I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.
quote by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.
Poetry...Poetry...
poem by Akash Agrawal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Voice Of Poetry
The voice of poetry have to be ashured
Children have to learn
Adullts have to engage
For the voice of poetry a key is.
Education the voice of poetry
Success the voice of poetry.
Learn the voice
Usher the voice
Sing with the voice
Dance on the poetry voice.
poem by Nengovhela Murendeni
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Dont Write Poetry!
i dont write poetry...
i sweat poetry, i drink poetry,
i breathe poetry, i make love to poetry,
i fight poetry, i eat poetry,
i bleed poetry, i crap poetry...
too often i betray poetry,
sometimes i dropp poetry.
once i tripped over poetry,
got angry and kicked poetry.
i rocked poetry on a sleepless night,
i buried poetry on the hill...
i lived poetry, for i am poetry...
no, i dont write poetry,
but poetry writes me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death Of The Trees
My town is a place where
The rich tourists come,
With mountains and rivers
That glint in the sun!
Luxuriant beaches
Of ivory sand,
But all the jade forests
Now no longer stand!
There once were lush jungles
That grew dense and tall,
But woodcutters came when
The town was still small...
They hacked all the trees down
And shipped them away,
In huge merchant vessels
That sailed to the bay!
They went back to Europe
With precious hard woods,
Sold it as furniture
And other fine goods...
I wish I could travel
In time to the day
Before people cleared all
The forests away!
I wish I had seen them
Before settlers came,
The mountains and rivers
May still be the same...
Iron, Yellow, Black Wood
And most of all trees,
Don't sway any more in
The fresh coastal breeze...
This poetry is an adapted poem for
Lisa La Grange, her copyright,2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Town And Country
Touched by a butterfly on my way home
Flying who knows where
Walking down that dusty road
Without a care
The sun was shining up in the country
And bells were ringing downtown
Clouds were moving slow and lazy
While I was kicking around
And feeling out the town and the country
Feeling out the town and the country
Up on the hill I got a better look
I watched the river run brown (watched the river run brown)
And then I heard those songbirds singing
The country sound
When I got home I sat in my kitchen
And turned the television on (turned the TV on)
The news wasn't good so I didn't listen
I started clicking around
Thinking of the town and the country
I was thinking of the town and the country
Thinking of the town and the country
In the morning everything will be the same
Open up your world (watch the children play)
In the sun or rain
Thinking of the town and the country
A thinking of the town and the country
I was thinking of the town and the country (fade)
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paradise
When I was a child my family would travel
Down to western kentucky where my parents were born
And theres a backwards old town thats often remembered
So many times that my memories are worn.
Chorus:
And daddy wont you take me back to muhlenberg county
Down by the green river where paradise lay
Well, Im sorry my son, but youre too late in asking
Mister peabodys coal train has hauled it away
Well, sometimes wed travel right down the green river
To the abandoned old prison down by adrie hill
Where the air smelled like snakes and wed shoot with our pistols
But empty pop bottles was all we would kill.
Repeat chorus:
Then the coal company came with the worlds largest shovel
And they tortured the timber and stripped all the land
Well, they dug for their coal till the land was forsaken
Then they wrote it all down as the progress of man.
Repeat chorus:
When I die let my ashes float down the green river
Let my soul roll on up to the rochester dam
Ill be halfway to heaven with paradise waitin
Just five miles away from wherever I am.
Repeat chorus:
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Thunder Cracks In The Gray Sky
The thunder cracks in the gray sky and the rain it is bucketing down
Above the high and dry and bare paddocks by the river that flows by the town
On those paddocks that need heaps of rain it has been awhile since they were green
This countryside is looking dry 'tis as dry as it ever has been
His feathers soaked wet from the rain the magpie flutes on the blackwood tree
From it's drenched leaves the rain drips and drips by the river that flows to the sea
To the river adown the bare hill the water in rivulets run
As soon as the rain will have stopped they will quickly dry out in the sun
The Summer has been warm and dry and the long range weather forecast is for a dry Fall
An hour of heavy thunder rain of little use though better than nothing at all
For months the farmers have been praying for rain their prayers in part answered today
But the sun shines across the brown hills and the rain clouds are clearing away
And the magpie shakes his feathers dry and no rain drops left to drip from the trees
And white butterflies flitting about in the sunshine and feshening breeze.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry?
what is poetry
a bunch rhymes
or just simple words on paper because you have to much time
poetry to me isnt all about rhyming
poetry to me is a way to get out emotions or things that happen in the past your to scared to say so instead you write about it. poetry can be sweet, bad, naughty, nice poetry is how your feeling poetry takes on the tone of voice your to scared to explain. poetry is that voice deep down inside that voice that takes over when your typing or writng. to me people are poetry people are the voice, people are the future, but poetry is the key that on locks us all. to stand up and use that voice that we write with when were writng poetry.
