En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Chilled fire of Snow

have you ever taste the cooled bloom of
winter, as the river freeze and the tree stood still
for a hibernation of waiting, oh! come the cone
of the morning dust wonder in the woods for the
early spring sang the melody of your beautifully
echoed song of praise

feel the warm blanket for the thick snow
warm the flesh and fuel the sweat that dried,
open into my molded fire, enkindle that thirst of
my being and say not that hold you to the end,
full of rendezvous happiness beneath the naked
truth of the snow

languish my arrogant and cleanse my hope of
promise for nothing lift, but the chilled night of
where I believe is the beginning of fire in the
chilled winter snow of life

replenish my dignity and brighten my day, the
snow seems clear my way …..

poem by Antonio Liao
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The 'Poem A Day' Project ~ Day 193

I’m a traffic cone up a tree
Someone on a drunken spree
With all of their might
Gave me new height
Here for all to see

I’m a traffic cone up a tree
Not really where I should be
I’m usually found
Much nearer the ground
Lined up uniformly

I’m a traffic cone up a tree
It makes me feel rather free
To have reached a place
No other cone’ll grace
Fills me with real glee

I’m a traffic cone up a tree
Plastic and bright orangey
I might catch the eye
Of some strange passer by
Who’ll write a poem about me

poem by Flying Lemming
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Early Christmas Morning

Listen to the children sing
Watch them dancing all around the Christmas tree
Waiting for the opening
Early Christmas morning

All around the world is sleeping
Little children there's no peeping
Wait and see what Santa's bringing
Early Christmas morning
Early Christmas morning

Icicles and breakfast cakes
Friends and family we will celebrate
Sounds that joy and laughter make
Early Christmas morning

All around and far off places
Angels waken smiling faces
Wrapping us with love and graces
Early Christmas morning
Early Christmas morning

song performed by by Cyndi Lauper from Merry Christmas... Have A Nice Life
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Early In The Morning

Early in the morning and I cant get right
Had a little date with my baby last night
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Now its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to all the places where we used to go
Went to your house but you dont live there no more
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to your friends house but she was out
Knock on your fathers door and he began to shout get out there boy
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to doogie chain to get something to eat
Waiter looked at me and said you sure look beat
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silver Frosty Leaves (from Minutes of Falling Days)

Sweet love of dreams and morning's blossoms white
That from twilight comes in to its bloom
With some spear of gleams from bluish starry night
Conquer of the winter in gray and gloom

Life's glimmer and silver frosty leaves
Show their ways when darkness again comes
Each their dream and longings that retrieves
When tone down in palpable deep winter hums

The morning of shadowed silvery moon
Ice on the river in mirroring hold
Yesterday’s retention - in memory
Flowers of winter in their midnight noon
Hallucinations of chill that now fold
Like decorations on every tree

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Early Morning

(pal waaktaar/ mags)
Early morning
Eight oclock precise
I see the lonely august sun arise
Say you know
You will
Move me like you do
Out on the fields...
Im waiting the whole night through
Early morning, early morning, yeah
Ran the whole way
Down to the tracks
Through the doorway, then a last look back
Say you know
You will
Save me like you do
Out on the fields...
Ive waited the whole night through
Early morning, early morning, yeah
I climbed all the stairways
To find the rooftop clear
Got the shotgun lying with me here
Say you know
You will
Move me like you do
Out on the fields...
You know how it feels, yeah
Early morning, early morning, yeah
Early morning
Eight oclock precise

song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A view of spring turning into summer (hybridanelle)

From the time that the first sunlight hit me
I was surrounded by heat like a cocoon
and I saw the clear blue sky and felt free

while the early morning breeze
kissed my cheek
with an early morning freeze

and there were clouds escaping from my mouth that I could see
evaporating like steam or gas from a balloon.
From the time that the first sun light hit me

some dust tickling my nose made me sneeze
and glorious bright rays
kissed my cheek,

buds opened on every plant and tree,
ants marched to and fro like in a platoon
and I saw the clear blue sky and felt free

and I was experiencing days
of spring leading into summer
and glorious bright rays

and nature’s decree
summoning new seasons, made me feel like a tycoon
from the time that the first sunlight hit me

and the wind like a drummer
sweeping through sand, leaves and branches whistling its song
of spring leading into summer

and you my love, had to agree
that an awesome summer would be here soon
and I saw the clear blue sky and felt free

as if this freaky wind was blowing me along,
turned part of me into nature and I saw it
sweeping through sand, leaves and branches whistling its song

and even you were in its spell and we
were both smitten with summer and spring that afternoon.
From the time that the first sunlight hit me
and I saw the clear blue sky and felt free

it was like standing on a high summit
while the early morning breeze,
turned part of me into nature and I saw it
with an early morning freeze.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Beautiful Camellias

The camellias bloom in Winter when the skies are cold and gray
When the sun shines at it's weakest and the Spring seems far away
Each tree an individual by the shade of flowers they bear
An avenue of camellias of one shade of flowers more often than not rare.

