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And the rain since
And I have not heard
Leaf at the pane all winter
Nor a bird's wing beating as that was
I have not seen
All year your leaning face again
Since I have never wakened but that smell
Of wet pine bark was in the room.
poem by Archibald MacLeish
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rain Keeps Fallin
I remember the night so well.
The rain was fallin but I just couldnt tell,
If it was you that was callin to my love-sick brain.
But the rain kept fallin on my window pane.
Out of the night the thunder rang in my ear.
I cant fight the feelin, lord, that brings forth my fears.
I wish it was over, lord, please stop the rain.
The rain thats fallin on my window pane.
The rain thats fallin on my window pane.
Every night the rains on time, I can feel it in this heart of mine.
But I dont know what to do.
Well, I guess I could go back home, cause you know back home is where I belong.
But it just aint home without you.
And I dont know what to do, baby.
Well, I guess Im a looser but it just dont seem fair.
I lost all my life so tell me, why should I care?
The night that you left me is the night that it came.
And the rains still fallin on my window pane.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
You know the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
I said the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
You know the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
I said the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
You know the rain ...
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
... keeps right on fallin.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
I said, the rain keeps fallin ...
song performed by by Grand Funk Railroad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Last Spring
THIS morning at the door
I heard the Spring.
Quickly I set it wide
And, welcoming,
'Come in, sweet Spring,' I cried,
'The winter ash, long dried,
Waits but your breath to rise
On phantom wing.'
A brown leaf shivered by,
A soulless thing--
My heart in quick dismay
Forgot to sing--
Twisted and grim it lay,
Kin to the ghost-ash gray,
Dead, dead--strange herald this
Of jocund Spring!
I spurned it from the door.
I longed that Spring
Should come with song and glow
And rush of wing,
Not this, not this!--But O
Dead leaf, a year ago
You were the dear first-born
Of Hope and Spring!
poem by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
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Winter Bird
Winter bird, winter bird
Why are you still here?
It is now June, the bright sun has appeared.
The warmer temperatures are to arrive soon.
The snow is gone, and you should be too.
As well as the foilage that familiar to you.
There is a different rhythm in the air.
The smell of flowers blooming everywhere.
You should be in hidding, somewhere out there.
Awaiting your winter season inorder to appear.
Yet, I can see your presence and hear you quite clear.
Oh, dear bird of winter, why are you here?
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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Self, No Self
self, no self...
does the leaf know the bark?
the bark know the limb?
the limb know the tree?
are they seperate, or one?
do the roots need a name?
the sun and rain ask for thanks?
where does one begin,
and the other end?
is the womb not a grave?
does the soul leave the body?
does the fire ever go out?
or do the embers wait,
warm and steady?
winter to spring, spring to summer,
summer to autumn, autumn to winter.
the tides go out,
and then return...
who stands on the shore,
lamp in hand?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Sea-Bird's Song
On the deep is the mariner's danger,
On the deep is the mariner's death;
Who, to fear of the tempest a stranger,
Sees the last bubble burst of his breath?
'T is the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
Lone looker on despair;
The sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
The only witness there.
Who watches their course, who so mildly
Careen to the kiss of the breeze?
Who lists to their shrieks, who so wildly
Are clasped in the arms of the seas?
'T is the sea-bird, &c.
Who hovers on high o'er the lover,
And her who has clung to his neck?
Whose wing is the wing that can cover,
With its shadow, the foundering wreck?
'T is the sea-bird, &c.
My eye in the light of the billow,
My wing on the wake of the wave;
I shall take to my breast for a pillow,
The shroud of the fair and the brave.
I'm a sea-bird, &c.
My foot on the iceberg has lighted,
When hoarse the wild winds veer about;
My eye, when the bark is benighted,
Sees the lamp of the Light-House go out.
I'm the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
Lone looker on despair;
The sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
The only witness there.
poem by John Gardiner Calkins Brainard
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I Like Smells
i like smells...
woodsmoke, and food,
black coffee in the morning.
the smell of rain,
of mud, of wetness.
the smell of the walls
of the cave, of the stone,
of the moss...
the smell of sex, of arousal,
of a woman's neck.
the smell of pine needles,
of an old house,
of fresh turned earth...
the smell of old books,
of old dogs, of shadows
without form...
i've even become accustomed
to the smell of death!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Forest In Winter
Winter’s chill winds again, and the birds
wing silently through the white pine trees
searching the snow for food, scratching the ground
when they find signs of sustenance.
