En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Park Life

Situated in a city, where life is all race, race, race,
Hyde Park is a sea of calm, with a much slower pace.
Acres of parkland are shrouded in bright sunlight,
And it has to be said, it really is a wonderful sight.

A skater skilfully negotiates a long line of cones.
People sit texting and chatting on mobile phones.
A couple cool off in the waters of the Serpentine:
Oblivious to bystanders, their two bodies entwine.

Watching a grey squirrel, some folk stand and stare,
But for these cute creatures, some do not much care.
Upon the bandstand, students rehearse Shakespeare,
Adding a touch of culture to this lovely atmosphere.

At the ticket office, for the boats, there is a long queue:
The rowing boats and pedalos, folk are all dying to use.
A large flock of seagulls, so very skilful in their flight,
Are eager for food, and, over it, they very viciously fight.

Packs of pigeons peck around occupied wooden seats,
Hoping they will be thrown the odd tasty titbit to eat.
On the lake, six baby cygnets are bobbing about:
Nearby, their proud mother keeps a wary lookout.

People sit beneath the tall trees, glad of the shade,
Tucking into sandwiches, which they have made.
At the water's edge, people sit soaking their feet;
Drawn by the water's cooling effect in this heat.

Some folk like to sit alone under the tall trees to read;
They sit upon a soft carpet of grass, blossom and seed.
Hyde Park is a haven, where you can leave the city behind;
In this space, comfort for your soul you, very soon, will find.

poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Coventry Squirrels

Near Coventry Cathedral, upon the green,
A group of grey squirrels can often be seen.
Squirrel food can be bought from the gift shop,
Where many of the City’s tourists do often stop.

The squirrels there are amazingly tame,
And seem to enjoy their relative fame.
Up and down the tall trees, they race;
Dashing around at an incredible pace.

When they spot a tourist walk along the path,
To them, it could mean food – they’re not daft!
Up in the trees or on the ground, they keep an eye,
On all of the people who are passing by.

When someone stops and looks their way.
They run on over to them, totally unafraid.
For food, they are always on the scrounge,
And luckily, for them, there’s plenty around.

I feel slightly unnerved if they come too near.
Inside, I begin to feel a slight sense of fear.
I saw on You Tube, a surprising video online,
Where, up someone’s leg, a squirrel did climb!

Watching the squirrels, I really do adore,
And always want to stay a few minutes more.
Watching them all, really does make my day,
And I find it incredibly hard to tear myself away.

poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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By Blackfriars Bridge

It is such a lovely day and the sun is shining.
Outside the nearby pub, there are people dining.
A street performer dances with a crystal ball.
Directly opposite me, is the dome of St Paul's.

Along the pebbled shore, a few stragglers stroll.
Somewhere in the distance, a church bell tolls.
At the river, people contentedly stand and stare.
The soft, summer breeze gently ruffles my hair.

The Millennium Bridge shines silver in the sun.
I pass by some joggers, who are out for their run.
People take pictures with their mobile phones.
Along the river, a pair of ducks happily roam.

Of people walking along, there is a constant flow.
Planes high up in the sky head towards Heathrow.
A flock of seagulls swoop around above my head,
As they search for food along the Thames riverbed.

The sun is reflected upon the river, as a silvery path.
Along the riverbank, crowds of people chat and laugh.
Tourists mill around outside Shakespeare's Globe.
An Afro-Caribbean wears a brightly coloured robe.

From the nearby pier, pleasure boats come and go.
By the river's edge, there is a man playing a piano.
With the warm sun upon me, I could stay all day,
And it takes some effort to finally pull myself away.

poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jottings of New York

Oh, mighty city of New York, you are wonderful to behold--
Your buildings are magnificent-- the truth be it told--
They were the only thing that seemed to arrest my eye,
Because many of them are thirteen storeys high;

And as for Central Park, it is lovely to be seen--
Especially in the summer season when its shrubberies are green
And the Burns Statue is there to be seen,
Surrounded by trees on the beautiful sward so green;
Also Shakespeare and the immortal Sir Walter Scott,
Which by Scotchmen and Englishmen will never be forgot.

There are people on the Sabbath day in thousands resort--
All lov'd, in conversation, and eager for sport;
And some of them viewing the wild beasts there,
While the joyous shouts of children does rend the air--
And also beautiful black swans, I do declare.

