What I was trying to convey there was the kind of waste land that was left after the war. It was a bit like one always thinks of war, you know, stark scenery and no birds, no trees, no leaves, nothing living. And just emptiness.
quote by George Martin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer's Wind
Be weary, Lord of the summer wind,
Lord of the heat that you blow in,
Away with flowers, land and trees,
To stay them not, least all the trees.
Listen to this, all that I say,
Our land does die, and drift away.
Our living born upon the wind,
All of ours, and those of friends.
So we called upon the leave-filled wind,
The autumn one, of which were friends.
This wind of cool and gentle hand,
Not like the wind that stole our land.
And the heat did melt into the leaves,
And turned them colors from the trees.
Then the leave-filled wind bore them away,
And upon the land, they came to stay.
And stayed them there, till land-hard cold,
And then the land, the leaves they stole.
And after the harsh cold wind had blown,
And living soil again was sown,
Summer's wind came again to prey,
Upon our lands, most every day.
But our living land, the leaves did save,
And the summer's wind did blow away,
Never to re-live, the seasons day.
The cool soft wind now blows so free,
Upon the land, and through the trees.
All through the people, and over me.
poem by Sandra Osborne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bohol, Land Of Chocolate Hills
Bohol, land of chololate hills
Melvin Banggollay
B-OHOL, Land of the famous chocolate hills
Cradles the smallest primate ever to exist,
The world renown Philippines tarsiers
That loves to cling upon ruboust small trees
As they stare with their round eyes so big.
O-ver its verdant valleys, I have seen many hills
With wonderful scenery sharing nature's gifts
As they speak to us geographical mysteries
And nature's wonder with the beautiful hills
Scattered around with their perfect cone shapes.
H-eaven I behold when I reach the famous hills
and extend my eye upon the horizon of the hills
For I have seen nature's captivating scenery
of cone shape hills that radiates God's mysteries
And his artistic inclination when he made all these.
O-ver the sky, birds from the heaven fly with glee
As they sing with song of praises as they are free
To soar upon the blue sky as they enjoy the scenery
With a promise that they will never destroy the beauty
Of this abode and sanctuary of nature's tapestry.
L-ove our land and never rape its wealth and beauty
But be stewards of God in protecting all its scenery
with all it creation upon its wide verdant valleys
Like the birds, the tarsiers and other wildlife sanctuary
For our children children to behold these someday
poem by Melvin Banggollay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wedding Gown Of The Spring Is More Fair (Rondel Prime)
The wedding gown of the spring is more fair
than the stark nakedness that winter does bring,
when many trees do their bright garments wear
and day and night birds do rejoicing sing,
while insects buzz and flutter in the air
and happiness is in everything living.
The wedding gown of the spring is more fair
than the stark nakedness that winter does bring,
than the silence that is cold and bare,
when some birds do frolic, to and thro wing
their way and gladness is in their flying
until the sun's late afternoon red glare.
The wedding gown of the spring is more fair
than the stark nakedness that winter does bring.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Land Of The Living
i found myself
in another world
i found myself
alive and well
i am the vapor
i am the gas
you be the angel
of everything
this is the land of the living
this is the land of reprisal
this is the land of the living
the living
the living
i lost myself
too wide a plane
i opened up
i'm not the same
i am electric
made of wire
you be the match
i'll be the fire
this is the land of the living
this is the land of reprisal
this is the land of the living
the living
the living
the living
in myself i try for you
walk a thousand miles to get us through
airways
jet planes
safe landings
no branding
land
land
this is the land of the living
the land of reprisal
this is the land of the living
the land of survival
survival
land
land
this is the land of the living
the living
the living
the living
song performed by by Bush from Golden State
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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SONNET: Wild Trees
Look how the trees grow in the wilderness!
The Rain and Sun tend to their growing needs;
No man can put the tree’s growth in harness;
‘Tis clothed by verdure leaves, flow’rs, fruits with seeds.
Look how the Wind spreads wide the seeds in soil!
How fast they sprout into seedlings with Rain;
Some go awaste but most grow without toil;
Alas! Man thinks wild trees are just a bane.
