Tag Archives: Lyric Poem

“What Was Her Blondness Like” by Juhász Gyula [w/ Audio]

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What was her blondness like? I can't recall,
 But I do know the blondness of the fields,
 When the wheat fields' grain ripen in the Fall,
 And in this blondness her presence I feel.

What were her blue eyes like, I can't recall,
 But I do know the blueness of the sky,
 September morn, or later in the Fall,
 And then again I do feel her nearby.

What was her silky voice like? Can't remember,
 But in springtime, when fields begin to sigh,
 I feel that Anna's voice is calling, tender,
 From a past Spring that's as far as the sky.

Translation by Frank Veszely in: Hungarian Poetry: One Thousand Years. 2023. Manitoba, CA: Friesen Press.

“Water” by Ralph Waldo Emerson [w/ Audio]

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The water understands
 Civilization well;
 It wets my foot, but prettily,
 It chills my life, but wittily,
 It is not disconcerted,
 It is not broken-hearted:
 Well used, it decketh joy,
 Adorneth, doubleth joy:
 Ill used, it will destroy,
 In perfect time and measure
 With a face of golden pleasure
 Elegantly destroy.

“October” by Robert Frost [w/ Audio]

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O hushed October morning mild,
 Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
 Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
 Should waste them all.
 The crows above the forest call;
 Tomorrow they may form and go.
 O hushed October morning mild,
 Begin the hours of this day slow.
 Make the day seem to us less brief.
 Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
 Beguile us in the way you know.
 Release one leaf at break of day;
 At noon release another leaf;
 One from our trees, one far away.
 Retard the sun with gentle mist;
 Enchant the land with amethyst.
 Slow, slow!
 For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
 Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
 Whose clustered fruit must else be lost --
 For the grapes' sake along the wall.

“Worldly Place” by Matthew Arnold [w/ Audio]

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Even in a palace, life may be led well!
 So spake the imperial sage, purest of men,
 Marcus Aurelius. But the stifling den
 Of common life, where, crowded up pell-mell,

Our freedom for a little bread we sell,
 And drudge under some foolish master's 
   ken
 Who rates us if we peer outside our pen --
 Match'd with a palace, is not this a hell?

Even in a palace! On his truth sincere,
 Who spoke these words, no shadow ever
   came;
 And when my ill-school'd spirit is aflame

Some nobler, ampler stage of life to win,
 I'll stop, and say: "There were no succour
   here!
 The aids to noble life are all within."

Crocodile Wu Wei [Lyric Poem]

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Sunning on the shore,
   As in days of yore
 When the ancient beast
   Stood its ground to feast,
 Waiting for one to crawl
   Near its gaping maw...
 Then, SNAP!
   CRUNCH! - Crunch - crunch...

“Ultima Thule: Dedication to G. W. G.” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [w/ Audio]

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With favoring winds, o'er sunlit seas,
   We sailed for the Hesperides,
 The land where golden apples grow;
   But that, ah! that was long ago.

How far, since then, the ocean streams
   Have swept us from that land of dreams,
 That land of fiction and of truth,
   The lost Atlantis of our youth!

Whither, ah, whither? Are not these
   The tempest-haunted Orcades,
 Where sea-gulls scream, and breakers roar,
   And wreck and sea-weed line the shore?
 
Ultima Thule! Utmost Isle!
   Here in thy harbors for a while
 We lower our sails; a while we rest
   From the unending, endless quest.

“The Lilly” by William Blake [w/ Audio]

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The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,
 The humble Sheep a threat’ning horn;
 While the Lilly white shall in Love delight,
 Nor a thorn, nor a threat, stain her beauty bright.

Quest [Lyric Poem]

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Is it every person's dream
   To be what one is,
   And not what one seems?

Or would one rather be
   The creature of one's dreams --
   Who no one ever sees?

Or should one be the best
   Of real and imagined:
   The host and the guest?

How much of who we are
  Is the views of others
      And how much is ours?
      (And is any of it 
      Written in the stars?)

Picture Horse [Lyric Poem]

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Stacks and stacks
   of wooden plaques:
 Prayers on front,
 Art on the back.

Each a wish
   and a dream?
 More an expression,
   or so it seems.

Whatever prayer
   may be writ,
 There’s always 
   something
 more to it.

A need to show
   one’s unique soul:
 To tell the world
   that one is whole.

A life reduced 
   to a shingle:
 Multitudes,
   to a single.

“Wine Spring” by Pan Lang [w/ Audio]

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I remember viewing the West Lake
 While leaning on a pagoda rail.
 The boats all clustered in threes or twos.
 The islets under deep Autumn blues.

Flute song arose from among the cattails.
 And a line of white birds - overhead - sailed.
 I planned to fix my old fishing pole,
 but clouds on water had my mind & soul.