Dirge
Remembering he who walked dirt roads.
Mounted knolls to reach her house. By ways where
heaps of fruits lay in ruins. Memories of
ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
Pains and sorrows gather tall, yet
she slow danced with sorrows and all.
Moods bending and twisting but having a ball!
Lasting desire the only wallflower alone.
In her time, Momma's milk nurtured nine.
Springs sprung greens and fruits; the blazing
Summers ripened berries and plums; autumn's
Amber splendor signaled her work done.
Now winter renders cold and gloom.
No more seeds in spring, summers cold, autumn fell.
Now, harsh winter's gone but her venerableness lags on.
She marveled no more the vivid moon, nor
her smile as bright as the sun.
Joyce, her name and Joy passed away.
I Join this mournful dirge and wing with
the dove upon the morning cloud.
Her first, second, third, fourth and fifth,
sons were overcome by stark darkness
Though momma's fruits perished outside her womb,
yet four aged- daughters left keeping the narrative alive.
I think this melancholy history is well worth reprising:
The melodic songs, lyrical poems, elegiac verses of
those once lived, and the four waitng
waiting for the roll of each dice...
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Related quotes
Even if this summer is like none before (in answer to William Shakespeare)
Even if this summer is like none before,
with its dazzling flowers and fruits, even if none
other will ever be the same as this one
summers do not cease to exist and there will be one more
even is there is something to adore
and even preserving fruit, flowers, colours and tastes life goes on
and in winter natures lies asleep and quickly it is gone
with another great summer in store
and no one is truly bereft
when winter comes with its beauty
as if stuck in a cleft
when autumn, winter and spring appears with their own serenity.
nothing in a bottle can capture life, to have its essence left;
no human is apt in ability, to such profanity.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Winter Pear
Is always Age severe?
Is never Youth austere?
Spring-fruits are sour to eat;
Autumn's the mellow time.
Nay, very late in the year,
Short day and frosty rime,
Thought, like a winter pear,
Stone-cold in summer's prime,
May turn from harsh to sweet.
poem by William Allingham
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Autumn Becomes Winter
Autumn is becoming Winter,
And as it does everything dies.
Autumn is a slow decay in warm colours,
And Winter is grey and absent.
Some of the redy-brown leaves sit on the trees,
Yet the cold chill sings a song
That could only be the Winter.
It is scarf weather now.
I turn my collar up against the cold and damp.
The Sun has stopped shining all day,
Now we see it for a few hours a day
And then we are entombed in darkness.
You could run to catch up with the Sun,
But you’d never make it.
Be left like ship smoke on the horizon,
Just a spot in the distance.
You cannot escape the Winter.
Autumn is becoming Winter,
And as it does everything dies.
poem by Charlie F. Kane
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In A Minute Autumn
an autumn isn't only
golden and yellow leaves,
heated in the summer
sweet fruits juices and honey.
an autumn, it still
a sore throat, tiring,
a fever, and influenza,
and shivers.
an autumn is waiting
for the winter
a spring
for the summer
on it
what the time will bring
what for us the fate
has in the gift
poem by Maria Barbara Korynt
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Life's Winter
Idle, semiconscious winter fog
Settles heavy on deforested nude,
Grey and dull, everywhere, dull lull;
Spine-chilling cold, blinding grey fog,
Nowhere light streaks to warm-up heart.
Flowers and fruits of yester seasons
Only breed pains ‘neath smashing dead-weight
And drags life unto cold slow death;
Eyes go red in search of shadows
That grow tall in dusk’s twilight
To squeeze blood in bone-chilling pain.
Days are short, nights are along,
No greens, bare top everywhere;
Winds bite, old memories sting,
Eyes well up like dense white clouds
In distant brood of blue sky.
No colours, only shades of grey;
Thin dull shrieks of deep pain
Leak in slow moves form gulfs
Of grim wilderness of loneliness;
Cold void all round till eyes stretch,
No ripples of joy or warmth anywhere.
What a contrast in winter and spring!
How the spring deepens the chill of winter!