A blanket of whiteness deadens my footsteps
but seems to sharpen the whistling of the wind,
and is raised and gathered into gusts that rage
shrill and stinging against the trunks of the trees.
Like a cold steel knife
winter bites icily into the cracked bark,
and the forest sways,
but with proud fortitude,
for winter is a hard taskmaster,
but fiercely beautiful.
poem by Rory Hudson
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Ay De Mi
O bird, that used to press,
Thy head against my cheek
With touch that seem'd to speak,
And ask a tender 'yes' -
Ay de mi, my bird:
Ay de mi, my bird, my bird -
Ay de mi, my bird.
O tender downy breast,
And warmly beating heart,
That beating seem'd a part
Of me who gave it rest -
Ay de mi, my bird:
Ay de mi, my bird, my bird -
Ay de mi, my bird.
poem by George Eliot
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Before I Go with the Night
Can you bring me a little warmth?
The night is like an unending tunnel
Ahead looms a long winter month
When I go there won't be a funeral.
Can you not hold me close?
Rub the cold off my heart?
So that when the chill goes
I can blissfully depart.
I am cold as the frosty night's bird
With the smell of warmth under my wing
The sound of my fall if it's ever heard
A dirge for me can you sing?
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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For Hunting...
For Hunting...
Heart is given only with heart...
Nobody can fly with one wing.
I feel with smell, snow will begin.
The dog oblivion - will start to bark...
You do not miss in winter's nights.
You'll prepare the horse for hunt's...
Only - is cautious, is on each step...
Traps are awake for you in forest....
poem by Tsira Gogeshvili
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Passing Trains In Winter Rain
Adrift within a dismal night,
While trudging down deserted track,
Beyond the bend, a peering light,
Illumed alone through vacant black.
Such are the tricks that fate will feign,
With passing trains in winter rain.
The darkling sky, sighed, dripping dew,
Beguiling to the trek anew.
In diamond dusk the demons came,
There was no dread, there was no claim,
But distant thoughts will entertain
On passing trains in winter rain.
Through shadow's fog a form appeared,
Which slowed its pace as though it feared,
A lonesome, meek and wistful thing,
A fallen bird with broken wing.
Such are the shapes and weary strain
Of passing trains in winter rain.
We paused a moment, side by side,
And in each face a question lay.
The answer which our eyes replied
Was she and I had separate way,
We had our courses to maintain
Like passing trains in winter rain.
I often harken, reaching back,
To hear the formless twisted track
Muse "Few have loved though all have toyed
Inside this vast and vacant void -
The what and why? At heart, mundane! "
We're passing trains in winter rain...
poem by Terry O'Leary
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Beloved, Let Us Once More Praise The Rain
Beloved, let us once more praise the rain.
Let us discover some new alphabet,
For this, the often praised; and be ourselves,
The rain, the chickweed, and the burdock leaf,
The green-white privet flower, the spotted stone,
And all that welcomes the rain; the sparrow too,—
Who watches with a hard eye from seclusion,
Beneath the elm-tree bough, till rain is done.
There is an oriole who, upside down,
Hangs at his nest, and flicks an orange wing,—
Under a tree as dead and still as lead;
There is a single leaf, in all this heaven
Of leaves, which rain has loosened from its twig:
The stem breaks, and it falls, but it is caught
Upon a sister leaf, and thus she hangs;
There is an acorn cup, beside a mushroom
Which catches three drops from the stooping cloud.
The timid bee goes back to the hive; the fly
Under the broad leaf of the hollyhock
Perpends stupid with cold; the raindark snail
Surveys the wet world from a watery stone...
And still the syllables of water whisper:
The wheel of cloud whirs slowly: while we wait
In the dark room; and in your heart I find
One silver raindrop,—on a hawthorn leaf,—
Orion in a cobweb, and the World.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Slowly Into Winter
the leaves slowly cascade down
to the ground
as winter turns slowly to winter
the wind blows them around
untill the cold freezes them to the ground
as winter turns slowly to winter
i return each year to find my leaf lying here
each spring it renews it's promise
this year i didn't wait! after the first spring storm
from its branch it was torn, it lied to me again
so this fall, before the free winds blew
i went to my tree and picked the loveliest leaf icould find
and kept it with mine
untill winter turned slowly to spring
poem by Francis E.rudy
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Davie Gellatley's Song
Young men will love thee more fair and more fast;
Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?
Old men's love the longest will last,
And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.
The young man's wrath is like light straw on fire;
Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?