And there's beautiful boats to be seen there,
And joyous shouts of children does rend the air,
While the boats sail along with them o'er Lohengrin Lake,
And fare is 5 cents for children, and adults ten is all they take.

And there's also summer-house shades, and merry-go-rounds
And with the merry laughter of the children the Park resounds,
During the live-long Sabbath day
Enjoying themselves at the merry-go-round play.

Then there's the elevated railroads abont five storeys high,
Which the inhabitants can hear night and day passing by;
Of, such a mass of people there daily do throng--
No less than five 100,000 daily pass along;
And all along the city you can get for five cents--
And, believe me, among the passengers there's few discontent.

And the top of the houses are mostly all flat,
And in the warm weather the people gather to chat;
Besides, on the housetops they dry their clothes;
And, also, many people all night on the housetops repose.

And numerous ships end steamboats are there to be seen,
Sailing along the East River water, which is very green--
Which is certainly a most beautiful sight
To see them sailing o'er the smooth water day and night.

And as for Brooklyn Bridge, it's a very great height,
And fills the stranger's heart with wonder at first sight;
And with all its loftiness I venture to say
It cannot surpass the new railway bridge of the Silvery Tay.

And there's also ten thousand rumsellers there--
Oh, wonderful to think of, I do declare!
To accommodate the people of New York therein,
And to encourage them to commit all sorts of sin.

And on the Sabbath day ye will see many a man
Going for beer with a big tin can,
And seems proud to be seen carrying home the beer
To treat his neighbours and his family dear.

Then at night numbers of the people dance and sing,
Making the walls of their houses to ring
With their songs and dancing on Sabbath night,
Which I witnessed with disgust, and fled from the sight.

And with regard to New York and the sights I did see--
Believe me, I never saw such sights in Dundee;
And the morning I sailed from the city of New York
My heart it felt as light as a cork.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Place Of Romantic Mood!

Romantic mood comes whenever we see a park!
One such park is a centre of attraction in our town;
Green lawn all around the park with open space wide
And trees with wide branches giving shade make it
A romantic place for lovers and tourists to enjoy here!
The parks of this kind I have seen in hill stations where
The climate is a plus point for tourists’ attraction there!
Varieties of flowers of different colours and fragrance
And fountains ejecting high up water give thrilling joy!
Blue sky, green grass lawn, fountain waters cooling all
And tall trees of big branches giving shade all over there
Make the park a small paradise for lovers and tourists!
For regaining joyful mood and relaxing in romantic mood
Where can we go for except the park of paradise here?

poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Boats A Bobbing

I’m sitting on the jetty, feet dangling o’er the sea,
A view that’s so breathtaking, that it’s enveloped me.
The sunlight on the water, with facets shining bright.
I could sit forever absorbing this wondrous sight.

The little boats a bobbing out on the restless brine,
Their sails of rainbow colours are beautiful and fine.
Wind is gently blowing as they navigate to shore,
At one with the ocean, such adventuring in store.

I’m standing on the headland watching seagulls streak by,
There’s squawking and diving as they pulsate through the sky.
Always so hungry, forever searching for their meal,
No matter who’s food tempts them, they are ready to steal.

I’m resting on a boulder on the top of the cliffs.
Two rowing boats are proceeding I think they are skiffs.
Chasing to beat each other with their single man crew,
There is so much to observe, Ah! here comes a canoe.

A two-masted vessel, fore-and-aft rigged, a smart ketch
Sails into harbour seen above yellow broom and vetch.
Vibrant in its paintwork, she gives a scene oh so grand,
With all her keen crew, she is very expertly manned.