poem by Jerrell Frazier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It is the timber of poetry that wears most surely, and there is no timber that has not strong roots among the clay and worms.
quote by John Millington Synge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poem about Poetry - Poetry Is Not
poetry is not the rain
poetry is how the rain
beats down on your path
poetry is not in the man
poetry is how you open
his heart with your smile
poetry is not in the flowers
poetry is how you can use them
to help your friends bloom
yesterday, today, tomorrow
poetry is not the sea
poetry is how you spread your
laughter over its surging water
and count your blessing with
every shell you pick up
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Town & Country
Written by dewey bunnell and gerry beckley, 1998
Found on human nature.
Touched by a butterfly on my way home
Flying who knows where
Walking down that dusty road
Without a care
The sun was shining up in the country
And bells were ringing downtown
Clouds were moving slow and lazy
While I was kicking around
And feeling out the town and the country
Feeling out the town and the country
Up on the hill I got a better look
I watched the river run brown (watched the river run brown)
And then I heard those songbirds singing
The country sound
When I got home I sat in my kitchen
And turned the television on (turned the tv on)
The news wasnt good so I didnt listen
I started clicking around
Thinking of the town and the country
I was thinking of the town and the country
Thinking of the town and the country
In the morning everything will be the same
Open up your world (watch the children play)
In the sun or rain
Thinking of the town and the country
A thinking of the town and the country
I was thinking of the town and the country (fade)
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poetry Of The Old
THE POETRY OF THE OLD
The Poetry of the old
Is a smaller poetry
A more fragile poetry
A quieter poetry.
The Poetry of the old
Does not raise its voice
It sings to itself softly
And does not really hope to be heard.
The poetry of the old
Is a quiet poetry
And its name
Is mostly ‘Sadness’.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Haunting
Sit down on that stool hear the cant of a fool
And a strange tale Ill impart to ye
Of a time that I lived at the buff of a hill
neath the burial chambers you see
One saturday night I got up on my bike
To go to a dance in the town
I set off at seven to be there at eleven
No thought of the rain coming down
As I pushed up the hill the rain started to spill
So for shelter I had to resort
Helter skelter I went as downhill I sped
To the trees at the old fairy fort
I pulled up my bike be a tree in the gripe
To find shelter out of the storm
The rain it came down and like stones beat the ground
But it was grand to be dry in that storm
I was dreaming away about better days
When a voice it says dirty ould night
I fell over me bike I got such a fright
When the ghostly voice bid me the night
I jumped up with a start gave the storm not a thought
As the hail beat a rhythm on me
And I stared at the tree that had spoken to me
Not a body was there I could see
The voice I had heard not another word said
As the hair on the head stood on me
And I said an our father as I peddled much faster
Away from that ghost haunted tree
For weeks and weeks after with nerves a disaster
Nowhere near that road would I go
And from dusk through the night I would shake with the fright
Of the tree that had haunted me so
Now whenever I go to a dance in the town
I make sure not to stop on the way
To be there for eleven I still leave at seven
But I go by a different way
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An act of poetry
Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry
A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art
Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation
Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:
The pen be our salvation.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The River
The river that crosses the high plain like
an artery has only muddy water since it
didn´t rain in the summer.
Wild horses and donkeys come here to
drink, but often they look up and scan
the horizon weary of man and his dogs.
They served mankind for thousands of
years but with modern farming methods
they are no longer needed and have gone
feral. Free now, but freedom comes at
a prize, winter can be hard and often they
are hunted by sportsmen who kill for fun.
By the mountain there is a corral but only
the stupid and sick go there, the rest know
they are fattened up and used as sausage
meat, which the town uphill is famous for.
Every Octobers there is a gigantic party in
the hill town, beer is senselessly drunk and
tons of sausages eaten, the river, that crosses
the plain, becomes a putrid pool of human
waste till winter rain falls and clears it away.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Painter’s Agony
I want to paint that river
And the scene behind it
The boat and the boatmen
I know everything about
That river
My association with the river
Many a hundred memories
Evenings and sunshines
Floods and slow water
I have lived my life
On the bank of that river
I want to paint
Paint it with the most beautiful colors
I want to borrow some colors
From the colors of paradise
And I love the town
That lives beside the river
Old and dusty
Where shall I take you
In that small town
Every nook and corner
Shall tell you that it knows me
I want to paint that town
In colors of heaven
I want to carry a few children
And take them on a tour
I want to see the town with their eyes
And then go to the riverbank
And meditate for a while
Drink the wine of nature
And get lost into the world of beauty
And flow with the river
Enter every house
My heart throbs in harmony
With every heart in the town
Give me colors divine
Colors from the other world
For I want to paint
That river and that town
(This poem is about a small town on the bank of river Indus)
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Amazon
This song appears on four albums, and was first released on the different directions album, and has also been released on the gift you are and the john denver collection - sunshine on my shoulde
Ums. a live version appears on the wildlife concert album.
