Quotes about vista, page 8
Pretend
Looking down, it thought.
Past the body it was responsible for,
one leg raised, kicked out,
moving sharply, by slavish reaction.
And all the while the dream continued….
With robotic scanning,
feet waltzed, legs lumbered.
One eye for sense, another losing emotions,
down through an new old system,
shaken into stirring.
Armour plate gauntlets rattled,
bullet for bullet money spinners,
and the sky got lower.
Outside, hell or heaven churned,
depending on vista, or screen name,
water fell in streaming sheets
bucket by bucket.
Again the eyes took hold,
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poem by Jerry Pike
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Winter
To winter is to enter into a spirit
Of illumed triumph of Karthikeya
Portending the end of a season's demonic beat
While waken Devas of curving ozonic vista
Witness by Vishnu's Ekadasi Muran's devilish defeat
On which Vaikuntam throngs open with praises
That people fast to realise a fact
That Andal practised through her verses
With the Lord with devout fervour to unite
Holy abluted in the wintry aurora hours
Soul-strung garlands adorning the Lord bespoken elite
Winter welcomes warm and never freezes
Winter is warm yet freezes astounded
Whilst coupled to Thiruvadirai the night-long moon
Verity of unending space unveiled
When Lord Shiva danced to our fortune
Thence that Winter has been laureled
Of festivities artistically flourishing
Cymbals of Bhajans on streets loaded
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poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Braemar Road
The road that leads to Braemar winds ever in and out.
It wanders here and dawdles there, and trips and turns about
Like a child upon an errand that play has put to rout.
By the road that leads to Braemar, the greybeard poplars stand,
And on the sky's pale tapestry are broidered in a band
With the flashing frosty needle that gleams in winter's hand.
There are haggard apple-orchards on either side the way,
That once flung scented largesse to every summer's day
To mingle with the incense where hot pine-needles lay.
And down the road's long vista the shadows spread like wings
As lightly spun and purple as the shade the evening brings
For circling children's eyelids round with mystic drowsy rings.
The rutty road to Braemar all weather-worn and brown,
Goes tumbling on its journey until it nears the town.
Then with glory of the wattle-bloom its arms are weighted down!
Oh, the long, long road to anywhere seems haply without end,
But who shall call it weary with the love of some good friend
To greet him like the wattle as he turns the final bend!
poem by Nina Murdoch
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Utopia
Island where all becomes clear.
Solid ground beneath your feet.
The only roads are those that offer access.
Bushes bend beneath the weight of proofs.
The Tree of Valid Supposition grows here
with branches disentangled since time immermorial.
The Tree of Understanding, dazzling staight and simple.
sprouts by the spring called Now I Get It.
The thicker the woods, the vaster the vista:
the Valley of Obviously.
If any doubts arise, the wind dispels them instantly.
Echoes stir unsummoned
and eagerly explain all the secrets of the worlds.
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poem by Wislawa Szymborska
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Mist Dismissed
Hope rune reads, deeds renew
true vision reaching through
mist myths, tunes time and place
outside imposed curfew,
restraints which block clear view,
discovers overview,
serenity and space.
Vast vista orange, blue
surpasses déjà vu,
deeds jaded joy erase.
Through intuition's clue
few challenge, none conspue,
line draw, find answers to
empower state of grace.
'Unto oneself stay true! '
flows naturally, on cue,
when 'Brave New World' we face.
Temptations one must rue,
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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A Dream of the Orient
With a resplendent Eastern bride,
Like a houri at my side,
And music round us swelling,
’Mid odours of so rare a steam
That like a breath of love they seem,
Dwell I through a radiant dream
In an orient dwelling.
Near a fair fountain flashing high
In the pleasure court we lie,
Each on a gorgeous pillow;
The columned water mounting breaks
In outward curves and falling flakes,
Till the whole a picture makes
Of a crystal willow.
Wide round us galleried walls extend,
Pierced with arcs and aisles that bend
On wreathen pillars slender;
While hung in every vista—lo!
Such clouds of blazoned banners glow
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poem by Charles Harpur
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On driving westward toward Versailles
I
wet cat impaled on telegraph poles
serrated ashbrown fur
tinged with flinting silver
a mirror blue
cut by guitar strings on a shining plate
bathed in molten evening shine
jet streaks through pylon barrage
windshield wipers' hemicircular swipe
dry cat's crusty baguette fur
ashen edges of rapidfire cirrus
pylons stalk the sky
and catch the wipers in the eye
II
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poem by T. Wignesan
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To
Not long ago, the writer of these lines,
In the mad pride of intellectuality,
Maintained "the power of words"- denied that ever
A thought arose within the human brain
Beyond the utterance of the human tongue:
And now, as if in mockery of that boast,
Two words- two foreign soft dissyllables-
Italian tones, made only to be murmured
By angels dreaming in the moonlit "dew
That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill,"
Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart,
Unthought-like thoughts that are the souls of thought,
Richer, far wilder, far diviner visions
Than even seraph harper, Israfel,
(Who has "the sweetest voice of all God's creatures,")
Could hope to utter. And I! my spells are broken.
The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand.
With thy dear name as text, though bidden by thee,
I cannot write- I cannot speak or think-
Alas, I cannot feel; for 'tis not feeling,
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poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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Cantares
Todo pasa y todo queda,
pero lo nuestro es pasar,
pasar haciendo caminos,
caminos sobre el mar.
Nunca persequí la gloria,
ni dejar en la memoria
de los hombres mi canción;
yo amo los mundos sutiles,
ingrávidos y gentiles,
como pompas de jabón.
Me gusta verlos pintarse
de sol y grana, volar
bajo el cielo azul, temblar
súbitamente y quebrarse…
Nunca perseguí la gloria.
Caminante, son tus huellas
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poem by Antonio Machado
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Deathless Principle! Arise
Deathless principle! arise;
Soar, thou native of the skies;
Pearl of price, by Jesus bought,
To His glorious likeness wrought,
Go, to shine before His throne;
Deck His mediatorial crown;
Go, His triumphs to adorn;
Made for God, to God return.
Lo! He beckons from on high,
Fearless to His presence fly;
Thine the merit of His blood,
Thine the righteousness of God.
Angels joyful to attend,
Hovering round thy pillow bend;
Wait to catch the signal given,
And escort thee quick to heaven.
Shudder not to pass the stream;
Venture all thy care on Him;-
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poem by Augustus Montague Toplady
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