I’m on my way home now but it has been a great day.
The sea, sand and salty wind, with warm sun and cool spray.
My sleek hair is unkempt and my book I have not read,
As comings and goings kept me occupied instead.

poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Fairie's Fair

Who’s that dancing on the moonlight air,
Heel tapping, Toe-heel rapping?
Oberon opening the fairies’ fair
To jig away sorrow on the grave of Care.
Come along, old folk, cold fork, bold folk,
Drop your shears at the midnight stroke.
Elves are crying: "Who’ll come buying
Jugs of Joy from a fairy’s cloak?"
Mab is sitting on a silver shoe,
Bright eyes laughing, Light lips quaffing
Airy bubbles from a cup of dew,
Her bracelets tinkle with delights for you.
Come along tall folk, small folk, all folk,
Race the stream where the fat frogs croak,
Buy a bobbin! There goes Robin
Tying Time to a daisy’s yoke!

poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dinosaurs In The Suburbs

Go to Crystal Palace Park in the dead of night,
And you are sure to be given a very big fright.
The dinosaurs, which you see there in the Park,
Suddenly all spring to life when it grows dark.

They stand stock still as statues during the day,
But, at night, they all chorus ‘Hip-hip- hooray! '
Around the Palace Park, the dinosaurs roam:
Looking for food, every inch they will comb.

They have resided at the Park for many a year;
Faint hearted folk will not dare venture near.
Some of the local neighbours, who live nearby
Have reported hearing the odd frightened cry.

The statues seem to cause a slight feeling of unease;
On seeing them, some folk simply stop and freeze.
During the day, the dinosaurs will do you no harm;
Some people think they even behold a slight charm.

As soon as the daylight begins to fail,
Frightened little children begin to wail.
They know that the dinosaurs will come alive,
So, through the Park gates, they quickly dive.

When the Keeper locks up the gates at night,
He makes sure that they are locked really tight:
He doesn't want the dinosaurs running around,
Scaring the neighbours and terrorizing the town.

Of course, the dinosaurs could easily break out,
But, their cover would be blown, without a doubt.
So they stay well within the Park's perimeter fence,
Shrouded by the vegetation, which grows so dense.

To humans, hungry dinosaurs can be a big threat,
But, luckily, no one has ever been eaten as yet.
So, if you're ever nearby, and you hear a loud roar,
Chances are it will be one of the local dinosaurs!

poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fourth & Main

Im here at fourth and main
Been standing in the rain
I feel no joy, I feel no pain
I got nothing to lose, nothing to gain
Im at fourth and main
Been down at city hall
Been writing on the wall
The grass is wet and the trees are tall
I listen to the pigeons, to the raindrops fall
Im at city hall
Been down at pershing square
I cant seem to care
If the people stop or the people stare
I dont care if Im leaving, Im going somewhere
Im at pershing square

song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The City Without You...

The City without You …
Is a skeleton buried in the desert of time…
No songs, No lights
No people enjoying the nights…
No sea caressing the hair of the shore
No birds dancing in the air like before…
The palm trees are crying
Their sweetie dates are dying…
The City without You … is so ugly
Like a scene of a crime…

The City without You …
Is full of strangers, of ghosts, is not mine …
The Central park is empty
No flowers, No Grass, No water falls
No kids playing with the balls…
No couple walking together
No lover searching for another…
Abu Dhabi without you is really a sick city
Without you will never shine…

Wael Karameh
July 18,2008

poem by Wael Karameh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sunset By The Sea

I'm unable to visit a seaside town, and not see the mighty ocean;
I find myself being pulled there, with a sense of magnetic motion.
I sit surveying the sea, for a while, with a completely rested mind;
Moments like these, in everyday life, can be so very hard to find.

The lamps which line both sides of the long, wooden panelled pier,
Shine brightly, through the gathering gloom, bringing some cheer.
Despite the bitterly cold weather, and the now fast fading daylight,
Dozens of joggers disappear down the prom, running into the night.

Between the sea and sky, there is usually a distinct horizon to see,
But the sight which I see before my eyes, seems very strange to me:
The sea and sky seem to appear as one: both a shade of light grey;
To onlookers, only the foam crested waves, give the game away.

Waves rapidly rush towards the beach, and they furiously foam.
Along the water's edge, only the odd few stragglers still do roam.
On the shining, sodden sand, I see a young couple's reflection;
Looking relaxed, they stroll, hand in hand, in the sea's direction.

A couple rest on the railings, watching the roaring, rolling surf;
Nothing can measure what moments, like these, are really worth.
The pearly sky is streaked with shades of greys, blues, and pinks.
In the far distance, a string of white lights seems to urgently wink.

The light is fading, but, still, people are drawn towards the sea;
For some, it seems the only place where they really want to be.
The effect which water has on people, seems to be very calming;
Towns situated by the sea, are always considered very charming.