There is a river that runs from the mountains
That one river is all rivers
All rivers are that one
There is a tree that stands in the forest
That one tree is all forests
All trees are that one
There is a flower that blooms in the desert
That one blossom is all flowers
All flowers are that one
There is a bird that sings in the jungle
That one song is all music
All songs are that one
It is the song of life
It is the flower of faith
It is the tree of temptation
It is the river of no regret
There is a child that cries in the ghetto
That one child is all children
All children are that one
There is a vision that shines in the darkness
That one vision is all of our dreams
It is a vision of heaven
It is a child of promise
It is the song of life
It is the river of no regret
Let this be a voice for the mountains
Let this be a voice for the river
Let this be a voice for the forest
Let this be a voice for the flowers
Let this be a voice for the ocean
Let this be a voice for the desert
Let this be a voice for the children
Let this be a voice for the dreamers
Let this be a voice of no regret
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Small Town
Well I was born in a small town
And I live in a small town
Probly die in a small town
Oh, those small communities
All my friends are so small town
My parents live in the same small town
My job is so small town
Provides little opportunity
Educated in a small town
Taught the fear of jesus in a small town
Used to daydream in that small town
Another boring romantic thats me
But Ive seen it all in a small town
Had myself a ball in a small town
Married an l.a. doll and brought her to this small town
Now shes small town just like me
No I cannot forget where it is that I come from
I cannot forget the people who love me
Yeah, I can be myself here in this small town
And people let me be just what I want to be
Got nothing against a big town
Still hayseed enough to say
Look whos in the big town
But my bed is in a small town
Oh, and thats good enough for me
Well I was born in a small town
And I can breathe in a small town
Gonna die in this small town
And thats probly where theyll bury me
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paradise
This song was first released on the rocky mountain high album. it is the only album it has been released on.
When I was a child, my family would travel
Down to western kentucky where my parents were born
And theres a backwards old town thats often remembered
So many times that my memries are worn
And daddy wont you take me back to muhlenberg county
Down by the green river where paradise lay
Well, Im sorry, my son, but youre too late in asking
Mister peabodys coal train has hauled it away
Well sometimes wed travel right down the green river
To the abandoned old prison down by adrie hill
Where the air smelled like snakes and wed shoot with our pistols
But empty pop bottles was all we would kill
And daddy wont you take me back to muhlenberg county
Down by the green river where paradise lay
Well, Im sorry, my son, but youre too late in asking
Mister peabodys coal train has hauled it away
And the coal company came with the worlds largest shovel
And they tortured the timber and stripped all the land
Well, they dug for their coal till the land was forsaken
Then they wrote it all down as the progress of man
And daddy wont you take me back to muhlenberg county
Down by the green river where paradise lay
Well, Im sorry, my son, but youre too late in asking
Mister peabodys coal train has hauled it away
And daddy wont you take me back to muhlenberg county
Down by the green river where paradise lay
Well, Im sorry, my son, but youre too late in asking
Mister peabodys coal train has hauled it away
Words and music by john prine
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Save Forests and Rare Species
The Franklin forests are extinct;
These trees of beauty are now rare;
No more are they found in the wild;
Their fragrant flowers tempt a child!
Last seen in 18 zero3,
By Altamaha river-side –
A deciduous tree or shrub,
It grows upto a twenty feet.
With leaves that change color by fall,
Its snow-white flowers are showy;
With golden yellow stamens free,
It is now grown in pots from seeds!
But nothing like the forests wild
Of Franklin trees that grew on own;
You could not find a path through them –
Home to wild animals many.
How Nature rears a forest dense!
–The secrets, no man deciphers;
The way they flourish in the wild,
No gardener can do like-wise!
As man destroys more forest trees,
For want of newer farming land,
Wild wondrous trees then cease to be,
And other species vanish too.
Deforestation is a crime
That has gone uncontrolled with time;
Rare species of trees, shrubs and beasts
Have been effaced from earth with ease.
The earth has lesser green cover!
’Tis growing bald, much more each day,
As forest trees are felled for wood,
At rates more than we ever should.
World’s rain-forests are turning scarce –
A cause of global-warming fast;
Landslides and floods are dangers new;
More species turn something of past!
Trees extract carbon-dioxide,
And make the air less polluted;
Wild beasts are on the rampage when
Their forest habitats are gone.
Save forests and afforest, man;
The clouds bring rain when trees ask for;
Wild beasts need forests for their homes;
Preserve forests in ways you can.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-23-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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