Quotes about island, page 7
Perpetuum mobile
...In our waters of sadness
I laid myself on an illusory island of hope.
On the illusory island of hope
I was marooned, without your love.
Your love died haunting
My shadow of dream.
My shadow of dream echoed your laughter.
Your laughter was a falling curtain
Over my stage of feelings at nightfall.
My stage of feelings
Has deprived itself of any awareness light.
The awareness light was hidden
In a contractile shadowy pink sunset
Of our passionate relation.
Our passionate relation
Cracked its internal walls of faith.
The internal walls released the scream
In our waters of sadness.
In our waters of sadness
I lived on a meandering island of thoughts
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poem by Marieta Maglas
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Fire Air Water
Fire air water: the primitive deities in their snakish humor
Blessed you with beauty-
What a horrible solitary beauty they blessed you with;
And cursed the men in touch with you with the lust of flies.
Fire air water: the primitive deities in their punning humor
Pour passion on me to produce poetry:
As though I am fire air water too,
As though I am producing you,
As though your face is not blood, nor flesh, nor lust
But a nightly deodar island;
A desolate distant bluish island;
Nevertheless you are being used by the vulgar hands
And being dissolved across the earth of soil;
And I am being dissolved amid the shadow of stars over the distant island.
Fire air water: the primitive deities in their kaleidoscopic humor
Keep on spreading the seed of beauty,
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poem by Jibanananda Das
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Queen Sheba-Ra
To the Snake Island,
To the Fish Island,
To the Love Island,
To the Peace Island,
To where our muses do meet;
Like a message from Queen Sheba-Ra.
Many want to see my face but,
I am faceless;
Many want to know my name but,
I am nameless;
Many want to see my home but,
I am homeless;
Many want to hear my voice but,
I am voiceless;
Many want to see my hair but,
I am hairless;
You can change your life by making the right choices.
A message from Queen Sheba-Ra,
The Queen from Nubia in Ethiopia;
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poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Dinner for Two
The island path had been overgrown
As they walked up from the pier,
A rickety wooden landing stage
With a sunken boat, quite near,
But the vines and trellises overhung
On the pathway to the house:
‘Your friend's not much of a gardener, '
Said Jack, to his new-wed spouse.
But Caitlin shrugged, and she smiled at him,
‘Once there, you'll find he's a dear,
He bought the island a year ago,
There's plenty to do out here! '
But Michael Morris was on the porch
As they staggered up on the hour,
His eyes had sparkled on greeting them,
But the edge of his mouth was sour.
She greeted him with a downcast eye,
Tried not to look in his face,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Orange Island of Memories Fading
Before my eyes lay concealed the Orange Island of memories fading,
I feel as though I am but a shadow of the shade, wading throughout
The evergreen glades of youthful reminiscence. The Elixir alongside
The Stone rests upon my pillow, the history of science, the revelation
That the scrutiny of our age is but a child born of ancient curiosity.
Through a forest of symbols the child is bound upon his quest,
Resting only when he knows that the time is right to fall and accept
The calling of slumber beyond the thundering of his senses unfiltered.
Reaching out to touch the source divine, is he fated as Icarus?
Step into the moulting cage; know that the Age is upon us.
We are to fly as we are to spread our wings un-sighing.
Open the container that confronts you promising Mystery.
A Bird Wing awaits of a thousand shades each bluer than the deepest sky.
Unheard Sirens sing, lulling to a state of numbed anxiety those that
Allow their hearts to listen in upon such melodies sweet in seduction.
A Marijuana Leaf lay in wait for the transportation you seek,
Back to a time, back to a place when everything seemed so undefined
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poem by David Lacey
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A Meditation On Rhode-Island Coal
I sat beside the glowing grate, fresh heaped
With Newport coal, and as the flame grew bright
--The many-coloured flame--and played and leaped,
I thought of rainbows and the northern light,
Moore's Lalla Rookh, the Treasury Report,
And other brilliant matters of the sort.
And last I thought of that fair isle which sent
The mineral fuel; on a summer day
I saw it once, with heat and travel spent,
And scratched by dwarf-oaks in the hollow way;
Now dragged through sand, now jolted over stone--
A rugged road through rugged Tiverton.
And hotter grew the air, and hollower grew
The deep-worn path, and horror-struck, I thought,
Where will this dreary passage lead me to?
This long dull road, so narrow, deep, and hot?
I looked to see it dive in earth outright;
I looked--but saw a far more welcome sight.
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poem by William Cullen Bryant
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The Exiles. 1660
The goodman sat beside his door
One sultry afternoon,
With his young wife singing at his side
An old and goodly tune.
A glimmer of heat was in the air,-
The dark green woods were still;
And the skirts of a heavy thunder-cloud
Hung over the western hill.
Black, thick, and vast arose that cloud
Above the wilderness,
As some dark world from upper air
Were stooping over this.
At times the solemn thunder pealed,
And all was still again,
Save a low murmur in the air
Of coming wind and rain.
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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The Exile’s Secret
YE that have faced the billows and the spray
Of good St. Botolph's island-studded bay,
As from the gliding bark your eye has scanned
The beaconed rocks, the wave-girt hills of sand,
Have ye not marked one elm-o'ershadowed isle,
Round as the dimple chased in beauty's smile,--
A stain of verdure on an azure field,
Set like a jewel in a battered shield?
Fixed in the narrow gorge of Ocean's path,
Peaceful it meets him in his hour of wrath;
When the mailed Titan, scourged by hissing gales,
Writhes in his glistening coat of clashing scales,
The storm-beat island spreads its tranquil green,
Calm as an emerald on an angry queen.
So fair when distant should be fairer near;
A boat shall waft us from the outstretched pier.
The breeze blows fresh; we reach the island's edge,
Our shallop rustling through the yielding sedge.
No welcome greets us on the desert isle;
Those elms, far-shadowing, hide no stately pile
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poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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The Island Of The Scots
I.
The Rhine is running deep and red,
The island lies before-
'Now is there one of all the host
Will dare to venture o'er?
For not alone the river's sweep
Might make a brave man quail:
The foe are on the further side,
Their shot comes fast as hail.
God help us, if the middle isle
We may not hope to win!
Now, is there any of the host
Will dare to venture in?'
II.
'The ford is deep, the banks are steep,
The island-shore lies wide:
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poem by William Edmondstoune Aytoun
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Funeral Dance
In Amerigo, Carnival was as hallowed as Christmas itself, perhaps slightly more
so.
There was a meaning to it. See, Islanders did not put into words, yet which
made it the authentic supreme day in the Kinjian calendar.
Africa was marching down the main street of this little harbor town today.
Africa, in undimmed black vitality, surging up out of centuries of island
displacement, island slavery, island isolation, island ignorance.
Africa, unquenchable in its burning love of life.
Carnival was Africa Day in Amerigo.
song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
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