Once I'm stood before the ocean, I so desperately want to stay,
And I find it almost impossible to have to drag myself away.
But, in the end, I have to leave, as tonight I have a concert date;
It is the sole reason for my being here, so I really can't be late.

poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Green Fingers

People have gardens, both large and small,
Whilst flat dwellers have no garden at all.
Some people love to surround their homes
With comical-looking, little garden gnomes.
A few gardens boast fantastic water-features,
Or a large array of stone, woodland creatures.
To make their garden nice, some folk really do try,
Whilst other gardens really are a sight for sore eyes.
Some folk really wish their garden was just not there,
And, about them, they, very obviously, just do not care.
Without a garden, some people would feel really lost,
And they keep them looking nice, whatever the cost.
Some people are blessed: they have green fingers,
And, in their gardens, for hours, they love to linger.
When some people pull on their gardening gloves,
They tend their gardens with such heartfelt love.
People love to spend their time sowing seeds,
Trimming their hedges, and pulling up weeds.
Some tend flower beds, upon bended knee.
Some grow delicious fruit upon their trees.
The gardener's nightmare is the garden pest:
To eradicate them all, they do their best.
Some people love to escape to their sheds,
Where they can think, and clear their heads.
In their gardens, people love to spend time,
But they like it best, when the weather is fine.
When all of their gardening chores are done,
Some people love to sit and relax in the sun.
Time spent in the garden, always really flies;
The benefits of gardening cannot be denied.

poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Watching The World Go By

In a coffee shop window, I sit and stare
At all the people passing by, out there.
In London town, literally anything goes:
Zany hairstyles, as well as crazy clothes.

As a regular visitor, I'm now never surprised
At the sights, which I see set before my eyes.
People of all ages pass by: some young, some old;
Some wear quiet colours, while others wear bold.

Some have mobile phones pressed to their ear:
Their faces full of frowns - no trace of cheer.
But tourists keep a much more leisurely pace;
These are the people with a smile on their face.

Football supporters are just back from a game;
Fuelled with alcohol, they are less than tame.
A tramp searches for food in the nearby trash.
A busker plays his guitar, hoping for some cash.

Small children tightly hold their parents' hands;
The dangers of the city, they don't yet understand.
I see friends greet, and, each other, they happily hug;
The warmth between them, I feel in my coffee mug.

I see teenage girls with hair dyed red or bright blue;
And they dare to flash an amazing amount of flesh to.
Here, people aren't afraid to show just who they are.
Some of them drive around in really cool, funky cars.

London is so different from the town where I reside:
No one in the city feels as though they've got to hide.
Sitting, watching people, just makes the time really fly.
I love sitting in the window, watching the world go by.

poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lying In The Park

On the green grass
And a blue sky
Peace and sunshine
Peace and sunshine
Soon,
Soon Im going bye ? ? ?
Now I just want ? ? ? city
Lookin for the park
Lying down in the park
Lying down in the park
Yeah yeah yeah
See the momma
Down walking the dogs
Down by the fountains
Down by the fountains
Child, child
Eating sandwich and sweets
And your sitting by my fountain
Cooling my feet
In the park
Just before dark
Birds sing so smooth
But the park shut soon
What we going to do
Fine we gonna have to move
But Ill see you tomorrow
Lying down in the park
Lying down in the park
Lying down in the park
Yeah yeah yeah
Feel the warm breeze
Cool by ? ? ?
Seen my good friend
Seen my good friend
So, so
In the afternoon
And we take us for your city ? ? ?
Lookin for the park
Lying down in the park
Lying down in the park
Lying down in the park baby
See that young girl
There she goes man
See that rich bum
The old men playing chess
See that young girl
With that flower dress
See that young girl
With the flower dress
Well soon Im going bye
Now I just might move on
Looking for the park
Lying down in the park
Lying down in the park
Lying down in the park baby
Ill be there
Ill meet you there
Oh baby
Yeah

song performed by by G. Love & Special Sauce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Swans

