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La chanson de l'air

A l'Air, le dieu puissant qui soulève les ondes
Et fouette les hivers,

A l'Air, le dieu léger qui rend les fleurs fécondes
Et sonores les vers,

Salut ! C'est le grand dieu dont la robe flottante
Fait le ciel animé ;

Et c'est le dieu furtif qui murmure à l'amante :
'Voici le bien-aimé.'

C'est lui qui fait courir le long des oriflammes
Les frissons belliqueux,

Et qui fait voltiger sur le cou blanc des femmes
Le ruban des cheveux.

C'est par lui que les eaux vont par lourdes nuées
Rafraîchir les moissons,

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poem by Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme
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The Marionettes Of Distant Masters

A pianist dreams that he's hired by a wrecking company to
ruin a piano with his fingers . . .
On the day of the piano wrecking concert, as he's
dressing, he notices a butterfly annoying a flower in his window
box. He wonders if the police should be called. Then he thinks
maybe the butterfly is just a marionette being manipulated by
its master from the window above.
Suddenly everything is beautiful. He begins to cry.

Then another butterfly begins to annoy the first butterfly.
He again wonders if he shouldn't call the police.
But, perhaps they are marionette-butterflies? He thinks
they are, belonging to rival masters seeing whose butterfly can
annoy the other's the most.

And this is happening in his window box. The Cosmic
Plan: Distant Masters manipulating minor Masters who, in turn,
are manipulating tiny butterfly-Masters who, in turn, are
manipulating him . . . A universe webbed with strings!
Suddenly it is all so beautiful; the light is strange . . .

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poem by Russell Edson
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Enough

what are you but a pebble in a shoe?
what are you but hair on a plate?
what are you but coughs during a piano concert?
what are you but spilled wine on a wedding dress?
what are you but that same hair stuck in throat?
the subsequent gagging…
you have been the bane of my existence for the past decade or so.

but now is the time, boy
to detach lips from nipples
to swear off milk
muting the unruly roar of passions askew
coming to understand the meaning of the word
no.

no more blushes in your bowings
no more kicking the cans
doing because, doing because.

but now is the time, brat

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poem by Chris Jelens
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Gaze

The eyes fixed at the night sky over yonder
Heart flutters the glimmer fonder
Moon smiles in full bloom
But the heart's a locked empty room
My eyes heel me tonight
I no longer strive to fight
Seasons of loneliness the craters of my heart
The craters of the moon heal me in concert
You beauty captures me Diana…..or are you Selene tonight
Only shine on me your healing light
Do you see me calling you
Or are your craters hurting you
Have you seen the worst of humanity in your nightly gazes
Or are you a giant in heart and soul that nothing fazes
Look down on me the dwarf beneath you
Or are there too many souls waiting for you in queue
This is my last call its time for the sheets
Look at me once so that I can rest my feet
A twinkle on your face you saw me from far
Did you hear me or did someone else put a request for me in your jar

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poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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Noontide Retreat of Summer As a Haunt for Meditation

Shook sudden from the bosom of the sky,
A thousand shapes, or glide athwart the dusk,
Or stalk majestic on. Deep-roused, I feel
A sacred terror, a severe delight,
Creep through my mortal frame; and thus, methinks,
A voice, than human more, th' abstracted ear
Of fancy strikes: - 'Be not of us afraid,
Poor kindred man! thy fellow-creatures, we
From the same Parent-power our beings drew,
The same our Lord, and laws, and great pursuit.
Once, some of us, like thee, through stormy life
Toil'd, tempest-beaten, ere we could attain
This holy calm, this harmony of mind,
Where purity and peace immingle charms.
Then fear not us; but with responsive song,
Amid these dim recesses, undisturb'd
By noisy folly and discordant vice,
Of nature sing with us, and nature's God.
Here frequent, at the visionary hour,
When musing midnight reigns, or silent noon,

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poem by James Thomson
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Christmas Carol

FAIR Gratitude! in strain sublime,
Swell high to heav'n thy tuneful zeal;
And, hailing this auspicious time,
Kneel, Adoration! kneel!

CHORUS.
For lo! the day, th' immortal day,
When Mercy's full, benignant ray,
Chas'd ev'ry gathering cloud away,
And pour'd the noon of light!
Rapture! be kindling, mounting, glowing.
While from thine eye the tear is flowing,
Pure, warm, and bright!

'Twas on this day, oh, love divine!
The orient star's effulgence rose;
Then wak'd the moon, whose eye benign,
Shall never, never close!

CHORUS.

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poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Divine Bird

i would skp the best musical concert
to listen one more time to this morning bird
it makes me regret for not having been
a bird watcher and getting to know the name
of every bird and how every bird makes sure
they shine their best in voice rather than feathers
for feathers are just for a show of form but the
voice how well they have cultivated themselves
with the bountiful freedoms strewn below their wings

it was only two mornings ago, i first heard him
sing in among the many trees lining the boulevard
outside my condominium, the Crescent Court
the enchanting haunting notes of his song shocked
me into wondering whether it was really a bird that
sang those pristine notes, notes that seemed to have
streamed out of the sacred sanctum of God, so many
diverse notes, so well handled, they sounded
like a song written by the Divine for one special bird
one most holy entree to the dawn of a new day

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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Australian Stockman

The sun peers o'er you wooded ridge and thro' the forest dense,
Its golden edge o'er the mountain ledge looks down on the stockyard fence,
Looks down, looks down, looks down on the stockyard fence;
And dark creeks rush thro' the tangled brush, when their shuddering shadows throng
Until they chime in the rude rough rhyme of the wild goburra's song.

Till they chime, ha! ha! till they chime, ha! ha! in the wild goburra's song;
Till they chime, ha! ha! till they chime, ha! ha! in the wild goburra's song.
The night owl to her home hath fled, to shun the glorious pomp
Of golden day she speeds away to her nest in the tea-tree swamp;
Away, away to her nest in the tea-tree swamp.

The dingo looks with a timid stare as he stealthily prowls along,
And his pattering feet in concert beat with the wild goburra's song.
Oh! let them boast their city's wealth, who toil in a dusty town;
Give me the beam on the mountain stream, and the range's dark-faced frown
The stream, the stream, and the range's dark-faced frown.
When our steed shall pass o'er the quiv'ring grass, and the crack of the sounding thong
Shall bid the startled echoes join the wild goburra's song.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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New Highway

To the distant swamps,
Boors are driven,
Like stray dogs,
By the lathies and gun.

The shrieking mother
With her wingless child,
Who panted leaning on her shoulder:
Still an ember in the mind.

Grand mango tree dear,
An umbrella of the churls
In sweltering summer,
And a cradle of swinging boys,
Seen in silence pleading,
But sense free axe not the tree spared.
In the hearth and heart it burning,
Fire- wood turned.

Under the highway, buried the fields,

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poem by Fabiyas M V
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An inciting concert (or so was thought at the time)

I drive my yellow Bmw
with six cylinders roaring powerful
beneath a group of students
five pressed into the back
and three of us in the front

to listen to Koos Kombuis,
Johannes Kerkorrel, Bernoldus Niemand
and the Gereformeerde Blues Band
at the voëlvry tour.

The Afrikaans rock and roll concert
is banned at Stellenbosch
by the university
(probably by order of the government) ,

but another venue is found
where thousands of students turn up
at the Drie Gewels hotel
and it goes really jolly

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poem by Gert Strydom
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