"canticles" poems
St. Margaret's bells,
Quiring their innocent, old-world canticles,
Sing in the storied air,
All rosy-and-golden, as with memories
Of woods at evensong, and sands and seas
Disconsolate for that the night is nigh.
O, the low, lingering lights! The large last gleam
(Hark! how those brazen choristers cry and call!)
Touching these solemn ancientries, and there,
The silent River ranging tide-mark high
And the callow, grey-faced Hospital,
With the strange glimmer and glamour of a dream!
The Sabbath peace is in the slumbrous trees,
And from the wistful, the fast-widowing sky
(Hark! how those plangent comforters call and cry!)
Falls as in August plots late roseleaves fall.
The sober Sabbath stir--
Leisurely voices, desultory feet!--
Comes from the dry, dust-coloured street,
Where in their summer frocks the girls go by,
And sweethearts lean and loiter and confer,
Just as they did an hundred years ago,
Just as an hundred years to come they will:--
When you and I, Dear Love, lie lost and low,
And sweet-throats none our welkin shall fulfil,
Nor any sunset fade serene and slow;
But, being dead, we shall not grieve to die.
2.2k
Ethereal Theories and Rituals
By Rosicrucian's and Masons
And The Knights Templar
Secrets whispered in listening Ears
Bound to Silence by unknown Fears
Symbolic Accoutrements Adorn
Compass, Cross, Aprons and Horn
Secret Rituals done in Dark Shadows
Robed Members with Incense and Candles
Perform ancient Tomes with Canticles
Reciting Century old Chants of Words
Enarmed with Pike Shield and Sword
Perpetuated through the Centuries
All Carried out in total Secrecy.....1/19/15
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 10:36 PM UTC
up from luminous dream,
in the soft hours
of deep night's thrall
suddenly discovering
I am in
our small corridor,
no longer
a narrow hall
for now, to my wonder
it is stretched into
milky-way cathedral
walls robed in
flashes of
lit-up nostalgia
on black
I float, eyes wide
mind open, a-light
naked skin splashed in
the cool nocturnal breath
and before me,
a vast gallery
of memories:
faces in frames,
some long gone
some now turned from
round baby cheeks into
vibrant adolescent beauty
delicate curls on toddlers
now muscular,
fire-talking angels
ancestors who I never knew
but who I am named for
stare in sepia elegance
their eyes
piercing my soul
I am a warrioress
clothed in memories'
sub-conscious fabric
my weapons,
the love
that backs me up
so full it oozes out
from the ether
spews from geysers
soaks up through
the earth
stains beaten feet
my fingers feel it
in strokes of
wind-whipped canticles
generations standing
behind me,
before me
ready to rise
holding staffs
live epitaphs
ready to split the rock
My center is lit up in
past and present voices
echoing prayers
I feel them in my
heart-tunnels,
reverberating
they turn
future ponderings
into endless possibilities
I let them all in,
absorbing strength
into deep tissue
and the hell in my spine
opens its scars
like
flowers of
the
night
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 7:21 PM UTC
Il fait du soleil
Il pleut, il tonne
C’est l’automne
Du réveil au sommeil.
Les feuilles sont sèches et passives
Et les fleurs mortes et inactives
Plus **** c’est la neige
Les voisins de l’auberge
Voient passer les cerfs
Toute la sainte journée
Et pendant toute la soirée
On sent changer les nerfs
Pour accueillir la nouvelle saison
Où l’on est **** de la moisson.
On peut entendre de très ****
Le vent qui fredonne dans les foins
Les vibrations ne sont pas monotones
Puisque les colibris des mornes
Font sentir leur présence spectaculaire
Et les poètes aux jardins imaginaires
Décrivent tout ce qui se passe
Dans la contrée où la masse
Demeure insensible et ignorante
Et où les élus corrompus se vantent.
Il fait du soleil
Il pleut, il tonne
C’est l’automne
Du réveil au sommeil.
P.S. Traduction de ‘ The Ancient Canticles Of Autumn’.
Copyright © Novembre 2024, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs livres de poésie.