Two swans sit alone on a lake
Looking so peaceful,
Poised on the tranquil waters.
The air around them is calm,
A gentle breeze wafting,
Gliding through their white feathers.
They are caressed by the pine scents
And the delicate balance
Of their surroundings.
The sky above is blue,
Almost cloudless and clear,
But a few pillows float overhead.
The trees stand tall beside the lake,
Watching the swans
Swim on the surface.
They swim majestically,
Beautifully,
In the recreational park.
Under their webbed feet,
Abandoned garbage sifts—
The collected lost trinkets of lazy people.
Twenty feet from the lake,
There is a parking lot
Filled with automobiles
With rust crusting on the hood
And near the synthetic rubber tires.
The people that own the cars
Are feeding the geese bleached white Wonder bread.
They leave their Coke bottles
And Doritos bags on the ground,
Ready to be carried away by the wind.
The swans watch the people.
Later, one of them
Will stick its neck
Into the plastic hole
Of a Coke bottle container
And choke
And choke
And choke
And choke.
It will die.
The other swan will watch,
Helpless and screaming,
Unable to do anything.
Some people will watch,
In awe,
Some excited.

poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Carpet Crawlers

He returns from his mixed-up memories to the passage he was previously stuck in. this time he discovers a long carpeted corridor.
There is lambswool under my naked feet.
The wool is soft and warm,
- gives off some kind of heat.
A salamander scurries into flame to be destroyed.
Imaginary creatures are trapped in birth on celluloid.
The fleas cling to the golden fleece,
Hoping theyll find peace.
Each thought and gesture are caught in celluloid.
Theres no hiding in my memory.
Theres no room to avoid.
The walls are painted in red ochre and are marked by strange insignia, some looking like a bulls-eye, others of birds and boats. further down the corridor, he can see some people; all kneeling.
Broken sighs and murmurs they struggle, in their slow motion to move towards a wooden door at the end. having seen only the inanimate bodies in the grand parade of lifeless packaging, rael rushe
Talk to them.
The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridor.
For my second sight of people, theyve more lifeblood than before.
Theyre moving in time to a heavy wooden door,
Where the needles eye is winking, closing in on the poor.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
Weve got to get in to get out
Weve got to get in to get out
Weve got to get in to get out.
Whats going on? he cries to a muttering monk, who conceals a yawn and replies its a long time yet before the dawn. a sphinx-like crawler calls his name saying don
K him, the monk is drunk. each one of us is trying to reach the top of the stairs, a way out will await us there. not asking how he can move freely, our hero goes boldly through the door.
D a table loaded with food, is a spiral staircase going up into the ceiling.
Theres only one direction in the faces that I see;
Its upward to the ceiling, where the chambers said to be.
Like the forest fight for sunlight, that takes root in every tree.
They are pulled up by the magnet, believing theyre free.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
Weve got to get in to get out
Weve got to get in to get out
Weve got to get in to get out.
Mild mannered supermen are held in kryptonite,
And the wise and foolish virgins giggle with their bodies glowing
Bright.
Through a door a harvest feast is lit by candlelight;
Its the bottom of a staircase that spirals out of sight.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
Weve got to get in to get out
Weve got to get in to get out
Weve got to get in to get out.
The porcelain mannikin with shattered skin fears attack.
The eager pack lift up their pitchers - they carry all they lack.
The liquid has congealed, which has seeped out through the crack,
And the tickler takes his stickleback.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
Weve got to get in to get out
Weve got to get in to get out
Weve got to get in to get out.

song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hunchback in the Park

The hunchback in the park
A solitary mister
Propped between trees and water
From the opening of the garden lock
That lets the trees and water enter
Until the Sunday sombre bell at dark

Eating bread from a newspaper
Drinking water from the chained cup
That the children filled with gravel
In the fountain basin where I sailed my ship
Slept at night in a dog kennel
But nobody chained him up.

Like the park birds he came early
Like the water he sat down
And Mister they called Hey mister
The truant boys from the town
Running when he had heard them clearly
On out of sound

Past lake and rockery
Laughing when he shook his paper
Hunchbacked in mockery
Through the loud zoo of the willow groves
Dodging the park keeper
With his stick that picked up leaves.