In shades of pink and creams and reds the colours one might name
Each is an individual for no two look the same
The beautiful camellias resplendent in their flowers
They bloom in lawn and garden on Winter's coldest hours.

In late fall in Victoria in the Southern Hemisphere
The flower buds on camellia tell Winter days are near
And before the wattles come to bloom towards the end of July
The flowers on the camellia tree lose their petals and die.

The beautiful camellias bloom in the cold winter showers
And long before the southern spring they will have lost their flowers
And on June's coldest and wettest day great beauty I can see
A mass of pink flowers blooming on the green camellia tree.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Visit to Orcha: A visual exploration

River and tree look on morning town
And on the bridge and men and women
With loads of firewood from the forest
A bare-bodied man has sun on face.
Off the bridge a wizened old man
With saffron cloth drying on river rocks
Bends exquisitely with age and beauty.
A woman in red bathes on the river bed.
In the distance is the bank and history’s spires
On the bank a woman pours water in river
From a steel pot in oblation, to the sun.
As the sun glistens on the shaken river
River beats rocks in soft steady rhythm.
Men stand on the river frozen in time
Joyful women hide on the river’s rim
Waiting to burst forth in celebration.
A holy man stands tall on the rocks
Drying a red loin cloth, his hair mat loose
A boy silhouette crouches near the holy man.
On the tall mound sits the crooked holy man
Against the brilliant morning sun, waiting
To be captured on somebody’s digital lens.

poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
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The Gardener XIII: I Asked Nothing

I asked nothing, only stood at the
edge of the wood behind the tree.
Languor was still upon the eyes
of the dawn, and the dew in the air.
The lazy smell of the damp grass
hung in the thin mist above the earth.
Under the banyan tree you were
milking the cow with your hands,
tender and fresh as butter.
And I was standing still.
I did not say a word. It was the
bird that sang unseen from the thicket.
The mango tree was shedding its
flowers upon the village road, and the
bees came humming one by one.
On the side of the pond the gate of
Shiva's temple was opened and the
worshipper had begun his chants.
With the vessel on your lap you
were milking the cow.
I stood with my empty can.
I did not come near you.
The sky woke with the sound of
the gong at the temple.
The dust was raised in the road
from the hoofs of the driven cattle.
With the gurgling pitchers at their
hips, women came from the river.
Your bracelets were jingling, and
foam brimming over the jar.
The morning wore on and I did not
come near you.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Rose Tree Of Winter

In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.

poem by Francis Duggan
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On The Other Hand He Calls It The Thousand Monkeys

on the thousandth
monkey
you shout
o my god
i made it!

the monkey
hangs and shifts
place from
vine to vine

jumps on the river
and swims
finds a fish
and eats it
rises from the river
and dances on
a rock
under the morning
sun

quite exciting
the other monkeys
did the same

except for one
he sits by the window
watches the running of
time
dust after dust
dusk after dusk
waiting for
the big break of
his own life.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pink Azalea

Early on an April day
In the land of morning calm
Azaleas bloom pink
At sunrise with a bright salaam They bloom alone
Around a quiet place
Where men, animals and insects
make little havoc of rat-race Azaleas are no Cosmos flower
Standing by the roadside
Flirting, giggling and cheek-rubbing
Against passersby, so dignified
They only bloom pink
Like maidens' heart, so purified
Breathing free fresh air
In the morning glow, misty-eyed
They drift upon the river
Getting neither wet nor dried Azaleas refuse to be tainted
By evening glow on the west-side
Mellowing into a pink shade
Beneath the sun at eventide

poem by Kim Unsong
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Restive

that early morning
when the sun just comes up
from the mountain side
rising to
the cone top

a yellow butterfly as tiny
as my nail
flutters over a red rose petal
holding still
on a dew

slowing down
this small world where i live
becomes a home

my nerves rearrange their postures
resolving
an entanglement

now restive like a goat under
a sycamore tree
chewing grass

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One Day Nearer Spring

The weather cold this morning it is only two degrees
And a thick fog through the woodland, I can hardly see the trees
And the wildborn birds are silent there is scarcely any breeze
It's a day for woolly jumper though not cold enough to freeze.

For Winter in Victoria the weather seems quite dry
And the mornings foggy and quite cold allowing for July
And the fog doesn't lift till mid morning and the sun shines through the gray
And you see the grayness of your breath on a chilly Winter
day.

But only yesterday I saw male blackbird searching for a nesting site
On the ivy along galvanize fence in mid afternoon sunlight
And from there he flew to camellia tree as he pondered on where best
Might be the safest place for him and his mate to build their year's first nest.

