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Cricket chirping
Frosty night
A mat of cold and white —
It holds a folded robe
But must I sleep alone?

tanka by Fujiwara no Yoshitsune
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Crickets

Chirping cricket families talk
Under the midnight moon
But chirping cricket children
Hide when it is noon
They don’t make a sound when the sun comes out
But they are lively at night-
For when we come out they hide,
So they are like us in the daytime at night.

poem by Mye3
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cricket

Cricket, cricket
chirping all the night.
Why don't you sleep
until the morning light?
I lay there abed
listening to you.
Sometimes you stop.
I think you are through.
But no, chirp, chirp
you start in again.
I'm up searching your sound
but it's then
you are silent
'til I'm back in bed.
You are relentless
and so it is I dread
another sleepless night.
I'll find you in the morn
and when I do,
You'll wish you'd not been born.

poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Star-Talk

'Are you awake, Gemelli,
This frosty night?'
'We'll be awake till reveillé,
Which is Sunrise,' say the Gemelli,
'It's no good trying to go to sleep:
If there's wine to be got we'll drink it deep,
But rest is hopeless to-night,
But rest is hopeless to-night.'

'Are you cold too, poor Pleiads,
This frosty night?'
'Yes, and so are the Hyads:
See us cuddle and hug,' say the Pleiads,
'All six in a ring: it keeps us warm:
We huddle together like birds in a storm:
It's bitter weather to-night,
It's bitter weather to-night.'

'What do you hunt, Orion,
This starry night?'
'The Ram, the Bull and the Lion,
And the Great Bear,' says Orion,
'With my starry quiver and beautiful belt
I am trying to find a good thick pelt
To warm my shoulders to-night,
To warm my shoulders to-night.

'Did you hear that, Great She-bear,
This frosty night?
'Yes, he's talking of stripping me bare
Of my own big fur,' says the She-bear,
'I'm afraid of the man and his terrible arrow:
The thought of it chills my bones to the marrow,
And the frost so cruel to-night!
And the frost so cruel to-night!'

'How is your trade, Aquarius,
This frosty night?'
'Complaints is many and various
And my feet are cold,' says Aquarius,
'There's Venus objects to Dolphin-scales,
And Mars to Crab-spawn found in my pails,
And the pump has frozen to-night,
And the pump has frozen to-night.'

poem by Robert Graves
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Psyche

I SAW a worm, with many a fold;
It spun itself a sliken tomb;
And there in winter time enrolled,
It heeded not the cold or gloom.

Within a small, snug nook it lay,
Nor snow nor sleet could reach it there,
Nor wind was felt in gusty day,
Nor biting cold of frosty air.

Spring comes with bursting buds and grass,
Around him stirs a warmer breeze;
The chirping insects by him pass,
His hiding place not yet he leaves.

But summer came; its fervid breath
Was felt within the sleeper's cell;
And, waking from his sleep of death,
I saw him crawl from out his shell

Slow and with pain he first moved on,
And of the day he seemed to be;
A day passed by; the worm was gone,
It soared on golden pinions free!

poem by Jones Very
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lonely Cricket

In the darkest hollow where
echo giants live,
a Lonely Cricket screams cowardly
in cold boots

Lonely Cricket gasps, hidden
in a musky capsule away from
eager steps

Lonely Cricket falls mute from
the trivial flirt of a monstrous tread
In that cave, Lonely Cricket cries –
spewing shards of gossip to cut
insomniac puppets

“O Lonely Cricket what bulbous grapes you have”
“dimmed reflections of your desolation”

May blind feet find you hermit –
a crusty delight of incarnate shell
Creak not your raspy venom
Lonely Cricket…
“For I too can spit”

poem by Phil de Lange
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In a coffin

Hands folded over the chest
she lies forever stretched out
as if death out of the blue holds her calm
and nothing will wake her up,
from the last sleep folding coldly round her
and strangely changed from princess to rotting dirt.

Hands folded over the chest
she lies forever stretched out.
with no fingers clenching hot around mine
and drawing me nearer,
no arms embracing me to her body
and I am totally alone
and stare at hands folded over her chest.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Gloucester Mother

When autumn winds are high,
They wake and trouble me
With thoughts of people lost
A-coming on the coast,
And all the ships at sea.

How dark, how dark and cold
And fearful in the waves,
Are tired folk who lie not still
And quiet in their graves
In moving waters deep
That will not let men sleep
As they may sleep on any hills,
May sleep ashore till time is old
And all the earth is frosty cold.
Under the flowers a thousand springs
They sleep and dream of many things.

