A Sultrier Dawn
All morning high up on the eaves
Above your window
A dove kept cooing.
Like shirtsleeves The boughs seemed frayed.
It drizzled. Clouds came low to raid
The dusty marketplace.
My anguish on a peddlar's tray
They rocked;
I was afraid.
I begged the clouds that they should stop.
It seemed that they could hear me.
Dawn was as grey as in the shrub
Grey prisoners' angry murmur.
I pleaded with them to bring near
The hour when I would hear
Tidbits of shattered songs
And your wash-basin's roar and splash
Like mountain torrents' headlong rush,
The heat of cheek and brow
On glass as hot as ice and on
The pier-glass table flow.
My plea could not be heard on high
Because the clouds
Talked much too loud
Behind their flag in powdered quiet
Wet like a heavy army coat,
Like threshed sheaves' dusty rub-a-dub
Or like a quarrel in the shrub.
I pleaded with them-
Don't torment me!
I can't sleep.
But-it was drizzling; dragging feet,
The clouds marched down the dusty street
Like recruits from the village in the morning.
They dragged themselves along
An hour or an age,
Like prisoners of war,
Or like the dying wheeze:
'Nurse please,
Some water.'
poem by Boris Pasternak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Jericho
Tom Johnston
Windecor Music (BMI)
Well I'm standin' on top of the mountain
Just about a mile from Jericho.
And my throat is hot and dusty,
Down to the water I must go.
Catherine the Great and brave Ulysses
Playin' checkers out in the sun.
Jesse James and young William Bonnie
Have started a religion for everyone.
Well I'm standin' on top of the mountain
Just about a mile from Jericho.
And my throat is hot and dusty,
Down to the water I must go.
Well the drums they are loud down in rap town,
But the Pope has been quiet for days.
Well some gunmen robbed a bank in California
And the cops blew them all away.
If you don't like the picture don't turn it off.
The only way to change it is to do it yourself.
Well I'm standin' on top of the mountain
Just about a mile from Jericho.
And my throat is hot and dusty,
Down to the water I must go.
Peace and love on the wings of a dove
Has flown away.
We're payin' the rent
On the blood that's been spent,
On a mortgage that's too high to be paid.
Well I'm standin' on top of the mountain
Just about a mile from Jericho.
And my throat is hot and dusty,
Down to the water I must go.
Well I'm standin' on top of the mountain
Just about a mile from Jericho.
And my throat is hot and dusty,
Down to the water I must go.
Arranged by Tom Johnston and Guy Allison
Guest Artists:
Marc Russo - Horns
Yvonne Williams and Maxayne Lewis - Background Vocals
song performed by by Doobie Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At 25k Feet Above
on a bed of clouds
feet dangling into the sea
you and me
above the clouds
the horizon beckoned us
we glided in the air
bits and pieces
clouds dispersed below the sky
new horizon teased
in a wink
the clouds spread as one grey spread
we melted as rain
vapour they turned
the heat within melted
we rocked
wings cut
through layers and layers of
moving vapours
slowly descended
we from the clouds above
earth-reality!
ah, you lifted me
above earth; closer to sky
dropped me on land again!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Rainbow Of Clouds
(09/27/11)
Oh! How I love to look at the sky
So many colors that attract the eye.
Blues, grey s , reds, and oranges too
Create such a perfect view.
Especially at dusk or dawn
When new colors are born.
Or when the white clouds look like
Snow covered mountain tops
And the rippling waves that it creates
Puts you at a restful state.
What about the patches of blue
In between the oranges and grey s
And your heart wishing that they would stay.
The skies can create such a therapeutic state
On which so many of us can relate.
Putting our minds and bodies at such ease
Like the feel of a soft gentle breeze.
It also has its black clouds
Covering its face like a shroud.
These dark clouds tend to hide the day
And you never know what will come your way.
But Even the darkest of clouds can bring joy.