Yet, every tree that God had made has use;
And every living creature God made fine;
‘Tis left to man, his faculties to use;
‘Tis left to him to keep his shoes in shine.
Some things we see, we may not understand;
God’s creation is something very grand.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who's Living With That Mission?
Who here,
Lives to dance and sing?
Who here,
Lives to hear the birds singing?
And who here,
Lives their life just to give?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who here,
Wakes up to give a damn?
Who here,
Demands to give a helping hand?
And who here,
Knows that peace has a chance?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who here,
Thinks about their fellowman?
Who here,
Gives their neighbor understanding?
And who here,
Wants the bleeding done by man...
To end and please them?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who here,
Thinks about what is right?
Who here,
Wants to do that day and night?
And who here,
Prays conflicts and fights
Would end!
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who here,
Lives to dance and sing?
Who here,
Lives to hear the birds singing?
And who here,
Lives their life just to give?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
And who here,
Wants the bleeding done by man...
To end and please them?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that,
As ambition?
To live to give as a mission?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Type Of Man
What kind of a man goes after a married woman
What kind of a man does it and proclaims his faith in GOD
What kind of man does the things that he shouldn't
Does that type of man think that he will never be caught.
What type of man leaves his children and his wife
What type of man puts his needs and his wants first
What type of a man is scared to fight his own fights
Does that type of man cares whose soul that he hurts.
What type of man talks behind other peoples backs
What type of man lies to make himself look tall in front of others
What type of man is scared to admit the guilt that he has done
Does that type of man think that we are his brothers.
What type of man will not work for a living
What type of man wants others to take care of him
What type of man thinks he is something but he's not
Does that type of man thinks that manhood is his friend.
What type of man cannot be used as an example
What type of man does not keep promises that he's made
What type of man should not be father to any child
Does that type of man know the price that a real man has paid.
What type of man thinks but he cannot think
What type of man looks but he truly does not see
What type of man hears but he does not listen
Does that type of man know that he could never be me.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy
Plowin' these fields in the hot summer sun
Over by the gate lordy here she comes
With a basket full of chicken and a big cold jug of sweet tea
I make a little room and she climbs on up
Open up a throttle and stir a little dust
Just look at her face she ain't a foolin' me
She thinks my tractor's sexy
It really turns her on
She's always starin' at me
While I'm chuggin' along
She likes the way it's pullin' while we're tillin' up the land
She's even kind of crazy 'bout my farmer's tan
She's the only one who really understands what gets me
She thinks my tractor's sexy
We ride back and forth 'til we run out of light
Take it to the barn put it up for the night
Climb up in the loft sit and talk with the radio on
She said she's got a dream and I asked what it is
She wants a little farm and a yard full of kids
One more teeny weeny ride before take her home
She thinks my tractor's sexy
It really turns her on
She's always starin' at me
While I'm chuggin' along
She likes the way it's pullin' while we're tillin' up the land
She's even kind of crazy 'bout my farmer's tan
She's the only one who really understands what gets me
She thinks my tractor's sexy
Well she ain't into cars or pickup trucks
But if it runs like a Deere man her eyes light up
She thinks my tractor's
She thinks my tractor's sexy
It really turns her on
She's always starin' at me
While I'm chuggin' along
She likes the way it's pullin' while we're tillin' up the land
She's even kind of crazy 'bout my farmer's tan
She's the only one who really understands what gets me
She thinks my tractor's sexy
She thinks my tractor's sexy
She thinks my tractor's sexy
song performed by by Kenny Chesney from Everywhere We Go
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They’re Digging Their Own Graves
Flowers stopped blooming
Birds stopped nesting
Few leaves left
The tree was shocked
Failed to understand
The reason behind
Wore a dejected look
On the face
Prayed to god
Give me back
My flowers and birds
God replied
The human greed
Does not end
They leave no means
To achieve their ends
Take lives, cut trees
Do not realize
They are digging
Their own graves
Without animals and trees
No man would survive
If humans understand
You shall get
Flowers and birds back
I only provide
How to preserve?
