Quotes about hover, page 12
Where does my mother live?
My mother breathed her last in a train.
Where does she hover after the death?
The carriage where she died,
The place where the carriage stood.
The house where her body was brought to.
The house where she was laid to rest,
The ground where she was cremated,
The house she was married to,
The house she was born in.
Or the home of her offspring
Where she is worshipped?
Or has she transmigrated?
I think she lives where she is remembered.
16.02.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Birthright
Winds blow
off the delta,
stir to breathy song
flashing trees.
In soft sunlight
jeweled birds
hover low,
sip red nectar
from the slim cylinder
by my empty chair.
Beneath the breeze
leaves along the fence-line are still,
and on the glowing ground
potted geraniums wait
in blazing stasis.
I know sea-borne storms
soon will come,
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poem by Steven Federle
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Creative Work
The shadow of uncreated creatures
Flickers in sleep,
Like palm fronds
On an enamel wall.
Violet hands
On the enamel wall
Drowsily sketch sounds
In the ringing-resonant silence.
And transparent kiosks,
In the ringing-resonant silence,
Grow like spangles
In the azure moonlight.
A naked moon rises
In the azure moonlight...
Sounds hover drowsily,
Sounds caress me.
[...] Read more
poem by Valery Yaklovich Bryusov
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This Life Which Seems So Fair
This Life, which seems so fair,
Is like a bubble blown up in the air
By sporting children's breath,
Who chase it everywhere
And strive who can most motion it bequeath.
And though it sometimes seem of its own might
Like to an eye of gold to be fixed there,
And firm to hover in that empty height,
That only is because it is so light.
But in that pomp it doth not long appear;
For when 'tis most admired, in a thought,
Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought.
poem by William Henry Drummond
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Little Bird Of Love And Desire
little bird of love and desire
do not perch upon a twig so far from me
fly a little bit closer
my heart is full of love and desire too
come closer and hover on the soft spot of my chest
there is a nest there
where you can rest
where you can soundly sleep
come little bird live with me
sing me the songs of love for i am weary
sing, sing, sing little bird and live with me
for i am weak and weary
when my eyes close little bird
come and heed this lover's last bid
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Drawing
IN drawing my face
you rely on the lines
given by my words
in poetic motion &
on the night when
you are alone you
recall a face of
someone you love
you utter my name
and then i hover
like a dream
what am i like?
am i just a kiss that
gives the drafts of
the light wind
on such a dark night
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Invitation
LIVE with me still, and all the measures
Played to by the spheres I'll teach thee;
Let's but thus daily, all the pleasures
The moon beholds, her man shall reach thee.
Dwell in mine arms, aloft we'll hover,
And see fields of armies fighting:
Oh, part not from me! I'll discover
There all but [?] books of fancy's writing.
Be but my darling, age to free thee
From her curse, shall fall a-dying;
Call me thy empress, Time to see thee
Shall forget his art of flying.
poem by Thomas Dekker
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Sleeping at last
Sleeping at last, the trouble and tumult over,
Sleeping at last, the struggle and horror past,
Cold and white, out of sight of friend and of lover,
Sleeping at last.
No more a tired heart downcast or overcast,
No more pangs that wring or shifting fears that hover,
Sleeping at last in a dreamless sleep locked fast.
Fast asleep. Singing birds in their leafy cover
Cannot wake her, nor shake her the gusty blast.
Under the purple thyme and the purple clover
Sleeping at last.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Remember Me
IN drawing my face
you rely on the lines
given by my words
in poetic motion &
on the night when
you are alone you
recall a face of
someone you love
you utter my name
and then i hover
like a dream
what am i like?
am i just a kiss that
gives the drafts of
the light careless wind?
on such a dark night
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lament For A Cop
Helicopters hover, searching
for the one who shot
the man who served,
who held a thin shield
between us and the chaos
of violent minds, reckless desires
born of poverty,
ignorance,
greed.
He coached our kids
showed them how
to hit three-pointers,
be safe,
live
without fear.
Fearlessly, he pursued the robbers,
slammed them to a firm
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poem by Steven Federle
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