The rains that the dark clouds bring
Gives life to everything.
poem by Louis Rams
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Clouds of Silver Rain
The heavy clouds build up once more
Accumulating vast array
These clouds turn up the temperature
Building pressure hour by hour
In distant corners of the brain
They make me thirst for the kind of rain
That bursts as if shattering a dam
At first in almost hesitant flow
Then leaping with abandonment
Into a freedom void unknown
Thick limpid drops in Africa
Thudding down on a metal roof
Drowning out all sounds and sights
All music of the village life
Urgent European rain
Hammering on concrete squares
Leaving silver rivulets
To lap at seeds and tangled roots
These darkening low-hanging clouds
That tighten nerves and muscles both
Trap me in a time of drought -
Body tense, brow under sweat
The prospect of release at last
Enticing more than trails of stars
In the parched savannah plains
To catch the early drops that fall
I long to leap as high as clouds
And rush into the arms of rain -
To bathe the rain in my delight
Inviting it to fall again.
You are the clouds of silver rain,
The rain is where I love you most
And where your love washes my pain
And makes me whole, complete again.
poem by Frank Bana
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Clouds And Moods
Puffs of clouds covered the sky
Like my thoughts of you and I.
At times I could see and think clearly
But my mind would get weary.
Those puffs of clouds would take control
And my heart it would hold.
It’s amazing how it could be
That the clouds are like you and me.
When the clouds get dark and grey
We become defensive in every way
And the fights come into play.
And when clouds are a misty white
I want to make love to you day and night.
And when the clouds look like ripples in the sand
I want to squeeze you and hold your hand.
And when the clouds completely cover the sky
I thank god you’re by my side.
poem by Louis Rams
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A Glass Of Water Please
and so the story wants to end itself with a
glass of water.
those who cry after always need
a glass of water.
those whose hearts are broken
those who sob
those who close the window of the niche
those who have nightmares
those who wake up at 3 o'clock in the morning
those who sit on bed and cannot sleep back
always go to the kitchen
open the refrigerator
get a glass and splash
a cold glass of water
this time, i am asking for a glass of water
for i could be
all of the above or you could be one of those
i have described
but who knows we are not one of those
who knows
we are but just anyone who is normally thirsty
and with nothing to ask
simply ask
for a glass of cold water.
and cheerfully, we do not forget to say
please....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Words On Dusty Surfaces
we’ve seen words
various, common and different
fingered on dust;
words you can wipe away
I’ve seen often enough,
for example,
on a teacher’s dusty car at the school car park:
Wash me!
or cheeky words written
on a dusty street window:
Peep in!
and this morning, I saw one
on the back of a van before me:
I’m happy. Are you happy?
poem by Raj Arumugam
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What Makes the Clouds Echo Roar
What makes the clouds echo roar?
As thunder, makes it's pitch
dark and dreary, becomes the sky
What makes the clouds echo roar?
As the sky opens up, and it begins to pour,
no where to run, no where to hide, as I,
head for cover, and still wonder,
what makes the clouds echo roar?
I look around, and see a door
swiftly as a rabbit, I reach there,
I'm really drenched, and still I ask,
What makes the clouds echo roar?
I shake off the water, on to the floor
the rain has stopped now, as I ask once again,
what makes the clouds echo roar?
do you know what? It dosn't really matter anymore.
This Sky of Clouds
This sky is with clouds of grey and silver light,
Magical wonders are beheld with much to bring on as rain,
The songs in the clouds are weak and strong,
Their music is weak and strong, heavy with volume.
Guidance is gained by the extremely lucky,
Their stargazing is a precise science.
The clouds are giving rain and droplets of fire
That reign as kingly particles of some stain.
To be healthy with the doctor
Is all due to the rain, and its weird effects.
poem by Naveed Akram
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To a Sky-Lark
Up with me! up with me into the clouds!
For thy song, Lark, is strong;
Up with me, up with me into the clouds!
Singing, singing,
With clouds and sky about thee ringing,
Lift me, guide me till I find
That spot which seems so to thy mind!
