"pavilion" poems
a symphony orchestra.
there is a thunderstorm,
they are playing a Wagner overture
and the people leave their seats under the trees
and run inside to the pavilion
the women giggling, the men pretending calm,
wet cigarettes being thrown away,
Wagner plays on, and then they are all under the
pavilion. the birds even come in from the trees
and enter the pavilion and then it is the Hungarian
Rhapsody #2 by Lizst, and it still rains, but look,
one man sits alone in the rain
listening. the audience notices him. they turn
and look. the orchestra goes about its
business. the man sits in the night in the rain,
listening. there is something wrong with him,
isn't there?
he came to hear the
music.
36.5k
at the quarterhorse meet
at Hollywood Park
around 5 p.m.
if you are sitting at
ground level
in the
Pavilion
the track appears
to
be
above you
and
in the strange
shadow-
sunlight
the silks
are
so
bright
the color
is
like
fresh paint
on
canvas
and
the faces of
the
jocks
look
heroic.
it's a
grand
time
then
a perfect
and
peaceful
photograph
dream-
like.
such small
moments
keep
people
alive.
such small
moments
so
large
when
it
all
comes
together
and
holds.
5.8k
A hiss of the moon tucking
into just a pair of lock
let alone in pavilion-tresses
on the back of one's eternal silence.
Giving autumn shadows
to seven skies' azure.
What now the stars are gone
followed in their countless galore!
Eyes of the buds ope
dreaming nightingale
hops up to the morning rose
singing in what a balmy fold.
Mar 17, 2022
Mar 17, 2022 at 11:15 PM UTC
A cold rain mingled with the river
at evening, when I entered Wu;
In the clear dawn I bid you farewell,
lonely as Ch'u Mountain.
My kinsfolk in Loyang,
should they ask about me,
Tell them: "My heart is a piece of ice
in a jade cup!"
4.7k
The third moon brought forth from the shadow dark.
Gentle breeze freewheeled across the lakeshore.
Windswept was the air, in peace night was marked-
Unyielding stillness, blooming fairness more.
Silky pastel cloth, gushing curtain soft.
The window let in hushed waft soothing cool.
Fixed firmly on shore with poles planted stiff,
A pavilion meek light heartened the pool.
By the portico was a tree bent down
Whose white flowers bloomed lovely as a nymph.
Its jagged branches, lumped of golden-brown,
Delicately grown each emerald leaf.
Underneath its shades were cheery plantlets;
Pebbles hard and cold; red earth spongy ground;
Flying whirly bugs, glittering bead lets.
Fair maiden deferred, there then can be found.
Pleasing to the eye, that dignified dress
In white noble silk with fine needlecraft.
Regal as she stood, just for a mistress.
Mystic was her eyes, a soul was grafted.
Filled with potent life in her burning stare.
Profound as the deep, tranquil as it surge.
One may glimpse straight to, utmost one can't bare.
To its mysteries, one gave in and urged.
Verdant her hair was, hearty as it shone.
Longer than she was, white as the moonlight.
In her neck are chains, beads and shells she owned.
Varies in sizes, things that make her bright.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 5:30 AM UTC
When I was a lad,
I sauntered about town as a gay blade,
Sporting a cloak of the softest down,
And mounted on a splendid chestnut-coloured horse.
During the day, I galloped to the city;
At night, I got drunk on peach blossoms by the river.
I never cared about returning home,
Usually ending up, with a big smile on my face,
at a pleasure pavilion!
4.4k
"Found poem", all the text lifted from a tourist pamphlet picked up in Crete, only very slightly edited.
There are daily buses starting from Chania
to the head of the gorge,
which is called Xyloskalo.
Buses say on the front "Omalos" and depart
from the central bus station.
By taking any of the morning buses you get to Xyloskalo
after one and a half hours.
At Xyloskalo there is a tourist pavilion
where you can get meals, drinks,
and which has only seven beds for staying overnight.
For those wishing to spend the night
on the Omalos plateau
there is another possibility, that of staying
at Omalos village itself, five kilometres before Xyloskalo,
where are two cafés providing several beds. From there
you get any of the morning buses starting from Chania
to the head of the gorge.