The last leaves off of deciduous tree lay scattered on the ground
And in the grayness of the dawn the silence is profound,
The ghost like trees shrouded in gray and the birds refuse to sing
But every Winter day that dawns is one day nearer Spring.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Love Letters From Syur

Roses are red
violets are blue
I'm thinking of you
If only you knew
The stars are like dreams,
painted across the sky
put their for you and I
and if only they could describe
The way you make me feel
How I wish these dreams were real
Or how you got me head over heals
But remember

You were the one who walked away
and left me on that cold winter day
Just left me to freeze away
On that cold winter day

Oh what a beautiful way
To start my day
as to see your face
In this horrible place
This place we all call home
Were I am left alone
With no one to call my own
Life like this is pretty tough
But just to see you is enough
but just remember

You were the one who walked away
and left me on that cold winter day
Just left me to freeze away
On that cold winter day

I'll fight away your fears
I'll wipe away your tears
For now until the end of time
If that's what it takes for you to be mine
And until then I'll sit here
Waiting for you my dear
Cause all you gotta do is simply say
Lets go back in time before that cold winter day
that cold winter day

poem by Jorge Rolon
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Monkey Butt with Choca Mocha

It's not my favorite...
But it's hot!
This flavor tasted that I've got!
It satisfies a need that's fed...
A craving that has stopped inside my head!

A temporary drop,
In my pocket.
I will admit a feeding has been met!
A soothing to a drooling has been cooled.
Addicted to a moment of regret that's soothed!

Put a double on the cone for me!
With a cherry on the top...
Sitting on whipped cream with meaning!

Put a double on the cone for me!
Since you're out of Maple Nut...
I'll take take two scoops of 'Monkey Butt'.
And come back and get that 'Choca Mocha'!

Put a double on the cone for me!
With a cherry on the top...
Sitting on whipped cream with meaning!

Put a double on the cone for me!
Since you're out of Maple Nut...
Give me 'Monkey Butt' with 'Choca Mocha'!
Wait!
Leave the 'Monkey Butt'
And add two 'Choca Mochas'!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sunset In the Winter

The crisp smell of the woods is beautiful when it comes to winter. Snow across the the woods sitting there fresh and clean. when it comes to sunsets you know what i am talking about, a sunset in the winter is far more beautiful the in the spring, because in the winter you have some time to sit there and think. You are just there to see how beautiful a sunset is in the winter, My, my the beautiful things. When you hear the animals whistling in the woods you know what its like to see and feel a sunset in the winter.

poem by Rosanna Florio
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Winter's Sun

Early morning's winter sun,
filters through the shades,
birds enjoying goodies,
as the frost of morning fades -
Moisture on the pavement,
makes patterns in the light,
and reminds us of the rain and snow,
we encountered in the night.
Darkened, silohuetted trees,
frame themselves, against the sky -
For the moment, for the season,
they have gladly died.
Still they stand, proud and tall,
leafless since the late, late fall,
taking each day as it is done,
waiting...watching...for the sun,
to bring them warmth as they stand mute,
in time to bud...in time, to fruit.
Winter comes and winter goes,
as fast as any clock can run,
the seasons come,
the seasons go,
and spring awaits old winter's sun.

poem by David Lessard
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Dusty Doors

Child of the Aztec gods,
how long must we listen here,
how long before we go?

The dust is deep on the lintels.
The dust is dark on the doors.
If the dreams shake our bones,
what can we say or do?

Since early morning we waited.
Since early, early morning, child.
There must be dreams on the way now.
There must be a song for our bones.

The dust gets deeper and darker.
Do the doors and lintels shudder?
How long must we listen here?
How long before we go?

poem by Carl Sandburg
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Misty River

This morning
Me in this Misty River
All the happiness
I am feeling inside myself
Misty River
The mist is coming
From this Misty River
There are clouds
In the sky
And the mist
Is caused by the condensation
Of the heat mixed in the cold water
Misty River
I am in a fishing boat
That boat is moving slowly in this
Misty river
It is early in the morning
I am eating my breakfast in the fishing boat in the middle of this
Misty River
I hear the birds singing early in the morning
In this Misty River
There must be trees because the sound of the birds is coming from the Branches
Misty River
So peaceful
It looks so different with the mist
No one is around but me
With my fishing boat
And the beautiful sound of the birds
It is so nice
To have a place to come to
Where I can
Hear the sound of the birds
And be left alone
With no one disturbing me
Misty River
This is my special place
And by afternoon
No clouds I will see
The birds are beautiful
Their song is just beautiful like mother nature intended it to be
If nobody else appreciates this Misty River
I do
Misty River
I will die for you
Misty River
I will shed my tears for you
I have been coming here for so long now
Misty River

poem by Aldo Kraas
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