I have walked through wildernesses dreary
And to-day my heart is weary;
Had I now the wings of a Faery,
Up to thee would I fly.
There is madness about thee, and joy divine
In that song of thine;
Lift me, guide me high and high
To thy banqueting-place in the sky.
Joyous as morning
Thou art laughing and scorning;
Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest,
And, though little troubled with sloth,
Drunken Lark! thou would'st be loth
To be such a traveller as I.
Happy, happy Liver,
With a soul as strong as a mountain river
Pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver,
Joy and jollity be with us both!
Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven,
Through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind;
But hearing thee, or others of thy kind,
As full of gladness and as free of heaven,
I, with my fate contented, will plod on,
And hope for higher raptures, when life's day is done.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Cry Clouds Cry (Haiti Tribute)
Cry clouds cry
tears from the heaven
showers the land as many die
so cry clouds cry
Bodies piled up in count
as many died
earth trembled beneath feet
as the heavens abide
so cry clouds cry
Children left with no hope
families broken apart
left a void in our heart
as masses quake and buildings
shake as relationships break
so cry clouds cry
Black rain fall from the sky
as to many die
all cause of so much lies
so cry clouds cry
It hurts to know you care
and for that we always hold you near
thousand left this world but we still bear
as the voice of the nation we began to hear
so cry clouds cry
Let your voice be heard
though it was observed
it brought our nation together
and that was well deserved
so cry clouds cry
poem by Robert Roberts
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A Lonely Child
Carlo Betocci's child
sits on a table and looks at the world
outside through a glass window
the view is too beautiful not to be touched
the high distant mountains
garnished by bluish clouds
and fingers of the sun
caressing the grassy plains
too far and yet too beautiful
the child couldn't help but caress the
glass window with his palms
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An October Dream
Awaking from an October dream
To watch clouds roll over rooftops
While my love lays sleeping beside me
The quiet stillness of the morning air
The whisper of birdsong beyond the window
A scene set to be remembered
Damp cotton wool clouds faintly grey
A whistle of a bird singing somewhere
Still, still she sleeps safely dreaming
A soft light across her face
The awaking passion of a heart
Set free into a morning sky
How fair, how beautiful this feeling
To warm the soul with little ease
Who cares for the dream awoken from
When a day begins like this
A morning picture remembered
When waking from an October dream
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Secret To Prosperity!
Wandering clouds not so focused,
For where to rain, it not yet decided,
Running from country to country,
Gathering the seeds that can spray,
People look up for rain, but no clouds,
Bright yellow sun and the blue sky,
The tears of rain in their deepened eyes,
The shopping clouds look down at them,
Clumsy they are and hunger rules them,
The proud clouds with the bounty of water,
Hate these poor people and move quicker,
And there are green mountains with flowers,
The running clouds stop all of a sudden,
For it amazed by the swelling of that woman,
Just start to clear what it stores for many hours,
Heavy rain on the mountain and the river sisters,
Flow down to the civilization, the rich people,
All around, as they know how to save water,
People who are ignorant of importance of forest,
Fell the trees for quick money and luxury,
Those who already felled, know the misery,
The clouds in the sky, know this exactly,
The poor will remain poor, if not sorry,
And to replant the trees quickly.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Village Of The Sun
Well Ive been hanging down side up
Feeling really banged up
Whishing everybody would shut up in the village of the sun
Yes
More than just a little bit loud
Well I was more than just a little proud
To think that the opinions of the rocks and clouds
Would even give us recognition
Oh I ever (? )
I hear a sound that is delayed
I know that help is on the way
To the village of the sun
To the powers that be
To the powers that be
To an hour to be
Is it the intention of that child
To be a bastard in the wild
Eventually (? )
Like (? )
Of course the cannon makes a rucus
Like the lady in the circus
We can try to (? )
To the powers that be
To the powers that be
To an hour to be
Maybe Ive said enough
I wasnt trying to be all funny
And I wasnt trying to be all tough
Im almost done
No matter what I see
That matter will say of me
Aint that the way
Of the village of the sun
To the powers that be
To the powers that be
To an hour to be
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anticipation
I sleep in the morn.