That fulsome spring; this bald winter;
Where has gone those fragrance and musics?
Those warmth, colours and sensuous tastes?
poem by Praveen Kumar
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Them And Us
One finger on the button
One finger up his nose
Johnny's in some cornfield
The early warning blows
Bigger is better
More is more
Look up, america!
Gonna even up the score
Get ready boys
Third times a charm
Don't need no sweater
It's gonna keep you warm
If we can't have the ball, there won't be any winner
This time
Them and us
Them and us
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
If forty-five minutes
It'll all be done
We'll all be good and crispy
But we'll still be number one
And if things go from bad to worse
We can still kill them if they kill us first
If we can't have the ball, there won't be any winner
This time
Hell-bent
Heaven sent
It all got started by an accident
If we can't have the ball, there won't be any winner
This time
Them and us
Them and us
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
Them and us
Them and us
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
song performed by by Don Henley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Autumn Longing
Let me die away with autumn
Let me be like fire
Ever ignite
Let me fall
I don't want the winter
To come after me
Let the autumn arms
Bright and gold
Let it come for me
In a dream
Like a swallow
Descending for Africa
I want to come with autumn
Let me come away with thee
I want to be wine red
I want tobe amber gold
I want to sleep
With the leaves
I want to burst with juices
Like the berries
I need to sleep
I need to burn
Like the sunset
I need the rest
Like the creatures
Who hibernate
To escape harsh winter
I want tobe with you
Autumn
Let me be asleep with thee
I want to hear you secrets
That hides forever deep
Oh autumn
Let one be in love with me
As I ‘am in love with you
Oh autumn
Let one die away with thee
poem by Guinevere Eveleigh
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Brimstone... ' (or A Cryptic-Cremation)
Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust
Flesh and Blood
Wood and Mud
Sun and Moon
Craters and Crust
Flames to Ashes
Smoke to Dust
Ape and Man
Heart and Brain
Glass and Sand
Abel and Cain
Spend this Space
On this Earth
Cutting Down
Another’s Worth
So Much Hate
On World and Planet
Trying to Paint
And Stain Pearls and Granite
‘Til, Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust
Stop Thinking, ’ Iron Them ’
Start Thinking, ‘ Wash Us ’
Fire On Mountain
Flows Volcanic Ash
Fire and Sand
Equals House of Glass
Dirt On Fire
Smother ‘Fore Long
And Fire and Rock
Equals Brimstone
poem by MoonBee Canady
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Them & Us
One finger on the button
One finger up his nose
Johnnys in some cornfield
The early warning blows
Bigger is better
More is more
Look up, america!
Gonna even up the score
Get ready boys
Third times a charm
Dont need no sweater
Its gonna keep you warm
If we cant have the ball, there wont be any winner
This time
Them and us
Them and us
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
If forty-five minutes
Itll all be done
Well all be good and crispy
But well still be number one
And if things go from bad to worse
We can still kill them if they kill us first
If we cant have the ball, there wont be any winner
This time
Hell-bent
Heaven sent
It all got started by an accident
If we cant have the ball, there wont be any winner
This time
Them and us
Them and us
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
Them and us
Them and us
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
song performed by by Don Henley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Say That I Have Passed...
we came together,
two rogue stars,
colliding in the darkness...
as if pine and oak intertwined,
and moon and darkness bayed.
wolves prowled the distant clearing,
the axe glimmered in half light.
the fog of breath moaned rising,
and years began,
as if a miracle!
small hands and rough hewn hands,
lit candles in poverty's excess.
and lovers that were strangers
found the tie that binds.
summers turned to autumn,
autumn drank the glass of winter.
and horse drawn spring forgot the spicket...
breasts left their mark in dirt.
ah, but love demands,
a war, a fire...
and letters written in flesh.
so be it!
say that i have passed,
and singed the curtains on your window!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Autumn Is Brown!
The colour of Autumn is brown
Like the leaves of Spring are crown!
The colour of Winter is white
Like the Summer heat at its height!
Falling dry leaves are symbol of Autumn
After flowers of Spring with bees hum!