The length of the gorge is sixteen kilometres, and you need
five to six hours to walk through it. There is plenty
of drinking water all along the gorge. Tennis shoes
or walking boots are recommended. Camping,
overnight staying, smoking, hunting,
cutting and uprooting plants
are forbidden.
At the mouth of the gorge is Aghia Rouméli village,
which provides restaurants and accommodation.
From there you take boats
either to Sfakía (duration: one hour) or to Soughia
and Paleochora.
Remember that the last boat to Sfakía is at 17 hours,
which connects with the last bus to Chania at 18 hours.
Duration of the bus trip: two hours.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 10:40 AM UTC
Brackets
Your mum picked you up in daddy’s BMW,
we had to wait an hour while they scrubbed the brains of another son off the roof of the 125
(Why they built a multi storey car park on top of the bus station is a mystery to me.)
You carefully colour coordinated your files and scrutinized your revision schedules,
we watched nicked CCTV footage of two blokes smoking crack and burning down the bowling pavilion next door
(the old boys never did raise enough to repair it.)
You snubbed each other because of different tastes in jumpers,
we watched acid casualties talk politics with football hooligans
(a hastily rolled joint bridged the obvious gap.)
You lounged in the common room in your study periods,
our lesson got cancelled because John had been smashed in the face with a fire extinguisher
(and our tutor used to be a lifeguard.)
You worried about fashion and discussed the injustice of last night’s X Factor result,
we watched Neil’s head crash into his keyboard after he’d scoffed all his methadone in one go
(again.)
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
Small barge go to meet honoured guest
Leisurely lake on come
At railing face cup alcohol
On all sides lotus bloom
On a skiff I meet an honoured guest,
Slowly, slowly, it comes across the lake.
Facing at the railing, we drink a cup of wine,
On all sides, lotus flowers are in bloom.
3.2k
Sunrays hit the parking lot,
This place is cool instead of hot,
The palm trees catch my eye;
As I look up into the beautiful sky.
There are no other buildings,
Save for one pavilion,
No cars or people are around;
Just me and not even a bird to make a sound.
But I love it here,
This place I hold very dear,
In my mind's eye and my heart's door;
Just waiting for me to explore.
Other trees and bushes are in the Forest,
But right here is where I'll stop to rest,
This place which I hold dear to my heart;
Remains: Sunrays in Grenolds Park.
~Marian~
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
I'd been trying to write a poem
Just one ******* poem
But he said
*Just **** around*
Swallow down a bowl full of squares
Let’s play games with each other’s minds
Spend a night lost in a house of cards
Where the joker cackles despite your begging
A reminder of what I could do without
Shouting at the world from the white pavilion
You suckers!
With your skirts hitched up and tongues hanging out
Gagging on a lover’s loneliness
All I see is your undergarments crying for attention
With a liquor solace barely down your throat
Eighteen silver blades
Smile at me with their perfect teeth
One to mark each year that past
A nineteenth will not be necessary
Ready to drag
Like the man trailing his head on a string
Across the surgeon’s winking knife
Tapping their toes on the bathroom counter
Anxious to mingle with my flesh
I’ve already scrubbed in
The survival rate looks dismal
The cotton reel loosens and my halo slips
Down - the noose around my neck
He sat across the room in plaid
Remarked upon the crosshatch of red
That drew the crooked red grin on the white of my thigh
Like loops of raspberry liquorice
Seeping out sticky tears
He misses handling the vegetables
Who ordered cocktails in lurid colours
Well, I’ve a mélange of my own
A collection of prescriptions from the doctor’s office
Stored in a heart shaped box
To swallow down like jelly beans
I’m waiting for that deadly sugar rush
Death’s been dancing on my doorstep
Absent minded as I sit at the dinner table
Head in hand, foot in grave
There’ll be no morning migraine
Perhaps a little mourning in the peripheral vision
Swept up from beneath the climbing frame
Under a soil blanket with a tomb stone mattress
Coughing up the sand in my throat
That I emptied from the egg-timer
Those darling quadrilateral crystals
Blissful in their ignorance
Disturbing my quiet complacency
Drowned in a glass of tomato juice
That I poured from my skull
Death holds my hand in the dark
And I whisper to pass on the message
Bury me with pyjama’s and a pillow
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 6:23 AM UTC
I said...