They have to decide
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Roots And Leaves Themselves Alone
ROOTS and leaves themselves alone are these;
Scents brought to men and women from the wild woods, and from the
pond-side,
Breast-sorrel and pinks of love--fingers that wind around tighter
than vines,
Gushes from the throats of birds, hid in the foliage of trees, as the
sun is risen;
Breezes of land and love--breezes set from living shores out to you
on the living sea--to you, O sailors!
Frost-mellow'd berries, and Third-month twigs, offer'd fresh to young
persons wandering out in the fields when the winter breaks up,
Love-buds, put before you and within you, whoever you are,
Buds to be unfolded on the old terms;
If you bring the warmth of the sun to them, they will open, and bring
form, color, perfume, to you;
If you become the aliment and the wet, they will become flowers,
fruits, tall blanches and trees. 10
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stark
All matter and existence
build from the concept of quark
Stark
Everything you need for life
Fits on one Arc
Stark
A misty graveyard with just
the song of the Lark
Stark
The raving madness that takes hold
and makes you bark
Stark
The cutting bluntness
of a succinct remark
Stark
Barren, the searing desert.
I fight the urge to disembark
Stark
A broken mind, in the shade
of depression, so dark
Stark
A winters morn alone
on a bench in an empty park
Stark
poem by Stevie Taite
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stark (5,3,1 structure for Gulsher: -)
All matter that existence here
constructed of quark?
Stark
Everything you need for life
Fits one arc?
Stark
A misty graveyard with only
Song of Lark
Stark
Raving madness that takes hold
Makes you bark
Stark
Cutting bluntness of succinct remark
Stalks like shark
Stark
Barron, the searing hot desert
Must not disembark
Stark
Broken mind, shades
under depression
So very dark
Stark
Winters morn sitting on bench
In empty park
Stark
poem by Stevie Taite
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Vastly The Veldt, The Bush Stretches Out About Me (Idyll) (In Answer To Sir Philip Sidney)
I
Vastly the veldt, the bush stretches out about me
where nature is left to its own existence,
where all kinds of game roam free
and here is nothing to bother with an insistence
and the weary traveller on this earth
can find a new kind of longing, a new kind of hope,
like a kind of refreshing new birth
while thoughts go past the normal human scope
where a person wonders about the creator of things
while serenity is displayed where ever you look,
bees and birds continually sing about happy tidings
and nowhere one can get this experience in a book
that comes as some kind of divine blessing,
you have got to realise that there is more to life and living.
II
You have got to realise that there is more to life and living
that every word and deed leaves a mark, a own impact,
comes as benevolence or a kind of attack,
that there’s more to life that taking and giving
that nature’s innocence and violence draws and sting
and our actions on to it we can never take back,
even our wanderings on a natural track
leaves its mark on mere existing
that somehow nature needs to be left unspoilt
while we live in a kind of ruling arrogance,
this deadly paradise has its own kind of dazzling
while we effect change, like gods live rich and spoilt
while we hide beyond a cloak of ignorance,
seldom do we realise the beauty of the coming spring.
III
Seldom do we realise the beauty of the coming spring
and yet on a farm I have met a rural girl
who brings another feeling to existing, something touching,
while in the veldt sometimes dust clouds whirl
the strange solitariness feels as if it’s alive
and she has taken me to her hidden places,
the places dear to a sweetheart or wife
where violets grow wild, wildflowers have different faces
and the sun shines friendly in a blue hued sky,
where you can feel the great tranquillity,
see birds in their coloured swarms fly
and realise that here is some strange kind of unity
a kind of unspoilt idyllic life
that exists happily without any kind of strive.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Much ado about something or other
An absence is hard to define
A nameless shape without a form,
an emptiness left by design
A task nobody can perform.
Using words which are meaningless
just strung together as a string
Poetic words which would impress
if only they meant anything.
Without a message to convey
they merely occupy some space.
To put it in a different way
the kind of words one should erase.
I think I may have lost the plot
because these word don’t mean a lot.