God bless them all who die at sea!
If they must sleep in restless waves,
God make them dream they are ashore
With grass above their graves!

poem by Sarah Orne Jewett
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Incidents in the life of my Uncle Arly

O my aged Uncle Arly!
Sitting on a heap of Barley
Thro' the silent hours of night,
Close beside a leafy thicket:
On his nose there was a Cricket,
In his hat a Railway-ticket
(But his shoes were far too tight).

Long ago, in youth, he squander'd
All his goods away, and wander'd
To the Tinskoop-hills afar.
There on golden sunsets blazing,
Every evening found him gazing,
Singing, 'Orb! you're quite amazing!
How I wonder what you are!'

Like the ancient Medes and Persians,
Always by his own exertions
He subsisted on those hills;
Whiles, by teaching children spelling,
Or at times by merely yelling,
Or at intervals by selling
'Propter's Nicodemus Pills.'

Later, in his morning rambles
He perceived the moving brambles
Something square and white disclose;
'Twas a First-class Railway-Ticket;
But, on stooping down to pick it
Off the ground - a pea-green Cricket
Settled on my uncle's Nose.

Never - never more - oh, never,
Did that Cricket leave him ever,
Dawn or evening, day or night;
Clinging as a constant treasure,
Chirping with a cheerious measure,
Wholly to my uncle's pleasure
(Though his shoes were far too tight).

So for three and forty winters,
Till his shoes were worn to splinters,
All those hills he wander'd o'er,
Sometimes silent; sometimes yelling;
Till he came to Borley-Melling,
Near his old ancestral dwelling
(But his shoes were far too tight).

On a little heap of Barley
Died my aged Uncle Arly,
And they buried him one night;
Close beside the leafy thicket;
There - his hat and Railway-Ticket;
There - his ever-faithful Cricket
(But his shoes were far too tight).

poem by Edward Lear
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chirping

I have a story to tell. A familiar one of a kind tale.
Colored by pigment and biased with a name.
Breeding contempt or some other monstrous thing
in hearts that pump fear as if it was life itself.

It's a story that comes in pieces, chunks or ragged whole
cloth, though it can seem stitched into a tapestry, or
quilted by an Amish maiden fresh as this morning's hay
and full of lies.

It's a story that cracks my voice.
About the cost of freedom.
About these wounds in my arms
bleeding secrets I once kept,
staining my bones like a Maori tattooing ceremony.

It is a story about blind alleys.
About mountains and trails meant for goats.
About walking in light and shade.
Learning to live in the light
and rest in the shade.

It is the story of the years and how they burn the skin.
The innocent days, and guilty nights
when I am no longer young.
About the grip of a force I cannot resist.

In the night I hear a cricket chirping.
It reminds me of music from long ago,
a well tempered riot of color and sound;
the cricket is chirping, the music is playing,
the torch is lit and I have a story to tell.

poem by Ronald Shields
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rain On Autumn Night

Cold, cold this third night of autumn
Rain makes me sleepy
Alone, this old man is contented and idle
It's late when I extinguish the lamp and lie down
To sleep, listening to the beautiful sound of rain
Incense ashes still glowing in the burner
My only heat in this lodging
At daybreak, I will stay under the quilt to stay warm
And the steps will be covered by frosty red leaves

poem by Bai Juyi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Days

Miserable grey, damp wet Days
Days shorter and winters Long
Long bleak dark Evenings
Evenings as black as pitch.

Bright frosty cold Mornings
Mornings glistening in the Sun
Sun shines cold as the Day
Day soon will become night.

Snow crisp and White
White flurries fall from the Sky
Sky as white as the Day
Day fades into a crisp evening.

Days engulfed with Floods
Floods devastating your Home
Home unfit to live In
In shelter we seek comfort.

poem by Hazel Connelly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Frostry Night

Mother: Alice, dear, what ails you,
Dazed and white and shaken?
Has the chill night numbed you?
Is it fright you have taken?

Alice: Mother I am very well,
I felt never better;
Mother, do not hold me so,
Let me write my letter.

Mother: Sweet, my dear, what ails you?

Alice: No, but I am well.
The night was cold and frosty,
There's no more to tell.

Mother: Ay, the night was frosty,
Coldly gaped the moon,
Yet the birds seemed twittering
Through green boughs of June.

Soft and thick the snow lay,
Stars danced in the sky.
Not all the lambs of May-day
Skip so bold and high.

Your feet were dancing, Alice,
Seemed to dance on air,
You looked a ghost or angel
In the starlight there.

Your eyes were frosted starlight,
Your heart, fire, and snow.
Who was it said 'I love you?'

Alice: Mother, let me go!

poem by Robert Graves
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A Winter Song (From, Lost Song Poems)

There's outside a winter's song
With frore and grayish earth,
We had the summer for so long
For what each day was worth;
I'll long for summer and spring
Each time the night gets cold,
When weather hollowly will sing
In winter so frosty and bold.