Ribbons lemon chewing gum
Daisies dandelion
Button teabag souvenir
Cheese cake Uncle Brian
Pepper buses diary
London *** Nantucket
Leaves carrot underwear
Ten piece bargain bucket
Raisins phone apple pie
Sock key Zanzibar
Duvet sausage dinosaur
Peanut bumper car
Mouse banana chicken wing
Fleas vermilion
Elephant soda stream
Stoat pavilion
Moose flower stickleback
Garlic salted butter
Taco dragon paper cut
Poison pizza cutter
Sandwich Batman coffee cake
Vaseline grape snow
Golf ***** haberdashery
Weasels tally-ho
:o)
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
deepest length, a truncated obesity, abruptly gradual: a stem pops gently to present colors damp. a pavilion of ugly columns, the streets a budding promise; akimboing in gross pleasure. and the jostling laughter of serious music says to languor apathy a locomotive steeply belching roses.
. .
?
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 11:32 AM UTC
We've got bagpipes and buskers,
cannons, and clip.
Lots of marijuana, and tons of tall ships.
Plenty of seafood, and point pleasent park.
It looks pretty lame, until the streets become dark.
Weve got the Citadel hill, and pavilion kids.
lockups, and lockdown. All things that we did.
Plenty of days, where we fell on our *** ,
smokin dope in the glade, and layin on grass.
With colt 45, and 151.
Alexander keiths, and malibou ***
Weve all jumped a fence, and swam chocolate lake.
No other province could handle the risks that we take.
Cause were crazy,obviously, were maritimers.
Dartmouth, and spryfeild.. Hell, our schools are the worst.
But its halifax, Nova scotia.
We do it our way.
Live like the east coast,
Cause i do everyday.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
Light cloud pavilion light rain
Dark yard day weary open
Sit look green moss colour
About to on person clothes come
There's light cloud, and drizzle round the pavilion,
In the dark yard, I wearily open a gate.
I sit and look at the colour of green moss,
Ready for people's clothing to pick up.
2.1k
To the tune "As in a Dream"
I have long remembered
the pavilion
on the stream
the falling sun
so deep in wine
we did not know
the way home
how pleasure spent
late returning
the skiff
thoughtless
entered
a lotus deep place
and struggling through
struggling through
we scared up
from the sand
gulls and herons.
2k
on ruby jacobs walk, a
small girl
asked us for money for ice cream.
she eyed our cones
yours, lemon
mine, strawberry
with a child’s hunger
glinting and opportunistic
as she held out her palm for coins.
i was not yet accustomed to the shapes and sizes,
to a dime being smaller than a nickel,
and in any case wanted to preserve them for souvenirs
so we shook our heads and walked away.
a year later, writing this poem,
i learned that ruby jacobs was a local restauranteur
who, as a boy,
illegally sold ice creams
for a nickel on the boardwalk.
a nickel is the larger coin
the size of a ten pence piece.
i know that now.
the wide atlantic rose from a sloping manicured lawn
star-spangled,
like everything here,
the airborne flag
above a wide pavilion
a fanatic wedding cake topper
against the blood-blue sky.
i slipped
out of my shoes and let
the white sand burn my feet,
and jaggedly fill the spaces between my toes.
the atlantic held open its arms
though we weren’t, as we imagined,
looking east
looking home
but south to new jersey, across the bay.
the gnarled boardwalk was a
song of the twentieth century
a roll-call of mass-market capitalism
here in the city that didn’t invent the concept
but certainly perfected it:
hot dogs
amusements
ice creams (we’ve covered that)
fridge magnets
baseball caps
i bought an espresso cup with a picture of the president
and the caption:
‘huuuuge!’
i stopped to take a photograph
of a space-age building from the fifties
which turned out to be
a public toilet.
later
from the sunbaked d train,
brooklyn spread out beneath us
the houses garnished with flags,
then the city coughed us up on seventh avenue
and night fell five hours early.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 7:51 AM UTC
PSALM TWENTY AND ONE
OF PRAISE TO MAGNIFY
THY LORD GOD,
JEHOVAH ORI.
1)I'll adore thy
Lord with my
whole heart ♥
and I will sing
His praise in
His sanctuary.
2)I'll worship 🛐
thy Lord God,
for his mercy
endureth forever. 3)
He Who has
spread the heavens
like curtain on the
wings of wind,
earth upon ocean. 4)
For his mercy
endureth till
eternally.