Autumn is the symbol of wisdom ever
After rich growth of fruits in Spring sure!
Rain in Autumn is joyful as in heaven
Just as for the birds trees are haven!
Autumn ever denotes mental maturity
Just as fully grown flowers of beauty!
poem by Ramesh T A
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My Pains In Spring
My pains have four seasons
A spring, an autumn, a winter and a summer.
My spring triumphs over the rest.
In the spring of my pains
I am surrounded by smiles of sweet pathos within
And in my garden the blossoming pains flutter in the morning.
In the autumn of my pains
I am preceded by the hills of hopes mounted
And in my groves the pale pathos shed tears in the noon.
In the winter of my pains
I am hidden by the mist of dejected aims
And on my snow hills the sliding glaciers ensure a fall in the evening.
In the summer of pains
I am blasted by the heat waves of scattered dreams
And on my anvil of my poetry new lines are made.
I like my spring of pains
For I too have a human heart
And my garden of dreams will ever be there.....
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Life Is Lovely All the Year
When the buds are blossoming,
Smiling welcome to the spring,
Lovers choose a wedding day -
Life is love in merry May!
Spring is green - Fal lal la!
Summer's rose - Fal lal la!
It is sad when Summer goes,
Fal la!
Autumn's gold - Fal lal la!
Winter's grey - Fal lal la!
Winter still is far away -
Fal la!
Leaves in Autumn fade and fall;
Winter is the end of all.
Spring and summer teem with glee:
Spring and summer, then, for me!
Fal la!
In the Spring-time seed is sown:
In the Summer grass is mown:
In the Autumn you may reap:
Winter is the time for sleep.
Spring is hope - Fal lal la!
Summer's joy - Fal lal la!
Spring and Summer never cloy,
Fal la!
Autumn, toil - Fal lal la!
Winter, rest - Fal lal la!
Winter, after all, is best -
Fal la!
Spring and summer pleasure you,
Autumn, ay, and winter, too -
Every season has its cheer;
Life is lovely all the year!
Fal la!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Eatting Fruits
Eat fruits
Eat...
Every day...
Each
Break fast...
Lunch...
Dinner...
Eat...
Fruits...
Fruits is
Good for health...
Fruits is
Good for Taste
Fruits is
Good for mind...
Fruits is
Good for god...
So...
Fruits is
Good for hole and
Hoe body...
Any fruits...
Any time...
Eat eat eat...
Avoide all all
Disease...
Thats all...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Wisdom From Life
I can't forget the mango-tree that grew
So well, and gave us luscious fruits umptine
In mother's rented house garden we left,
When mother left the world to be with God!
I want to kill the squirrels, birds that steal
The ripened guava, custard fruits atop
Their trees, I eagerly await to pluck,
But cannot do for they much faster!
I wish to curse the children who come stealth,
And climb the trees to steal the fruits unripe,
Like cats that love to drink the milk when spilled,
And not from bowl that house-lady offers!
Charity has more value when you're poor!
Love is better given when you need it;
Sharing what you need is of greater worth;
Advice others what you didn't get in life!
poem by John Celes
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Wine by the Fire on a Cold Winter Night
Wine by the fire on a cold winter night a Gelid concordant. The snows of winter has fallen; and the
Winds are decrescent
Wildlife are
Indefatigable
In
Winter-land
Wine by the fire on a cold winter night. Monumental snows are glaciated; and the
Valleys below are elongated
In an alabaster,
Powdery
Splendor.
Engaging winter, where polar bears are denning
And accumbented in a long
Winter sleep. Winter's prelusory; for the translucent amber,
Gild, of autumn to a dulcify
In their joining. As we dine epicurean, in the comforts of clover;
And bonivant on tasty
Wines.