I do not wish to rise.
I hear the rain
and I know the skies
are crying big raindrops
and the clouds are gray.
The approaching hours
will begin my day.
Oh how I need to see the sun
come out from the clouds
to burn my skin
and heat up this frame of mind I'm in.
I can't stay put in this tiresome bed.
Too many thoughts will destroy my head.
All I need is one word from you,
then the rain and clouds could not get through.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Feast of St. Francis
from 'Canticle of the Sun, ' by St. Francis of Assisi: 'Be praised, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air, and clouds and storms, and all the weather, through which you give your creatures sustenance.'
Bird-song rises
in clear, liquid waves
as golden leaves arc
twisting
to the ground.
Heavy gold
must fall.
October heat
gives way
to winter rain
yet inevitably life flows
like the breeze
rising from the broad sea
to the high Sierra;
grey clouds rise
and heavy snow falls.
All the living waters
give praise.
poem by Steven Federle
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I stand and watch a tree of sturdy oak
I stand and watch a tree of sturdy oak
It braves against the rain, the sun and the gust
Thunder roars through its boughs with blast
Yet its leaves whitening in sight like a royal cloak
An oak proclaims against echoing dunes and scourging sun
Through the storm, tempest and chilly damp dark
Its boughs wave against torrents and bent in arcs
As it stands against the events like a calm nun
The clouds above its foliage are straining
The pale yellow woods around its trunk are waning
And a broad stream by its roots is complaining
Of heavy low skies constantly raining
With one black self reflected shadow at its feet
the oak through all its lush foliage shines
As summer haze brooding heat
And holy still silent in its dusty lusty vines
Oh I wish I had the strength and stamina of this oak
My life would be so much in a better clock
Copy rights 2010
All rights are reserved
The Rain
I don't know how far I can see
'cause it's all blue water streaming towards me
The sun needs to shine normally
but it's all grey rain
The rain, the rain on me, rain on me
Chorus
So I will find a place, where I can hide from the sky
And I will wait in this place,
'cause I know you're trying to
Open up your sky
Push away the dark clouds and shine
Forget the thunder so loud, don't be afraid
Show yourself ! Don't hide now !
The rain, the rain on me, rain on me
The rain, the rain on me, rain on me
I don't know how high you can see
but it's all grey water falling down on me
The sun needs to shine normally
but it's all grey rain
Chorus
song performed by by Kate Ryan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Songs Of The Sky
In a sky of layered clouds,
dawn becomes a rainbow,
moving through the spectrum
toward the day.
In a sky of always blue,
no clouds ride the wind:
the sun burns brightly,
high and hot and long.
In a sky of may grays,
clouds crash, explode and roar;
rain-filled winds sweep across the prairie.
In a sky of many blues,
clouds dance on the wind;
and endless and quixotic
Rohrschach test.
In a sky of always gray,
no clouds seem to move;
overcast blots out imagination.
In a sky of cold, cold blue,
gray clouds scrape the treetops;
harbingers of winter storms to come.
Beneath a sky of darkening gray,
the prairie grasses rustle
on the small, forgotten farms
of what could've been
and was.
In a sky of mottled gray,
cold rains fall, now and then;
the seasons struggle
for control of April.
In a sky of broken gray,
cold winds precede the rains;
and before long
the darkened clouds re-gather.
In a sky as clear as glass,
and blue from top to bottom,
sultry days of August
slowly drift into September.
In a twi-lit noon-time sky,
this annular eclipse
leaves us just a
ring around the moon.
In a sky of many clouds,
sunset's an inferno;
ablaze, in this,
my father's final twilight.
In a sky that slowly burns,
the clouds of fire fade
and leave a darker beauty
to hold the night.
poem by William Kruse
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