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THE island dreams under the dawn
And great boughs drop tranquillity;
The peahens dance on a smooth lawn,
A parrot sways upon a tree,
Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea.
Here we will moor our lonely ship
And wander ever with woven hands,
Murmuring softly lip to lip,
Along the grass, along the sands,
Murmuring how far away are the unquiet lands:
How we alone of mortals are
Hid under quiet boughs apart,
While our love grows an Indian star,
A meteor of the burning heart,
One with the tide that gleams, the wings that gleam
and dart,
The heavy boughs, the burnished dove
That moans and sighs a hundred days:
How when we die our shades will rove,
When eve has hushed the feathered ways,
With vapoury footsole by the water's drowsy blaze.
Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun!
    One mellow smile through the soft vapoury air,
Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run,
    Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare.
One smile on the brown hills and naked trees,
    And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast,
And the blue gentian flower, that, in the breeze,
    Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.
Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee
    Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way,
The cricket chirp upon the russet lea,
    And man delight to linger in thy ray.
Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear
The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air.
Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun!
One mellow smile through the soft vapoury air,
Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds ran,
Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare.
One smile on the brown hills and naked trees,
And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast,
And the blue Gentian flower, that, in the breeze,
Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.
Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee
Shall murmur by the hedge that skim the way,
The cricket chirp upon the russet lea,
And man delight to linger in thy ray.
Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear
The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air.
ONE winter night, at half-past nine,
Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy,
I had come home, too late to dine,
And supper, with cigars and wine,
Was waiting in the study.

There was a strangeness in the room,
And Something white and wavy
Was standing near me in the gloom -
I took it for the carpet-broom
Left by that careless slavey.

But presently the Thing began
To shiver and to sneeze:
On which I said "Come, come, my man!
That's a most inconsiderate plan.
Less noise there, if you please!"

"I've caught a cold," the Thing replies,
"Out there upon the landing."
I turned to look in some surprise,
And there, before my very eyes,
A little Ghost was standing!

He trembled when he caught my eye,
And got behind a chair.
"How came you here," I said, "and why?
I never saw a thing so shy.
Come out! Don't shiver there!"

He said "I'd gladly tell you how,
And also tell you why;
But" (here he gave a little bow)
"You're in so bad a temper now,
You'd think it all a lie.

"And as to being in a fright,
Allow me to remark
That Ghosts have just as good a right
In every way, to fear the light,
As Men to fear the dark."

"No plea," said I, "can well excuse
Such cowardice in you:
For Ghosts can visit when they choose,
Whereas we Humans ca'n't refuse
To grant the interview."

He said "A flutter of alarm
Is not unnatural, is it?
I really feared you meant some harm:
But, now I see that you are calm,
Let me explain my visit.

"Houses are classed, I beg to state,
According to the number
Of Ghosts that they accommodate:
(The Tenant merely counts as WEIGHT,
With Coals and other lumber).

"This is a 'one-ghost' house, and you
When you arrived last summer,
May have remarked a Spectre who
Was doing all that Ghosts can do
To welcome the new-comer.

"In Villas this is always done -
However cheaply rented:
For, though of course there's less of fun
When there is only room for one,
Ghosts have to be contented.

"That Spectre left you on the Third -
Since then you've not been haunted:
For, as he never sent us word,
'Twas quite by accident we heard
That any one was wanted.

"A Spectre has first choice, by right,
In filling up a vacancy;
Then Phantom, Goblin, Elf, and Sprite -
If all these fail them, they invite
The nicest Ghoul that they can see.

"The Spectres said the place was low,
And that you kept bad wine:
So, as a Phantom had to go,
And I was first, of course, you know,
I couldn't well decline."

"No doubt," said I, "they settled who
Was fittest to be sent
Yet still to choose a brat like you,
To haunt a man of forty-two,
Was no great compliment!"

"I'm not so young, Sir," he replied,
"As you might think. The fact is,
In caverns by the water-side,
And other places that I've tried,
I've had a lot of practice:

"But I have never taken yet
A strict domestic part,
And in my flurry I forget
The Five Good Rules of Etiquette
We have to know by heart."

My sympathies were warming fast
Towards the little fellow:
He was so utterly aghast
At having found a Man at last,
And looked so scared and yellow.

"At least," I said, "I'm glad to find
A Ghost is not a DUMB thing!
But pray sit down: you'll feel inclined
(If, like myself, you have not dined)
To take a snack of something:

"Though, certainly, you don't appear
A thing to offer FOOD to!
And then I shall be glad to hear -
If you will say them loud and clear -
The Rules that you allude to."

"Thanks! You shall hear them by and by.
This IS a piece of luck!"
"What may I offer you?" said I.
"Well, since you ARE so kind, I'll try
A little bit of duck.

"ONE slice! And may I ask you for
Another drop of gravy?"
I sat and looked at him in awe,
For certainly I never saw
A thing so white and wavy.

And still he seemed to grow more white,
More vapoury, and wavier -
Seen in the dim and flickering light,
As he proceeded to recite
His "Maxims of Behaviour."
Veritia Venandi Dec 2020
A part of me which was ether
Escaped into space to look down upon myself...
Draped in shawl and sweaters, it saw me bleeding on crumpled sheets of paper,
Staring vacantly to an invisible horizon, where words became waves and emotions -a deep swirling ocean
It saw me smile... It saw me cry...It saw me being another... It saw me being me...
As I carved letters with ink in the hope of calming a storm inside me that seemed otherworldly...
My ethereal self understood tis the time, the aesthetic moment that appears in the life of every poet,
That harbours the essence of their lives
A moment so fleeting to be captured on camera... A moment so tenderly fragile...
So my vapoury self remembered unto it's memory it's own writing self...
And slowly returned back to me
So, this is how I remember my state... This is what I finally wrote unto paper...
The description of my candid moment!
Just tried to photograph myself writing this!
Thank you dear all for reading this❤
Marshall Gass Jun 2014
Spring
There is synchrony in all things
Nature nurtures
Balances beauty to the beholder
Focus as you follow the footsteps of spring
Its dew, its rain, its meaning
And drops nestle against the joyous tears
Of leaves and lilies, sparkling bright
As the rains recede and flowers burst in bloom
Abundance everywhere
Spend a moment in this enchanting dream
You are a guest to eternity
Replenish yourself

As

Summer brings with it, oven heat
To bake and burn the beauty
Into bronzed ecstasy
As you saunter in the gardens
Shaded by giant trees that shield you
From wilting too
Yet how do these flowers never fade until time
Takes it toll and seeds nestled within petals
Are ripe and ready for the bees and birds,
And the grass stays green for the beast
To carry on in the living and giving

Soon

Autumn

Will take its share of painters colours
And dance and song drum the revelry
Of warm amber nights
And sunkissed fruit and flower
Still standing in the shadow of sun
Awaiting winter
With its icy fingers and crystal voices.
The hunter emerges from the wine clad wonder
Of rolling seasons
To stock and taste the fruit and berry
For winters wanting.  Life works differently.
Moods change to subtle melody
And the wanting of inner warmth
As the air descends into the flute
Of feathery notes
To tingle with winters chill

Then

Winter walks in gently
Unhurried and slow
First the farm yard bristles and burrows in
The fences reach for paddings of snow and icicle
And trees decorate themselves in costumes of white
Wearing narrow scarves of draping crystal
Bejewelled in the dance of snow and ice
And staying outside on the paddocks watching
Smoke spirals from long chimneys
Yellow windows of lights
Casting delicate traces on the courtyard
Of memories
And hot vapoury soups of broth and brine
As winter digs in deep
straddles the countryside
With its chill conversation
The silence stays for awhile

There stirs
A seed clutching its heart deep in its chest
Beneath the snow but sending its tentacles
Up through the warming ground
Soaked in nutritional brew
And reaching for the sun again
As Spring opens the blanket of snow
And steps aside for the bud to bloom again.

Natures music sounds again
Resplendent in its giving.
Author Notes

Vivaldi's music is deeply absorbing. The Four Seasons in particular move in a seamless way, drawing sustenance from the entire composition in a gentle way without changing tone and texture abruptly. The music keeps you engaged right throughout in a timeless way.
This poem tries to re-engineer how seamless the seasons are and how cyclical the entire composition is. Nature has a much qualified Maestro conducting this orchestra!
Life itself takes a similar journey and the seasons have enormous impact on how we perceive it.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Martin Bailes Mar 2017
Eating Cadbury's chocolate handed
to you by sultry Amazons as you
float gently down the river Seine
in Paris while accompanying Frenchmen
in berets gently play their harmonium
thingy as the younger Brigitte Bardot
lets her blond hair tumble gently over
your face as she softly hums in your
ear songs by Smokey Robinson,

& meanwhile Hendrix's long sweet jam
Voodoo Chile blasts from enormous
banks of speakers being towed alongside
by Viking longboats crewed by Republican
politicians & overseen by the ladies of
***** riot now free from the prison cells
of Siberia,

as Tommy Cooper performs magic tricks
& near extinct animals, birds & insects
mate freely among floating clouds of
vapoury spring dew,

while deliciously gorgeous Thai ladyboys
slowly peel grapes for me before setting
off in a fluttering cloud to use their wiles
& charms on Republican conventioneers,
as you relax & smoke ***** & share a
hot-tub with God.

Joy.
Dreams
Tamizh Ponni VP Mar 2020
In the wake of the rain, I glimpsed a magic
That lit up the world with flare and frolic
Rubbing my eyes, I gaped in awe
Across the skies as murky clouds moved
Violet brought in the vivacity
Through tons of tints, smooth and slinky
Indigo glitzed it all up with radiance
While lucid lights dyed the vapoury lenses
Blue’s brilliance shined so bold
Azure and Sapphire; cyan in fold
Green was glossy with lustrous shine
Gleaming and glowing; fair and fine
Yellow’s golden flash, envied the rich
Holding them colours by an invisible stitch
Orange’s beams were soft and slight
Painting the space with a gaudy patch
Thanks to Red and its jazzy hues
The sky blushed like a deep red rose
Trimming the clouds with vivid bows
Their origin and end, nobody knows.

— The End —