Wine by the fire on a cold winter night as we
Amorously commingle as one in A fervent that's
Second to None And the taste of
Wine by the fire on a cold winter
Night.
poem by Jr. J. Thomas
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Momma do you remember
Momma do you remember the day I was born
late in December when winter
takes away the warm
Momma do you remember
Momma do you remember
Momma do you remember when I was in my teens
with long curly hair
and bell bottom jeans
Momma do you remember
Momma do you remember
Momma it wasn't long ago
you where working in your yard
planting fresh flowers
you use to work so hard
now you can't make your flowers grow
OH no Oh no
Momma do you remember
Momma do you remember the day I was wed
let no man put asunder
is what the preacher said
Momma do you remember
Momma do you remember
Momma do you remember my one and only son
born one day after your birthday
that's when his life begun
Momma do you remember
Momma do you remember
Momma do you remember, Me?
I wrote this about a year before my Mom died of Alzheimer's
wondering I guess what might jog her memory when she forgot me
thinking if I reminded her of important things in my life that are considered mile stones of my life.
My Mom passed in July 2011 not knowing me.
© 2012 Marcus Goodman
poem by Marcus Goodman
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Momma This Pain
As I lay in my bed
Fear takes over me
Wondering what could take hold of me
Momma i've cried
Momma i've laid
But this fear is pain
Not like any pain
The pain you feel when a womb can't heal
A pain you feel when you take a bad pill
Where no matter how hard you try to breath
It seem like nothing will work
I reach out
Trying to feel but I reach for air trying to breathe
Momma I'm scared please help me
But it seem like you're not listening to me
Momma this pain is worst than many
This pain is worst than any
It feels like I'm dyeing
I can't breath
I see your shadow help me as I try and talk
You smile instead, can't you see I can't walk
Momma can you hear me
Momma this pain
Momma this death feels like nothing
I feel free I have no feeling
I feel like I'm lifting air
So you feel it
Momma I feel no pain
Momma no pain, no pain
Momma I'm free, no more pain
poem by Raesheka Antwine
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Autumn, Thee Lovely...
Perhaps 'twas destiny that stole its youth,
Autumn was never privy to the truth,
grown barren by He who weaves,
too early for snow, too late for leaves.
Oft it wore a counterfeit smile,
imploring the bounties of Summer wild,
to allay its advance from green to brown,
before its final journey to the ground.
Promises of slow demise never kept,
as red Autumn shed, she plaintively wept,
till Winter perplexed queried,
why Fall was so wanton-wearied?
'Willst thou then lend me snow? '
Winter alarmed at this ignoble show,
stripped off Autumn's remaining bower,
she lay undressed, like a jilted lover.
Yet 'ere His Worship, tipped the Horn
fruits ripened unafraid of being summer born,
Earth bloomed into corn's ears,
Rain fell to soothe the season's fears.
Still today we hear the Horn play,
in its music we see the well-fed sway,
and sleep 'neath a mellow Sun over field,
amidst once vagrant, now fragrant Autumn yield.
The Spring—Time, O The Spring--Time
The Spring-time, O the Spring-time!
Who does not know it well?
When the little birds begin to build,
And the buds begin to swell.
When the sun with the clouds plays hide-and-seek,
And the lambs are bucking and bleating,
And the colour mounts to the maiden's cheek,
And the cuckoo scatters greeting;
In the Spring-time, joyous Spring-time!
The Summer, O the Summer!
Who does not know it well?
When the ringdoves coo the long day through,
And the bee refills his cell.
When the swish of the mower is heard at morn,
And we all in the woods go roaming,
And waiting is over, and love is born,
And shy lips meet in the gloaming;
In the Summer, ripening Summer!
The Autumn, O the Autumn!
Who does not know it well?
When the leaf turns brown, and the mast drops down,
And the chestnut splits its shell.
When we muse o'er the days that have gone before,
And the days that will follow after,
When the grain lies deep on the winnowing-floor,
And the plump gourd hangs from the rafter;
In the Autumn, thoughtful Autumn!
The Winter, O the Winter!
Who does not know it well?
When, day after day, the fields stretch gray,
And the peewit wails on the fell.
When we close up the crannies and shut out the cold,
And the wind sounds hoarse and hollow,
And our dead loves sleep in the churchyard mould,
And we feel that we soon shall follow;
In the Winter, mournful Winter!
poem by Alfred Austin
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