Nov 24, 2024
Nov 24, 2024 at 10:44 PM UTC
“With what stillness at last you appear in the valley,
Join your divine sounds filling the empty vessels of night,
As pillages silently alight upon the shrine you behold,
First sunlight reaches down to touch the tips of pedals,
Her eminent auspicious arm band lusters dulcet canticles,
Sublime reaches things with aptitude able to shrill aft,
Dwells of brilliant wires laurels hymns devout in tune,
May we soon again renew that song singing endlessly?
Abaft her green eyes omens mayhap as emissary divine,
The bewildered by visions apparitions beside a hidden perch,
It seems that the resonance of a dove calls from far away,
Placid content sung before the colored cathedra naiad,
Fronds not ado had not noticed the presence of a naiad,
I know not where this solemn revelry odyssey would end,
My conscious mind we have much to discuss young naiad,
I abiding with heath musing carried by the scent afore me,
Inexorable time that passes quickly as time has stride away,
Sing endless morn of light with the naiad piqued at my soul,
Steadfast heart draws me out of labyrinth and takes Naiad hand”
By Andrew Guzaldo 1/04/2019 ©
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 7:11 PM UTC
It always happens
with the sunset for him;
marital love
at sixes and nines
Memories are now
missing parasols;
canticles of bliss
--emotional screening devices
Chimneys smoke
as a way of laying claim to serendipity;
it's a marriage of conveyance
And their daughters lie in empty fields;
early to the party,
seeking the sun
like a lover
Across his chin
sit scars of the crusade
--the first pain to linger,
the last kiss to haunt
The evocation of his betrothed:
mending her gown
and how she wore the forest
on their wedding day,
but peeled it all off
at his request
that one singular evening
To be naked and shiver;
to be naked and shiver
at the anticipation in his arms
The master of the house
now enters the secret chamber;
and in the throes
of glory-light, he adores
his wife in the carnal means
she likes best
Aug 15, 2024
Aug 15, 2024 at 11:34 PM UTC
It is sunny
It is raining, it is thundering
It is autumn
From waking up to sleeping.
The leaves are dry and passive
And the flowers are dead and inactive
Later, it is snowing
The neighbors of the inn
See the deer pass by
All the holy day long
And during the whole evening
We feel the change of the nerves
To welcome the new season
Where we are far from the harvest.
We can hear from very far away
The wind humming in the hay
The vibrations are not monotonous
Since the hummingbirds of the hills
Make their spectacular presence felt
And the poets in the imaginary gardens
Describe everything that happens
In the country where the mass
Remains insensitive, benighted and glaikit
And where the elected corruptors boast.
It is sunny
It is raining, it is thundering
It is autumn
From waking up to sleeping.
P.S. Translation Of ‘Les Cantiques Antiques De L’Automne’.
Copyright © November 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Nov 24, 2024
Nov 24, 2024 at 10:34 AM UTC
You didn't say you loved men with suits
dressed as barflys, buzzing around the counter
for that one last drink. Home a memory slushed
in ice cubes and excuses.
You didn't say either, you needed a sunday church- goer
dressed in a grey suit of psalms and canticles
and ropes of revelation wonders
which would send you scampering to the pages
of eternal life, wisdom and penitence.
You didn't say that you wanted a one-eyed wonder
with the other eye permanently fixed
on butts and guts, ***** and tubes
and one night stands in a circus tent
of innuendos.
You did say, however, that you wanted
a quiet life, of roses and candlelight dinners
and wine chilling in a bucket of excuses
of fun and frolic and fame
and when I married you,
you danced the night off
in satin, confetti and cake and whatever
and I admired your mother
in her wonderful
up
lifting
dress.
I married right.
Author Notes
Joking.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 23 days ago
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11561722-Ceremony-by-Marshall-Gass#sthash.UDj0xs1j.dpuf
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC
Está soleado
Está lloviendo, está tronando
Es otoño
Desde despertar hasta dormir.