16-May-08
http: //blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She Thinks My Tractors Sexy
(paul overstreet/jim collins)
Plowing these fields in the hot summer sun
Over by the gate lordy here she comes
With a basket full of chicken and a big cold jug of sweet tea
I make a little room and she climbs on up
Open up a throttle and stir a little dust
Just look at her face she aint a foolin me
She thinks my tractors sexy
It really turns her on
Shes always staring at me
While Im chuggin along
She likes the way its pullin while were tillin up the land
Shes even kind of crazy bout my farmers tan
Shes the only one who really understands what gets me
She thinks my tractors sexy
We ride back and forth until we run out of light
Take it to the barn put it up for the night
Climb up in the loft sit and talk with the radio on
She said shes got a dream and I asked what it is
She wants a little farm and a yard full of kids
One more teeny weeny ride before take her home
She thinks my tractors sexy
It really turns her on
Shes always staring at me
While Im chuggin along
She likes the way its pullin while were tillin up the land
Shes even kind of crazy bout my farmers tan
Shes the only one who really understands what gets me
She thinks my tractors sexy
Well she aint into cars or pick up trucks
But if it runs like a deere man her eyes light up
She thinks my tractors....
She thinks my tractors sexy
It really turns her on
Shes always staring at me
While Im chuggin along
She likes the way its pullin while were tillin up the land
Shes even kind of crazy bout my farmers tan
Shes the only one who really understands what gets me
She thinks my tractors sexy
She thinks my tractors sexy
She thinks my tractors sexy
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Back To An Old Place
it is summer
scorching summer
season creeping,
grasses are wilting
trees are shedding of
their last leaves,
what i see are bones
of trees,
skeletons of
branches,
the dry wind keeps
blowing the leaves
away,
what i have is this
bald surrounding
emptied of their
essence
beyond me are
brown mountains
vultures are
in the skies
eying for
death as prey
i sit upon a rock
the only rock
left here
i have no cover on
my head
i am half naked
i have no one to talk
to,
they have left this
arid place
a long time ago
i am back
i am telling the
sand soil,
i have something
to write and
tell the world
about it
it is summer
in this vast desert
a long time ago
this was ours
and the trees are green
grasses verdant
butterflies flutter
and innocently
land on our
hands.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Emptiness Comes
EMPTINESS COMES
Emptiness comes-
There is nothing to say
Nothing to write-
But Nothing is for me only nothing
It is not the goal and the meaning-
Egolessness belongs to saints of a certain kind
I am not a saint-
Emptiness disappears with the writing
Words and meanings come-
I suppose one will be empty forever
When one is alive
What can Emptiness give?
I have written against the Emptiness
And am less empty now for now-
Thank God I no longer feel empty now-
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beak Kind To Birds!
Beak kind to birds both near and far,
Both high and low as well...
To me, each bird's a superstar!
In fact, to me, they're swell!
Beak kind to birds and show you care
With titbits now and then...
And watch with wonder as they share
Their breakfast once again!
Beak kind and keep your cats at bay...
Else feeding birds take flight!
It's nicer seeing birds at play
Than watching them take fright!
Beak kind to birds, give them their space
So they may co-exist...
For none on Earth can take their place,
So they'd be sorely missed!
Beak kind to birds, they'll flock to you -
They're all our feathered friends!
It doesn't matter, black or blue...
Beak kind - 'cos it makes sense!
poem by Denis Martindale (2003)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Touch of Autumn
It is blowing, it is getting cold
Birds are chirping, birds are resting!
The long sunny day is gone
replaced by the sudden onset of night!
Leaves from trees, fruits like apples,
peaches, berries and grapes fall down.
My beans and squash seem ready
to sleep and abort the budding of flowers.
The green colours turn golden and
cover the living soil and ground.
September, October and November,
the golden long autumn months
of fallen leaves from windy heights.
___________
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Sonnet: Grow Trees
The branches cut the wind fierce to a breeze;
The leaves break sunlight into chequered beams;
The shade of trees affords all travelers peace;
The wearied ones sleep ’neath the trees in dreams!
And birds too build their nests on branches high;
The squirrels eat their berries with great joy;
The trees make verdant all landscape near-by;
And attract rain in which children enjoy!
Trees make the earth greener and beautiful,
Adding oxygen to the air we breathe;
Preserve its trees, man! Nature is grateful;
The leaves and flowers can make us a wreath.
Trees are so useful to mankind always;
’midst good trees, men have spent their earthly days!
7-14-2002
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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