Stirring of Echoes

Friday, March 25, 2005

The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls

This is one of H.W. Longfellow's lesser known poems but would be relevant in today's society...

The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Not Waving But Drowning

A chilling poem that immediately reminded me about the tsunami incident. It sounds morbid, I know but I'm just wondering why no one brought this up during that period...
Anyhow, the poem was written by an American poet, Stevie Smith.

Not Waving But Drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

Stevie Smith

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

The Magnolia

There was no story behind this. Rather, I had taken a liking to Paul Thomas Anderson's movie, "Magnolia" and I thought to myself, if Wordsworth could have written about Daffodils, why not I write one myself?
And in a strange way of putting things together, I had this notion in my head that went something like, "What if Morrie had seen a flower before he died?"
Morrie here was in reference to Professor Morrie from the book, "Tuesdays With Morrie" by Mitch Albom.
And thus, by combining three forceful mediums, a movie, a poem and a book, "The Magnolia" was conjured.

The Magnolia

Every dawn that passed, he would sit
by that very window, eyes fixated
on a magnolia adorning his neighbour’s desk.

He was marveled by the grandiose of the magnolia,
and how it stood erect, facing the ball of light
while his life passed it by.

The magnolia held in its own regard,
an earthly charm that made him ask
if this be the flower of heaven.

His last days were like a painting,
filled with sepia undertones and
the dreamy shades of the magnolia.

And when he died that cold damp morning,
the petals took off with the wind that blew.
The magnolia, now broken, spreads its pieces
on the very ground he was laid to rest.

© Mohamad Shaifulbahri

Monday, March 21, 2005

W.B Yeats

W.B. Yeats Posted by Hello

If I could only choose ONE poet who has inspired me all these years, I would have to choose W.B. Yeats.
When I first read Yeats, I fell in love with things Irish. So much so that somehow, inside of me, I have this want to visit Sligo. If you're interested in knowing more bout Yeats, you could visit

Down the road, I'd share more of Yeats' poems with you among other poets'.
But for now, perhaps, you could ponder over this one, which by the way, also starts off my poetry section of my notebook.

The Coming of Wisdom With Time

Though leaves are many, the root is one;
Through all the lying days of my youth
I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun;
Now I may wither into the truth.

W.B. Yeats

Stirring Of Echoes

So, here's the poem that has inspired the name of this blog.

Stirring of Echoes

I see leaves circling in a sprightly dance,
rustled by the wind’s naughty nature.
As they tossed about in ritualistic prance,
someway, somehow, I feel you here.

The light, it makes the corridor so dim and dark,
making the world so bare and stark.
Your footsteps, they sound as silent as baby’s toes,
I hear nothing but the stirring of echoes.

Hold our hands tight like you’ve once before,
cement your feet to the soft, soft sand.
But you left us stranded on a sandless shore,
without proper goodbyes, just an empty land.

Just like the leaves, I hope you’re dancing away,
with a smile on your face as you twirl and sway.
As you fly up high in the company of heroes,
All I hear are the stirring of echoes.

© Mohamad Shaifulbahri

Losing a friend is such a painful state which no one would want to go through. Though this is not entirely a personal account, I wrote this when I discovered my friend, Farah, had lost her friend. My heart shivered when she told me what really happened and I felt that I just needed to do my part in this. Afterall, her friend was from the same school and for all I know, I might have passed her by once or twice without knowing that it was her.
I wrote this as a dedication to her friends and family despite now knowing the girl or her friends. Nonetheless, it is not only life but also death that connects us human beings.
And this poem, is what I have to give and share in return.

And I surely do hope she's smiling and twirling away far up high...

Sunday, March 20, 2005

The beginning...

On the spur of the moment, I decided to set up this blog despite having a poetry page on
Postpoems is a place where my poems can be seen and critiqued by anyone but I realised that it did not give me the freedom to showcase the creative process that entails when writing a poem.
So, instead of being just a showcase of poems perhaps this is where ideas may be discussed from anyone regarding anything.

Why Stirring Of Echoes as the blog address? Hmmm...
I scanned through all my poems and I felt that Stirring Of Echoes had a punch to it and how it represented the stirring of the mind when poetry rushes in and how poetry will emanate and bounce off the walls of this blog.

Thank you for taking some time off to read my works and thank you just for being here...