Las hojas son secas y pasivas
Y las flores muertas e inactivas
Más tarde, es nieve
Los vecinos de la posada
Ven el paso de los ciervos
Todo el día
Y durante toda la larga noche
Sentimos que los nervios cambian
Para dar la bienvenida a la nueva temporada
Donde estamos lejos de la cosecha.
Podemos escuchar desde muy lejos
El viento que zumba en el heno
Las vibraciones no son monótonas
Desde los colibríes de los cerros
Hacen sentir su espectacular presencia
Y los poetas con jardines imaginarios
Describen todo lo que está pasando
En la tierra donde la masa
Sigue siendo insensible e ignorante
Y donde los funcionarios electos corruptos se jactan.
Está soleado
Está lloviendo, está tronando
Es otoño
Desde despertar hasta dormir.
P.D. Traducción de 'The Ancient Canticles Of Autumn'.
Copyright © noviembre de 2024, Hébert Logerie, Todos los derechos reservados
Hébert Logerie es autor de varios libros de poesía.
Nov 25, 2024
Nov 25, 2024 at 12:09 AM UTC
C'è il sole
Tuona, piove
È autunno
Dal risveglio al sonno.
Le foglie sono secche e passive
E i fiori morti e inattivi
Più tardi, nevica
I vicini della locanda
Vedono passare il cervo
Tutto il santo giorno
E tutta la sera
Sentiamo che i nervi stanno cambiando
Per dare il benvenuto alla nuova stagione
Dove siamo lontani dal raccolto.
Puoi sentire da molto lontano
Il vento che ronza nel fieno
Le vibrazioni non sono monotone
Poiché i colibrì delle colline
Fanno sentire la loro spettacolare presenza
E i poeti con giardini immaginari
Descrivono tutto ciò che accade
Nella terra dove le masse
Restano insensibili e ignoranti
E dove i funzionari eletti corrotti si vantano.
C'è il sole
Tuona, piove
È autunno
Dal risveglio al sonno.
P.S. Traduzione di “The Ancient Canticles Of Autumn”.
Questa poesia è dedicata ai miei amici e fan italiani.
Copyright © Novembre 2024, Hébert Logerie, Tutti i diritti riservati
Hébert Logerie è autore di numerosi libri di poesia.
Nov 25, 2024
Nov 25, 2024 at 8:45 PM UTC
My beloved, the desert sand and I are alike
Prostrating and burning since our painful birth,
Where from we rippled through a roving death,
While love shades our existence at bask
We drink the sun a fake water light,
And thirsty freedom creeps to mirage's bound,
And pride moans with a cry of squalls' sound,
While love cuddles our thoughts close and tight.
My beloved, the desert sand and I are ineligible,
Drifted and assaulted and broken up into particles,
And carried away on echoes of discordant canticles,
Where love remains truthful for the negligible.
My beloved, the desert and I are a color of a mould
Deliberately chosen to adorn beauty and free fingers
For those who wish, the meek sweet strangers
Are melted to keep true love audacious and bold.
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 9:53 AM UTC
Salt-grain-taken greetings
from the land of curmudgeons,
powwow in these
craters of overblown canticles.
Dragon-puff proofed spirits
with the matchsticks of nigh-nights...
till we add eyes to the lambs of
Johnny from Patmos.
We can disturb the peace, till it
spews war from windows--gag
reflexes of great purges.
Catching venom samples in our
plastic cups, for posterity's telltale tipples.
Etching paralysis through deadlocked
saints and sinners.
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 1:05 AM UTC
*
*BLOWBALL fluffs
Who has been able to change
These seeds of faith?
Scattered all over
Existing around
Blown in breeze
Those shining silver lines
Never-ending flights
Hopeful wishes of breath
Sounding wind chimes
Don't even try
To change these HONEYSUCKLES
The sadness that surrender
Of round joys that fall on souls
SWAMP MILKWEEDS are
Flowers under sunlit blues
Stars under moonlit skies
Hymns of solitude
Floating around
Always FREE flying
Outside personal prisons
Humans should not
Try to reform these JEWELWEEDS
Pride of LOVE
Carrying dreamZ
Of summer LOVE-Rz
Dandy-like...
