist proudly presents his oeuvre.

For the world to hear, he skillfully sings
of dream-trodden paths and forgotten tales
But try as he might, the song that he sings
despite its grace in texture fails

And will never be more than a charming sound
the wind carries into the night.

— The End —