And the old dog sleeper
Alone between nurses and swans
While the boys among willows
Made the tigers jump out of their eyes
To roar on the rockery stones
And the groves were blue with sailors

Made all day until bell time
A woman figure without fault
Straight as a young elm
Straight and tall from his crooked bones
That she might stand in the night
After the locks and chains

All night in the unmade park
After the railings and shrubberies
The birds the grass the trees the lake
And the wild boys innocent as strawberries
Had followed the hunchback
To his kennel in the dark.

poem by Dylan Thomas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The New Forest

Tall trees offer the birds and beasts much protection;
Of flora and fauna, there is a truly fabulous collection.
Through the forest, ponies roam around wild and free;
Up above their heads, the small birds nest in the trees.

Under the canopy of the trees, the world seems so dim,
But, in grassy clearings, the sunlight is suddenly let in.
Trees, caught from falling, stand at an angle, inclined;
With other trees, their twisted limbs are now entwined.

Rabbits risk emerging from warren holes to run around;
Their long ears stand erect, listening for the tiniest sound.
The forest is punctuated with patches of soft, marshy land,
Where large pools of stagnant water, always seem to stand.

Herds of deer roam around, with their heads held up high;
But on seeing any human, they suddenly feel slightly shy.
Earthen tracks have been formed, by countless falling feet;
Eager to avoid the hidden dangers, of the soft bogs of peat.

Couples companionably dawdle, as they exercise their dogs,
Who, in their eagerness, vault over fallen, moss covered logs.
The boughs of Silver birch trees gently shimmer in the sun;
Twigs snap under foot, sounding like a shot fired from a gun.

The silence is sometimes broken, in places, by passing trains,
But once they've passed by, peace and quiet, once again, reign.
Leaves, twigs, pine cones, and berries, carpet the forest's floor.
For birds and animals, the forest is Mother Nature's food store.

The forest is a sanctuary from the pressures of modern living;
The pace there, compared to everyday life, is more forgiving.
The forest can be a magical place; it seems almost enchanted.
Tiny tots believe fairies live there and want their wishes granted.

Here and there, the ground rises into grassy mounds and banks.
The trees stand tall, like the attentive soldiers in military ranks.
In the shady spots, unfurl a multitude of magnificent spiky ferns.
In autumn, dressed in bright colours, the trees almost seem to burn.

Broken boughs lie abandoned; under lichen laden logs, insects hide.
Streams meander through the forest, and the surrounding countryside.
All of this outstanding natural beauty, is given to us humans for free;
There isn't a more tranquil place upon this earth, where I'd rather be.

poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Attitudes.

The moon sheds soft and silver light
upon the newly fallen snow
A master piece for our delight.
The city folk will never know.

The snow that falls on city streets.
Is all too soon polluted by
the footprints left by passing feet.
In cities different rules apply.

Country folk accept the snow
They know there’s little they can do
but wait. In time the snow must go.
Something to look forward to.

But city folk impatiently
Demand the streets should be snow free.

Wednesday,06 January 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Down By The Seaside

(page/plant)
Down by the seaside. see the boats go sailin
Can the people hear, what the little fish are sayin
Oh, oh, the people turned away. oh, the people turned away
Down in the city streets, see all the folk go racin, racin
No time left, to pass the time of day
The people turned away. the people turned away
So far away, so far away
See how they run, see how they run, see how they run, see how they run.
Do you still do the twist
Do you find you remember things that well
I wanna tell you... some go twistin every day
Though sometimes its awful hard to tell
Out in the country, hear the people singin
Singin bout their progress, knowin where theyre goin
Oh, oh, oh, oh, the people turned away
Yes, the people turned away
Sing loud for the sunshine, pray hard for the rain
And show your love for lady nature. and she will come back again the people turned away
The people turned away

song performed by by Led Zeppelin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tailback

In a traffic jam and I can see
Daffodils bedeck the ditches,
Benches in a people’s park.

Sideways there is a swamp
Where in the water preening
Stands a swan unperturbed.

A proud heron flies up above:
Once a tall and lordly one
Upheld its native landing rights,
Strutting around the grass
Within a nearby roundabout,
Reclaiming its own wetland.

As my patience in the tailback
Further ticks away from me
A brazen ambulance overtakes
This queue of cars and breaks
With flashing lights of blue
The traffic rules to save a life
By Limerick’s Shannon side
Across The Whistling Bridge.

poem by Matt Mooney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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