Lioness with a mane
Adorning daisies within
Liberating caged passions
Beneath the blue skies
Into warm romances..
Sacred than God/dess
Rainbow colored
Burning LOVE of coolness
Blooming blossoming wishes
Frail in its vulnerability
Who nourishes these CANARY THISTLE?
Photosynthesis of two SOUL
Within core of it lives
A SOUL continent
Beyond day-dreamZ and
Borders of consciousness
Creating a paradise on earth
Of muses and creators
A born-BELOVEDz first wish
A dying-LOVERz last regret
Watch the garden grown
Of these STAGHORN SUMAC
Without presence of any seeds
Drifting in search of LOVE
So let's chase OXALIS
And harvest POKEWEEDS
We all are born with
The canticles of
TARAXACUM within
Make mine and yours sings
The SPIDERWORT Rhapsody
It always gets better
Riding a Dandelion puff
OUR MARSH MARIGOLD "LOVE"*
*
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 12:06 AM UTC
May the penumbra of your green eyes ogling gently,
You have left me with this secret in my soul,
May I recount to you an image of you before me?
Jollity as of a magnificent art painting of innocence,
There you were susurrated in reciting a canticle,
Acute feelings in my heart as the respite end,
As you spoke the words spiraled over your tongue,
Radiates over your lips I am laced in your rapture,
Your eyes are my guide to stay always by your side,
This love will never be replaced I’m born to love you,
I shall pirouette a tale for you of star studded loves,
I suspire for you my love for you is perpetually yours,
My love for you I have found your smile is my light,
Wreathed like a web of intensely yearning desire,
As warm as the west winds blow with sunsets heat,
Blossomed in canticles as it breaks into an eruption,
As we cling closer before a festive ligature of flames,
Inebriated with our own artistic designs of pure love,
I embark as a sail into virtuous commonage of our desires,
I shall commune to you in all silence in all passion,
Luminously bright and pure as a star lit night,
Reticence with halcyon moments of our passions”
By AG 05/10 2018 ©
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 10:34 PM UTC
There is alchemy in Blackbird song
an opal paean through early doors
of infant sensing
Sprung limpets of the broad leaf crowns,
Will, heliacal, from chimney spires,
A crocus bowl of canticles
unwritten in the Latin blush.
of uncorrupted eloquence.
There is prophecy in blackbird song
from red Victoriana glance
those rippled satin auguries.
Sloe philharmonic oracles
untie the mellow chords of rest,
to sing as they have always sung
in allegories of days to come
beyond the headstone houses.
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 3:13 AM UTC
A trembling pale girl enters a stone
fortress of faith, buttresses flying outside,
in hopes of finding a way to atone,
find an anchor in the world’s shifting tides.
This Gothic cathedral lifts her wet eyes
to its heavenward ribbed vaulted peaks.
They’re painted deep blue like starry skies
in remembrance of what Creator to old Abraham speaks.
There, where each vault’s stone arches crisscross,
shines out like a clear harvest moon
the radiant burst of a gilded boss
that gleams in the recessing gloom.
Adrift in this vast and sacred space,
thin curls of burnt incense waft by
to fill the young girl with scented grace
whilst she sits in this place with wide eyes.
The gold on the stone catches candlelight
and reflects its flickering blaze
as the quiet chanting of canticles might
let her senses be softly amazed.
While the twinkling of these numerous stars
fills her rediscovered heavens within,
the tides of her fears recede past sandbars,
leaving puddles of patience therein.
The promise made by the Father long ago —
Abraham’s children would a galaxy be —
finds fulfillment in this starry girl now aglow
since from her darkness she’s tenderly freed.
She found her anchor and cast it up to the skies.
It caught a bright star and held fast.
New dawn lit inside her in quiet reply,
telling her no tides of tempest can last.
Oct 27, 2024
Oct 27, 2024 at 12:03 PM UTC
Es ist sonnig
Es regnet, es donnert
Es ist Herbst
Vom Aufwachen bis zum Schlafen.