5)
Praise
He our God for
He's mighty
arts are greatly
and worthy to
be praised. 6)Let
the whole world
glee in the Lord
their God and the
fullness therein. 7)
And the heaven
and it's hosts bless
thy Lord our God.
8)
Our hearts shall
rejoice in thy
Lord and the
fullness in us. 9) All
my bones shall
says blessed be
thy Lord.
10)
Let thy
Lord be magnified!
Praise God in all
tongues and let
His people praise
Him.
11)The earth
and every beasts
that crawled
the earth. 12)
Every
small and
gigantic adore
thy Lord their God.
13)
And let
Cloudnine and
His family Glorify
God for His
marvelous thangs
He has done
amongst His
people.
14)He
manifest Himself
and
sent them meal.
15)
Even in the
wilderness He
brought forte
waters
within the rock. 16)
His voice is
heard in all the
nations, praise
God. 17)
Zillion
tongues aren't
enough praise
God. 18)
For
the works of
His hands is
mighty.
19)
The
sun see and
jumped, the
rivers ran
backwards,
20)
The mountains
smokes and the
hills are covered
with flames
🔥🔥 the
Holighost fire of
thy Lord. 21)
Holy and glory
honor,
adoration,
glorification, and
songs of
doxology
unto God. 22)
For
His endless
gracious favor
and mercy
endureth forever.
23)
From eternal
till eternal,
praise God
from ever
lasting to
everlasting. 24)
Let
my heart ♥
praise God. 25)
C9fm shall adore
thy God blessed
be thy Lord
our God. 26)
Worthy
and honorable is
thy Lord God of
black tribe
of Israel. 27)
God
of the whole
earth and flesh.
May thy
only Holy names
forever be
pavilion for the
just. 28)
Those who
hopes in thy
Lord shall never
be ashamed. 29)
For thy
mercy is endless,
reaching unto
the clouds all
through the
heaven's
beginning to it's
end. 30)
Praise
God from the
beneath of the
earth. He Who
made the heaven
and earth. 31)
Unto you, all
the riches, wealths,
wisdom,
knowledge and
understanding are
been rendered . 32)
Unto thee oh
Lord our God.
Let the heart
of the just
praise and
dependent.
33)
Rejoice
in Him and
cast your worries
upon the Lord
and He shall
ease your
burdens. 34)
Glorious and
marvelous His
thy word oh
Lord.
35)
Thy word
is seen through
thy
magnanimous
arts.
36)
The skies
manifests and the
heavens roared
thunderously.
37)
The earth
heard and
trembled mighty
mountains became
ground before
thy Lord.
38)
The
angels bow 🙇
worshipping 🛐
underneath His
throne.
39)
Saying,
Thou art worthy,
holy and glory
art thou oh Lord. 40)
Who Was and to
come and is
and forever more.
41)
Let thy Lord be
magnified! Selah.
#c9_fm
Dec 1, 2020
Dec 1, 2020 at 4:21 PM UTC
A bright lad called Alistair Cook
Did enjoy the occasional book,
He went out to bat,
NO - don't play at that,
They did him; line, sinker and hook.
On him I'd bet my whole house,
More like a lion than a mouse,
He bats with aplomb,
Both dainty and strong,
It can only be Andrew Strauss.
From the pavilion did Jonathan Trott,
Nervous and anxious he is not,
He'll be there for a while,
All England will smile,
And South Africa know he is hot.
Next in is the feisty KP,
His batting, the top of the tree,
Sixes so great,
They should be worth eight,
Now just stay IN for a hundred or three!
A chap from ooop north who is good,
Goes by the name of Paul Collingwood,
Gritty and tough,
We just can't get enough,
Fight as hard as him, we all should.
No more will the fear he smell,
He's been down to the gym as well,
His batting is slick,
Number six does the trick,
The crowd cheers for Ian Bell.
Swinging his bat, it's Matt Prior,
Born with iron grit, steel and fire,
If he holds each catch,
We'll win the match,
And his ranking will go much higher.
Our spinner is next, Mr Swann,
His bowling is coming on strong,
His batting is great,
Which the opposition hate,
Not to pick him much sooner was wrong.
