Quotes about heady, page 11
Come Tend My Garden
Come to my garden Teacher.
The birds of my heart have long since flown,
And the silence tween the mottled boughs has leaden grown.
In the sunrise be the chorus of mornings' glory,
And in the noon tell of Dionysus' story.
In the night be the whistling gale,
Whisper in my ear of some furtive dale.
Come to my garden Teacher.
Scarce the lavender and the rosemary on the breeze,
Rarer now gripped in winter's freeze.
Scented memories, they warm me sometimes in the eve,
Jasmine and honey in foreign winds on exotic leave.
Heady the breath and quick its draw,
Drinking it in, its addiction no flaw.
Come to my garden Teacher.
Overgrown and unknown, bring your fingers there
And burrow neath the weeds among Angels' Hair.
White is the colour of the petals in my soul unfurled;
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poem by Keith Moynihan O' Brien
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Velvet Dark
I heard a song last night
Alone in my car, in the velvet dark
It epitomised my feelings, my reelings
And I began to understand
'I never lost you, you were never mine'
Those words rang true, stung my heart
Driving at one mile per hour
In the velvet dark
I smiled as the lonely tear fell
A wry, upside-down frown
And the music began to painfully soothe
In the velvet dark
You were never, ever mine
To touch, to feel, just a ghost
Of a promise, whom I would never see
In the velvet dark
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poem by Michelle Tiddy
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Can Colour claim to read between the Lines? - 0732 - Current Version
Can colour claim to read between the lines
And paint fey portrait of each secret smile?
Nuances noting, can it reconcile
Chance extrapolations, sundry signs
Of the mind's ambitions, the designs
Link-locked within a bandwidth waves's confines,
Open doors, which, hidden seem to guide
Unexpected steps to answers bona fide.
Response and recognition each defines
Coded motives which tastes rainbow's shines
Laser beams of truth which will abide:
An insight into what occurs inside.
If from truth's spectrum something's infra re[a]d,
Much ultra may be drawn for years ahead.
The years ahead flagged by those tagged before
Offer opportunities to grow
Responding to Fate's multi-coloured flow,
Effects' and causes' waft weft spinning sure
Awarding here, withdrawing there, from core
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Heaven's Sweets
My hands stretch
one over the other
climbing I
to higher things.
But since my very destination
means things behind
and below
recede;
are these heady clouds
enlightening
or merely isolating,
clouding my judgment
so to speak
as I,
on my journey
sever myself
from common things?
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Mammary Tunes
Under heavy haze I cast an ear…
Was that a distant hymn?
To view, to peer ahead,
I span thro’ sharpened eyes,
Connecting brain. Surprise
Awards emotion to the show –
A fine refrain.
I think I know the source:
Without recourse my keen and
Eager shoes propel my whole.
And she regales me as I close –
The drifting notes propose I place
An ear to verge upon the emanation.
Choice of left or right
Invites and overwhelms;
A brief respite, and then
I poise an aural organ,
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Invitation to the Voyage
Imagine, ma petite,
Dear sister mine, how sweet
Were we to go and take our pleasure
Leisurely, you and I—
To lie, to love, to die
Off in that land made to your measure!
A land whose suns' moist rays,
Through the skies' misty haze,
Hold quite the same dark charms for me
As do your scheming eyes
When they, in their like wise,
Shine through your tears, perfidiously.
There all is order, naught amiss:
Comfort and beauty, calm and bliss.
Treasure galore—ornate,
Time-glossed—would decorate
Our chamber, where the rarest blooms
Would blend their lavish scent,
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poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Californian Poppy
My mother wore Woolworth's perfume
Californian Poppy sweet and heavy
Soir de Paris heady in the afternoons
Her evening spent with my baby brother
in the nursing chair
its low legs concealing the runt puppy
our fingers itched for
Ce soir mon frere ne mange pas
Born after a fall on the beach
after the Irish Ginger Women put her fist
right through our front door glass
he wasn't sure about life
Delivered into my drawer in summer
he had a winter skin For years
when the week-long vest was changed
he wore his clean one on top
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poem by Charlotte Peters Rock
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Political: Freedom Before Responsibility
I cry for Africa,
Afrique du Sud where
we won freedom before
accepting
accountability.
We abuse liberty,
infringe rights, make
the line between “yours”
and “mine” opaque and
ignore the notion of
reciprocal duty; we don’t
know what it means to do
unto others as we would have
them do unto us, except where
we give in token what we
expect to receive in kind
Europe plundered Africa under
God, left Christianity chained
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poem by Margaret Alice
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August Moonrise
The sun was gone, and the moon was coming
Over the blue Connecticut hills;
The west was rosy, the east was flushed,
And over my head the swallows rushed
This way and that, with changeful wills.
I heard them twitter and watched them dart
Now together and now apart
Like dark petals blown from a tree;
The maples stamped against the west
Were black and stately and full of rest,
And the hazy orange moon grew up
And slowly changed to yellow gold
While the hills were darkened, fold on fold
To a deeper blue than a flower could hold.
Down the hill I went, and then
I forgot the ways of men,
For night-scents, heady, and damp and cool
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poem by Sara Teasdale
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Babies, Moms, Memories and Aromas
Babies, Moms, memories and Aromas
Young baby, helpless and wee
Head reposes on mom’s shoulder
Nestled in soft arms comfortably
Smells the hair of the one who holds her
Mom’s fresh shampoo scent, becomes imprinted deep
A comforting, soothing essence… in
The child’s vast, and unfilled memory keep
Takes up permanent residence
Small, chubby fingers twirling ringlets of hair
While the singular scent of her mother…is
Being tucked away, with loving care
Memories and scents stacked atop one another
Sweet baby powder is the smell on the palm
Of the hand That gently pats the child’s back
The odor re-enforcing a reassuring calm… and
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poem by David Whalen
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