But like red-hot steel is the old man's ire,
And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.
The young man will brawl at the evening board;
Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?
But the old man will draw at the dawning the sword,
And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Whisper My Name
I heard a freight train out across the way
I heard a woman sing amazing grace
I heard a night bird call to its mate
When I heard you whisper my name
I heard freedom break its chain
A
I heard a heart beat where once on sound remained
I heard angels rise and praise
When I heard you whisper my name
Chorus:
I heard music bring a heart of stone to tears
I heard peace ring like an anthem through the years
And I heard hatred fall from grace
When I heard you whisper my name
Beating softly against the waves
Fell a sound of an early morning rain
And though the lighting and thunder came
I still heard you whisper my name
And I heard angels rise and praise
When I heard you whisper my name
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Happy Child
I saw this day sweet flowers grow thick --
But not one like the child did pick.
I heard the packhounds in green park --
But no dog like the child heard bark.
I heard this day bird after bird --
But not one like the child has heard.
A hundred butterflies saw I --
But not one like the child saw fly.
I saw the horses roll in grass --
But no horse like the child saw pass.
My world this day has lovely been --
But not like what the child has seen.
poem by William Henry Davies
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Ill Take The Rain
The rain came down
The rain came down
The rain came down on me.
The wind blew strong
The summer song
Fades to memory
I knew you when
I loved you then
The summers young and helpless.
You laid me bare
You marked me there
The promises we made.
I used to think
As birds take wing
They sing through life so why cant we?
You cling to this
You claim your best
If this is what youre offering
Ill take the rain
Ill take the rain
Ill take the rain.
The nighttime creases
Summer schemes
And stretches out to stay.
The sun shines down
You came around
You love easy days.
But now the sun,
The winters come.
I wanted just to say
That if I hold
Id hope youd fold
Open up inside, inside of me.
I used to think
As birds take wing
They sing through life so why cant we?
You cling to this
You claim your best
If this is what youre offering
Ill take the rain
Ill take the rain
Ill take the rain.
This winter song
Ill sing along
Ive searched its still refrain
Ill walk alone
Ive given this, take wing
Celebrate the rain.
I used to think
As birds take wing
They sing through life so why cant we?
You cling to this
You claim your best
If this is what youre offering
Ill take the rain
Ill take the rain
Ill take the rain.
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Empty Path
Empty path of the Halmahera Guest House
Throughout of oldtime
As old as the dust attached on the door leaf
Old dust attached on the wall
And dark room
Where painting laid
From the mad life
Throughout the cantings
In the room corner
When my soul cried
Fighting to myself
fighting alone interpreting the dream
in the old well
the old man catch chiken
and drinking black wine
eat some rice
with the black lips
where nicotin and bear aroma
smell around his face
in the old well
cried his brokenlove
where I am alone
sat on the rattan chair
smell of
the naughty wind blowing
fall of some old bamboo leaf
opened the envelope
contens of pray and word
love disappointment
cut through all the word
Bogor 12 Desember 2001
poem by Prasetya Utama
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In the Temple
When Lilian comes I scarcely know
If Winter wraps the world in snow,
Or if 'tis Summer strikes a-glow
The fountain in the court below,
When Lilian comes.
Her flower-like eyes, her soft lips bring
The warmth and welcome of the Spring,
And round my room, a fairy ring,
See violets, violets blossoming,
When Lilion comes.
When Lilian goes I hear again
The infinite despair of rain
Drip on my darkening window-pane
The tears of Winter on the wane,
When Lilian goes.
Yet still about my lonely room
The visionary violets bloom,
And with her presence still perfume
The tedious page that I resume
When Lilian goes.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Chanson Sans Paroles
I the deep violet air,
Not a leaf is stirred;
There is no sound heard,
But afar, the rare
Trilled voice of a bird.
Is the wood's dim heart,
And the fragrant pine,
Incense, and a shrine
Of her coming. Apart,
I wait for a sign.
What the sudden hush said,
She will hear, and forsake,
Swift, for my sake,
Her green, grassy bed:
She will hear and awake!
She will hearken and glide,
From her place of deep rest,
Dove-eyed, with the breast
Of a dove, to my side:
The pines bow their crest.
I wait for a sign:
The leaves to be waved,
The tall tree-tops laved
In a flood of sunshine,
This world to be saved!
In the deep violet air,
Not a leaf is stirred;
There is no sound heard,
But afar, the rare
Trilled voice of a bird.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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