A flower so gracefully done
The winter's rose in my window,
I'll greet you gladly on and on
Cherish your pearl white afterglow;
I've often been in a moody down
When darker the short day comes,
Then I see frosty rose jewel crown
And know in the cold it blooms.

Winter romance and candle lights
Longing for green sweet earth,
Longing for clearings sky bright
And all what the day young's worth;
How can it touch the morning flame
The winter that's gray and dark,
Will not each color be there same
Without its golden morning spark.

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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The singing in god's acre

Out yonder in the moonlight, wherein God's Acre lies,
Go angels walking to and fro, singing their lullabies.
Their radiant wings are folded, and their eyes are bended low,
As they sing among the beds whereon the flowers delight to grow,--

"Sleep, oh, sleep!
The Shepherd guardeth His sheep.
Fast speedeth the night away,
Soon cometh the glorious day;
Sleep, weary ones, while ye may,
Sleep, oh, sleep!"

The flowers within God's Acre see that fair and wondrous sight,
And hear the angels singing to the sleepers through the night;
And, lo! throughout the hours of day those gentle flowers prolong
The music of the angels in that tender slumber-song,--

"Sleep, oh, sleep!
The Shepherd loveth His sheep.
He that guardeth His flock the best
Hath folded them to His loving breast;
So sleep ye now, and take your rest,--
Sleep, oh, sleep!"

From angel and from flower the years have learned that soothing song,
And with its heavenly music speed the days and nights along;
So through all time, whose flight the Shepherd's vigils glorify,
God's Acre slumbereth in the grace of that sweet lullaby,--

"Sleep, oh, sleep!
The Shepherd loveth His sheep.
Fast speedeth the night away,
Soon cometh the glorious day;
Sleep, weary ones, while ye may,--
Sleep, oh, sleep!"

poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Abstraction Fo The Word Chirp....

i hear birds chirping
early morning
on those trees

clouds arrive, light
spreads,
green becomes too green
in the fields of
life,

i hear birds chirping
sweet to my ear
i give it priority

abstract. delet morning
move out clouds from the picture
double click green fields
focus on life

delet birds
add volume to chirping

it is all chirping now
just chirping
chirping chirping

the essence of chirp.
i have abstracted it from
everything else.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White Sunshine

The sun's my fire.
Golden, from a magnificence of blue,
Should be its hue.
But woolly clouds,
Like boarding-house old ladies, come and sit
In front of it.
White sunshine, then,
That has the frosty glimmer of white hair,
Freezes the air.
They must forget,
So self-absorbed are they, so very old,
That I'll be cold.

poem by Lesbia Harford
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Harlie

Fold the little waxen hands
Lightly. Let your warmest tears
Speak regrets, but never fears,--
Heaven understands!
Let the sad heart, o'er the tomb,
Lift again and burst in bloom
Fragrant with a prayer as sweet
As the lily at your feet.

Bend and kiss the folded eyes--
They are only feigning sleep
While their truant glances peep
Into Paradise.
See, the face, though cold and white,
Holds a hint of some delight
E'en with Death, whose finger-tips
Rest upon the frozen lips.

When, within the years to come,
Vanished echoes live once more--
Pattering footsteps on the floor,
And the sounds of home,--
Let your arms in fancy fold
Little Harlie as of old--
As of old and as he waits
At the City's golden gates.

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Christmas Poem For My Daddy

It was a cold dark night,
And i'm waiting for the snow
I know its nearly christmas
It'll be cold on my toe

I can't wait to see my presents
Stacked high beside the tree
All different shapes and sizes
All for me me ME

I love having christmas dinner
All as one big family
It's only once a year
Let's go decorate the tree

We'll put tinsel all over
And different colored ball's
All sparlky and shiny things
Can't wait till my dad call's

I really love christmas time
For the presents and the gifts
All the cold and frosty air
And the number one Christmas hit

Can't wait for the things im getting
I'll finish here and go to sleep tight
I wish you all a merry christmas
And to you all a very good night.

copy right joanne mitchell

poem by Joanne Mitchell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What's Up Doc?

This hat's too small
it's cold and dark
full of kings and queens
chirping birds
spotted handkerchief's
How's a rabbit supposed to get some sleep
.......by magic

poem by John Churchill
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Delighted Morning

compose made easy
every morning dews engulfed
devolved the night fall into the glances of the sky
wait until dawn, as the firefly sings and the cricket
dances to fly

take me where the soul
reside and bring me the wind
that says sweet goodbye, lead the resting place where
everybody wants to sleep with the sky.
look up the night as it falls down
in the heaven
like shadows calling window of the night, letting the
eyes to close the light that passes on
the sleep of dream forward
to lie

come leave me to pass this night …

poem by Antonio Liao
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