Die Blätter sind trocken und passiv
Und die toten und inaktiven Blumen
Später liegt Schnee
Die Nachbarn des Gasthauses
Sehen das vorbeiziehende Reh
Den ganzen heiligen Tag
Und den ganzen Abend
Wir spüren, wie sich die Nerven verändern
Zur Begrüßung der neuen Saison
Wo wir noch weit von der Ernte entfernt sind.
Man hört es schon von weitem
Der Wind, der im Heu summt
Vibrationen sind nicht monoton
Denn die Kolibris der Hügel
Machen ihre spektakuläre Präsenz spürbar
Und die Dichter beschreiben mit
Imaginären Gärten alles, was passiert
In dem Land, in dem die Massen
Gefühllos und ignorant bleiben
Und wo korrupte gewählte Beamte prahlen.
Es ist sonnig
Es regnet, es donnert
Es ist Herbst
Vom Aufwachen bis zum Schlafen.
P.S. Übersetzung von „The Ancient Canticles Of Autumn“.
Copyright © November 2024, Hébert Logerie, Alle Rechte vorbehalten
Hébert Logerie ist Autor mehrerer Gedichtbände.
Nov 25, 2024
Nov 25, 2024 at 3:26 PM UTC
Dramaturgy
there is more to understand
in this fire of a thing --
hauled out of the dark is this
lightsome body, a tumult
of a moment shaping into something
true and seizable.
in the siege of this haloed hour,
we, in the dark, ***** still
these passing moments
the rise of your heady perfume
choking the smoke billowing,
curling on our brows
raking the tranquil in this moment
of askance,
wringing enigmas of their
sublimities,
my body bettered with graciousness,
etcetera, etcetera
of letting you go where you ought
to be and to take you as a useless thing
demands to be blandly usurped,
that no superfluous beauty could ever
configure our analogue adjustments,
and that there is more to this fire than
just the heat of it, the drone that seeks
with a morbid following,
or the brutal truth that
a pain may never be shared
or equally felt, poised in solitariness
and delighting with wine, lonesomely
yet never despairingly,
a silence that brands our souls
with bounteous canticles of how
love's meant to be done alone.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
"May the penumbra of your green eyes ogling gently,
You have left me with this secret in my soul,
May I recount to you an image of you before me?
Jollity as of a magnificent art painting of innocence,
There you were susurrated in reciting a canticle,
Acute feelings in my heart as the respite end,
As you spoke the words spiraled over your tongue,
Radiates over your lips I am laced in your rapture,
Your eyes are my guide to stay always by your side,
This love will never be replaced I’m born to love you,
I shall pirouette a tale for you of star studded loves,
I suspire for you my love for you is perpetually yours,
My love for you I have found your smile is my light,
Wreathed like a web of intensely yearning desire,
As warm as the west winds blow with sunsets heat,
Blossomed in canticles as it breaks into an eruption,
As we cling closer before a festive ligature of flames,
Inebriated with our own artistic designs of pure love,
I embark as a sail into virtuous commonage of our desires,
I shall commune to you in all silence in all passion,
Luminously bright and pure as a star lit night,
Reticence with halcyon moments of our passions”
By Andrew Guzaldo 05/10 2018 © HP
Oct 28, 2021
Oct 28, 2021 at 6:15 PM UTC
"Acquiescence of a Poet dips his pen in an inkwell,
And secretes his or her fervor and soul ,
With alluring words of nuance,
That tell a story of emotion of,
Love sadness and more in canticles or sonnets,
That one will never FORGET"
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 3:00 PM UTC
now the coming of essence--
tassels of gold dangling
from branches.
wed wide.
the heart rate of purple
coming to a dead stop...to
present the continuum of visage.
a momento, a leaf--in a ziplock bag.
welling with permanent season.
trod earth--a settling altar comprised
of truthful faces.
staring back.
canticles of revolution fit for
four ears.
profuse with secret...unhanded.
a dervish begun.
Mar 8, 2023
Mar 8, 2023 at 3:12 PM UTC