Our tall quickie is young Stuart Broad,
His bat is a rapier like sword,
He can oft' bowl too short,
Yet the batters get caught,
And Of wicket-taking we never are bored.
James Anderson is our king of swing,
Late movement his favourite thing,
Please bowl nice and full,
Offer nothing to pull,
And just hear those stumps go 'ping'.
Graeme Onions comes in at long last,
Cannot bat but, he can bowl fast,
He makes them play,
While others may stray,
Durham long-hops a thing of the past.
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 10:59 PM UTC
To the tune of "Like a Dream"
I always remember the sunset
over the pavilion by the river,
so tipsy we could not find our way home.
Our interest exhausted, the evening late,
we tried to turn the boat homeward.
By mistake, we entered deep within the lotus bed.
Row! Row the boat!
A flock of herons, frightened,
suddenly flew skyward.
1.8k
The apple trees are hung with gold,
And birds are loud in Arcady,
The sheep lie bleating in the fold,
The wild goat runs across the wold,
But yesterday his love he told,
I know he will come back to me.
O rising moon! O Lady moon!
Be you my lover’s sentinel,
You cannot choose but know him well,
For he is shod with purple shoon,
You cannot choose but know my love,
For he a shepherd’s crook doth bear,
And he is soft as any dove,
And brown and curly is his hair.
The turtle now has ceased to call
Upon her crimson-footed groom,
The grey wolf prowls about the stall,
The lily’s singing seneschal
Sleeps in the lily-bell, and all
The violet hills are lost in gloom.
O risen moon! O holy moon!
Stand on the top of Helice,
And if my own true love you see,
Ah! if you see the purple shoon,
The hazel crook, the lad’s brown hair,
The goat-skin wrapped about his arm,
Tell him that I am waiting where
The rushlight glimmers in the Farm.
The falling dew is cold and chill,
And no bird sings in Arcady,
The little fauns have left the hill,
Even the tired daffodil
Has closed its gilded doors, and still
My lover comes not back to me.
False moon! False moon! O waning moon!
Where is my own true lover gone,
Where are the lips vermilion,
The shepherd’s crook, the purple shoon?
Why spread that silver pavilion,
Why wear that veil of drifting mist?
Ah! thou hast young Endymion,
Thou hast the lips that should be kissed!
1.7k
A broken guitar tells me to shut it
on every rest note.
And I tell myself to
ditch old baggage
on the side of the road
to clean my tattered knapsack
of cobwebs and broken light bulbs.
So I divest,
Decompress in present
because right now, I'm at peace.
You speak over church bells
at the top of the hour
and I listen like
nothing else matters.
But I only hear the future
My future, your future, our future
the world's future.
It's not often,
but every once in a while
midnight slaps me with a sound
I can't explain.
Even if I explain myself
I ramble around the point
like an arrow with no tip.
The weird thing about time
is it's a lot like music,
or a galaxy,
but right in the palm
of soft hands and ambitious souls
It only makes sense with experience,
and getting lost in a pavilion
of nervous butterflies
only seen in lucid dreams.
The world is old. We're young.
We're lost. And so is everyone else.
Tell me about your favorite constellation,
your favorite letter of the alphabet,
what makes you tick,
and why.
One day, after learning about your spectrum,
and where it intersects with mine
we'll dance in space.
I'll come to my senses
and question nothing
Not even the silence between our lips.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
You & I
are the rhyme & rhythm
song and dance
spring and fall
subject and predicate
Lung and heart
care and caution
health and wealth
strength and solace
power and peace
present and future
Life and death
Given the choice/chance,
Let us repeat the show
a milling million times,
in the pavilion of life
as Adam & Eve
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 6:57 AM UTC
You & I
are the rhyme & rhythm
song and dance
spring and fall
sun and moon
day and night
subject and predicate
Lung and heart
care and caution
health and wealth
strength and solace
power and peace
present and future
Life and death
Given the choice/chance,
Let us repeat the show
a milling million times,
in the pavilion of life
as Adam & Eve
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 5:42 PM UTC
You & I
are the rhyme & rhythm
song and dance
spring and fall
subject and predicate
Lung and heart
care and caution
health and wealth
strength and solace
power and peace
present and future
Life and death
Given the choice/chance,
Let us repeat the show
a milling million times,
in the pavilion of life
as Adam & Eve
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC