Today's - Poem Of The Day

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

TIME:

Be the sands of time flow within thy mind,
Every second of the day drifts away,
More elusive than the last I do find,
It's the nights I cry, I wish they would stay.

For it is in the night, that time does cease,
Moments before awakening, we're there,
Trapped between two worlds, one soon to unleash,
Leaving one behind, the one kind and fair.

It fascinates me so, how time doth grow,
Like a tree in the spring, when evergreen,
Can be seen as a river, endless flow,
Science can't tell you, that it can be seen.

One thing is certain, it has its own law,
I just know one thing, I wish I had more.

Copyright © White Wolf | Year Posted 2017
-----------------------------------------------------

Great poem by my friend....--Tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

the nervous violinist

soon the performance starts.
After so many years
stage fright still takes its toll.
I'm nervous. Listen:
People talk, subdued,
chairs moved gratingly,
someone coughs raucously.
Humid air and bad smells
already permeate the hall.
Will they distract me,
flaw my performance?
Have i practiced enough?
I look at my delicate hands.
Will they obey my mind's commands?
I think of you, sitting
placidly, expectantly, assured
on a front seat and i'll know,
i'll hardly dare look at you.
The stiff tuxedo chokes me to death,
but i must control myself.
I must be calm.

I move out, center stage,
take up my violin.
Then as always i forget
i'm in an imperfect world,
for what i play is sheer delight
pure masterpiece of harmony.
All else has no relevance
all evaporate into oblivion.
I am now in ecstasy, i drown
in the rhythm of perfection.

(fiction)

copyright © victor buhagiar | year posted 2017

exceptional poet and friend.
This is great free verse but i think he writes even betttttttttttttttter in rhyme.. -tyr

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Night is Darkening Around Me
---------------by Emily Bronte

The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow ;
But a tyrant spell has bound me,
And I cannot, cannot go.


The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow ;
The storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.


Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below ;
But nothing drear can move me :
I will not, cannot go.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

How happy is the little Stone
--------- by Emily Dickinson
How happy is the little Stone
That rambles in the Road alone,
And doesn't care about Careers
And Exigencies never fears --
Whose Coat of elemental Brown
A passing Universe put on,
And independent as the Sun
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute Decree
In casual simplicity --


*********************************

I like to see it lap the Miles --
----- by Emily Dickinson
I like to see it lap the Miles --
And lick the Valleys up --
And stop to feed itself at Tanks --
And then -- prodigious step

Around a Pile of Mountains --
And supercilious peer
In Shanties -- by the sides of Roads --
And then a Quarry pare

To fit its Ribs
And crawl between
Complaining all the while
In horrid -- hooting stanza --
Then chase itself down Hill --

And neigh like Boanerges --
Then -- punctual as a Star
Stop -- docile and omnipotent
At its own stable door --

**************************

Presented two poems today just because this is the greatest female poet that ever put pen and ink to paper!-TYR

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Love, the Destroyer
-by Anne Reeve Aldrich

Love is a Fire;
Nor Shame, nor Pride can well withstand Desire.
"For what are they," we cry, "that they should dare
To keep, O Love, the haughty look they wear?
Nay, burn the victims, O thou sacred Fire,
That with their death thou mayst but flame the higher.
Let them feel once the fierceness of thy breath,
And make thee still more beauteous with their death."

Love is a Fire;
But ah, how short-lived is the flame Desire!
Love, having burnt whatever once we cherished,
And blackened all things else, itself hath perished.
And now alone in gathering night we stand,
Ashes and ruin stretch on either hand.
Yet while we mourn, our sad hearts whisper low:
"We served the mightiest God that man can know."

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Venus of the Louvre
BY EMMA LAZARUS

Down the long hall she glistens like a star,
The foam-born mother of Love, transfixed to stone,
Yet none the less immortal, breathing on.
Time's brutal hand hath maimed but could not mar.
When first the enthralled enchantress from afar
Dazzled mine eyes, I saw not her alone,
Serenely poised on her world-worshipped throne,
As when she guided once her dove-drawn car,—
But at her feet a pale, death-stricken Jew,
Her life adorer, sobbed farewell to love.
Here Heine wept! Here still he weeps anew,
Nor ever shall his shadow lift or move,
While mourns one ardent heart, one poet-brain,
For vanished Hellas and Hebraic pain.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

The Sea of Death
--- BY THOMAS HOOD
A FRAGMENT

—Methought I saw
Life swiftly treading over endless space;
And, at her foot-print, but a bygone pace,
The ocean-past, which, with increasing wave,
Swallow’d her steps like a pursuing grave.
Sad were my thoughts that anchor’d silently
On the dead waters of that passionless sea,
Unstirr’d by any touch of living breath:
Silence hung over it, and drowsy Death,
Like a gorged sea-bird, slept with folded wings
On crowded carcases—sad passive things
That wore the thin grey surface, like a veil
Over the calmness of their features pale.

And there were spring-faced cherubs that did sleep
Like water-lilies on that motionless deep,
How beautiful! with bright unruffled hair
On sleek unfretted brows, and eyes that were
Buried in marble tombs, a pale eclipse!
And smile-bedimpled cheeks, and pleasant lips,
Meekly apart, as if the soul intense
Spake out in dreams of its own innocence:
And so they lay in loveliness, and kept
The birth-night of their peace, that Life e’en wept
With very envy of their happy fronts;
For there were neighbour brows scarr’d by the brunts
Of strife and sorrowing—where Care had set
His crooked autograph, and marr’d the jet
Of glossy locks with hollow eyes forlorn,
And lips that curl’d in bitterness and scorn—
Wretched,—as they had breathed of this world’s pain,
And so bequeath’d it to the world again
Through the beholder’s heart in heavy sighs.

So lay they garmented in torpid light,
Under the pall of a transparent night,
Like solemn apparitions lull’d sublime
To everlasting rest,—and with them Time
Slept, as he sleeps upon the silent face
Of a dark dial in a sunless place.

Source: Poets of the English Language (Viking Press, 1950)

************************

Silence
-- BY THOMAS HOOD
There is a silence where hath been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,
In the cold grave—under the deep deep sea,
Or in the wide desert where no life is found,
Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound;
No voice is hush’d—no life treads silently,
But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free,
That never spoke, over the idle ground:
But in green ruins, in the desolate walls
Of antique palaces, where Man hath been,
Though the dun fox, or wild hyena, calls,
And owls, that flit continually between,
Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan,
There the true Silence is, self-conscious and alone.



Source: Poets of the English Language
(Viking Press, 1950)

**************************

I Remember, I Remember
-- BY THOMAS HOOD
I remember, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white,
The vi'lets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,—
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heav'n
Than when I was a boy.


Source: Poets of the English Language (Viking Press, 1950)