Quotes about surge, page 13
The Voice Of A Quill, Now Silent
`
i am but the mottled bark
of a tree once firmly rooted,
peeled from its stately trunk
and within its hollow carapace
echoes an inert drumbeat
that keeps the cadence for
a march of ornate trappings
soon and sooner still, one day
this crepuscular orphelin song
resonant in its languid longing
shall surge with the rising tide
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poem by Frederick Kesner
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Painting Words
IMAGES SPRING FROM NOWHERE,
BUT BEAR A KNOWN DESIGN.
NO BRUSH OR PAINT IS MY WARE
THOUGH PAINTINGS DO SEEM MINE.
MY CANVAS BREATHES ALIVE
AS WORD AND IMAGE MERGE.
FROM NOTHINGNESS I STRIVE
TO CAPTURE EACH NEW SURGE.
PEN SWATHES, LIKE BRUSH STROKES,
FASHION WORDS, ONE-BY-ONE,
UNTIL MIND’S EYE EVOKES
IMAGES CLEAR AS THE SUN.
ALL WHO VIEW THESE WORKS
WILL FIND IT’S NOT ABSURD
TO FEEL THE POWER THAT LURKS
BEHIND EACH PAINTED WORD.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Grounding
In the surge of dark
there was a lunar smile in my glass
I will not abandon the moons
in your eyes. A white sow was
going to deliver the babies.
It was departure time
and the profile was ready to collapse.
Mars was throwing the loaves
to human beings and aliens were
going to land on earth.
Sing my baby, sing. Opening the
knots of life, returning to barn
in wild tempest. I know I have
to unearth the buried truth and
talk to ghosts of lies.
poem by Satish Verma
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Of Hue And Cigarette Dreams
Take flight upon the cruise
Of the hundred wishful feathers
As it pretends to be claws
That grasp at the forsaken loom
Crawling beneath every surge
That expands to a thousand
Heights, in come piercing
The debris of your nightmare
Take shelter in its nest
Take caution in its rest
Lick the metal-tasting scars
And the juiciest wounds
As you stand firmly, grounded
On a concrete of bones
And littered, tethered blows
Of hue and cigarette dreams
poem by Janine Alyssa Navarro
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Night
My voice, to which love lends a tenderness and yearing,
Disturbs night's dreamy calm ... Pale at my bedside burning,
A taper wastes away ... From out my heart there surge
Stift verses, streams of love, that hum and sing and merge.
And, full of you, rush on, with passion overflowing.
I seem to see your eyes that, in the darkness glowing,
Meet mine ... I see your smile ... You speak to me alone:
My friend, my dearest friend ... I'm your's ... your own.
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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A Haunting Melody
It's not lyrics…but
whispers
That lie ‘neath the melody
Ghostly murmurs that
haunt
the refrain
Sursurrant sounds
That surge
And then melt
Whispers not heard but
more chillingly
…"Felt"…
As tingles and ripples
Of black fingernail
Making
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poem by David Whalen
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Benediction
I stirred, moaning turned on my side, feeling a bit wane
Someone knocked… oh; it was rain at my windowpane.
My eyes drifted languorously to clock in the night light.
Still haunted by the demons, that tormented me all night.
Soon rain withdrew, clouds departed, watched blue sky
Getting into my jogging gear, I felt a surge of energy.
Went to banks of Yamuna, to watch it sparkle at Sun rise
Did droplets drip from Neem tree as benediction to exorcise….
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Summit And Gravity
There's a motionless tree
And another one coming forward
A river of trees
Hits my chest
The green surge
Is good fortune
You are dressed in red
You are
The seal of the scorched year
The carnal firebrand
The star fruit
In you like sun
The hour rests
Above an abyss of clarities
The height is clouded by birds
Their beaks construct the night
Their wings carry the day
Planted in the crest of light
Between firmness and vertigo
You are
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poem by Octavio Paz
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A new found inspiration.
Every day I make my way
Through your lane
To see you, who are so lean,
So smart, so swift,
With drumstick frame.
Your heedlessness
Is the source of attraction.
In simple night dress,
When you move about
In your fore yard,
You refuse to cross my eyes.
One should take more efforts
To ignore a man
Than to notice him.
Hitherto, I succeeded
To let you know my surge
But you never let me know
That you know of it.
Pretence is stimulation.
25.11.2001, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Small Talk
Surge in hidden chastity
enters the torch but the enemy
was within.
Brown clouds over the black carbon,
glaciers were melting;
the assault rifle stands alone in snow.
This was not ignorance,
a purposeful denial of white truce
in the jungle of lizards.
I would go where nobody wants
to tread in night. The hanging years
of marriage gone wrong.
O my God, tiger at the door,
demanding a new babe every moon.
The flesh will extract its own blood.
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poem by Satish Verma
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