Spring (Fragment 3)
Is it only dirt you notice?
Does the thaw not catch your glance?
As a dapple-grey fine stallion
Does it not through ditches dance?
Is it only birds that chatter
In the blueness of the skies,
Sipping through the straws of sunrays
Lemon liturgies on ice?
Only look, and you will see it:
From the rooftops to the ground
Moscow, all day long, like Kitezh
Lies, in light-blue water drowned.
Why are all the roofs transparent
And the colours crystal-bright?
Bricks like rushes gently swaying,
Mornings rush into the night.
Like a bog the town is swampy
And the scabs of snow are rare.
February, like saturated
Cottonwool in spirits, flares.
This white flame wears out the garrets,
And the air, in the oblique
Interplace of twigs and birds, is
Naked, weightless and unique.
In such days the crowds of people
Knock you down; you are unknown,
Nameless; and your girl is with them,
But you, too, are not alone.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Related quotes
When the love is all around
The days are bright
No matter morn or night
Everywhere is shining light
Dreams of heaven came out
Everything is perfect
When the love is around
The angels upon With their white crowns
Are singing prayers upon
In their crystal veil covered ponds
The birds are blue
With the sky they flew
The sky is raining love
Is that true?
My soul wants to fly
Like the birds on the sky
When the blue peace wears the sky
To revive and sigh on the pities of lie
The world becomes so beautiful when the love empires hearts.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Where Are the Birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
‘The skies are empty and grey at dawn,
They’re empty and brown at noon,
Where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
Deep in the afternoon?
Even at dusk when the air is still
Or the cool breath heaves from the sea,
I wait for the beat of wings then, Bei Bei
Rushing to comfort me.’
‘The birds were once when the paddy fields
Ran down by the river tides,
When the sky was blue and the air was clean
And the trees reached up to the stars.
The birds were here when the skies were clear
No buildings blocked the view...’
‘But where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
Why have they gone from you? ’
‘They left when the smog came rolling in
And the insects died on the ground,
When the grass turned white and the acid rain
Caused all the trees to drown.
They left when the river turned yellow mud
And the fields died under the road,
When men built towers of thirty floors,
They left the town in droves.’
The skies are empty and grey at dawn,
They’re empty and brown at noon.
‘The birds of Wenzhou took their nests
And travelled to old Hangzhou.
They went to live by a wondrous lake
That tales will tell, is blue...’
‘Where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei...
Have they forsaken you? ’
8 November 2005
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Somewhere Over The Rainbow
Somewhere over the rainbow
(h. arlen/e.y. harburgh)
Somewhere over the rainbow way up high
Theres a land that Ive heard of once in a lullaby
Somewhere over the rainbow skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true
Someday I wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemon drops
Away above the chimney tops
Thats where you find me
Somewhere over the rainbow blue birds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why then, oh why cant i
(instrumental)
Somewhere over the rainbow blue birds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why then, oh why cant i
If happy little blue birds fly
Beyond the rainbow
Why, oh why, cant i
song performed by by Lea Salonga
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter-Strike
Winter gray the light of day,
winter-gray snow-melt still on the ground
drawn the winter, long the week,
Monday-gray through Saturday.
Saturday night a freezing rain
left a Sunday washed anew
in snow pock-crusted lacy frosted
gleaming bright in the winter crisp.
Chatter-clatter clickety-tackety / hey, what is that sound?
Spin around with a cocking ear / hey, where is that sound?
Look up, look up to the highest trees!
Diamond-fierce the topmost branches
sheathed in ice — slicing in the wind — twigs all
sparkling rattling swaying shining pierce my heart.
I was eight and we were late to church
that Sunday, day of days
that first and best of all days since —
when tree ice beauty blew me sacred joy.
poem by Gloria Kim
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Days
Miserable grey, damp wet Days
Days shorter and winters Long
Long bleak dark Evenings
Evenings as black as pitch.
Bright frosty cold Mornings
Mornings glistening in the Sun
Sun shines cold as the Day
Day soon will become night.
Snow crisp and White
White flurries fall from the Sky
Sky as white as the Day
Day fades into a crisp evening.
Days engulfed with Floods
Floods devastating your Home
Home unfit to live In
In shelter we seek comfort.
poem by Hazel Connelly
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A Bird Sanctuary (Vedanthangal-TamilNadu, India)
The calls of birds
Of hues varied
lull all to sleep.
Vedanthangal(Shelter of the Hunters) ,
the rain fed tank,
is the haven for
Cormorants,
the Night Herons,
the Darters, Ducks
Grey Pelicans
and the Moor Hens….
Birds from continents diverse
nest on the Kadamba Trees,
feed, breed and fly around,
dip in water, catch fish
and hop to the trees in glee.
O, that sadist hurls a fish above
and takes it back within its bills!
The world of birds has a lot to teach.
The black, white and grey birds perch side by side.
Birds, plants and animals
give man his essential needs.
But he cuts their throats to fill his bellies.
---
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Lake Louise
Bluer than Helen's eyes she lies
Under the blue cloud-drifting skies;
A daughter fair of light and air
Dropped among warrior mountains there.
White glaciers kiss her feet so fleet—
Oh fugitive, too rare and sweet!
Will she not fling them off that cling,
And rise, a bluebird on the wing?
Will she not rise and stray away,
A blue gleam on the brow of day?
Look—still she stays, and bright, snow-white,
The glaciers guard her day and night!
poem by Harriet Monroe
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Blue Red And Grey
Some people seem so obsessed with the morning
Get up early just to watch the sunrise
Some people like it more when there's fire in the sky
Worship the sun when it's high
Some people go for those sultry evenings
Sipping cocktails in the blue, red, and grey
But I like every minute of the day
I like every second
So long as you are on my mind
Every moment has its special charm
It's all right when you're around, rain or shine
I know a crowd who only lives after midnight
Their faces always seem so pale
And then there's friends of mine who must have sunlight
They say a suntan never fails
I know I was a man who works the night shift
Hes lucky to get a job and some pay
And I like every minute of the day
I dig every second
I can laugh in the snow and rain
I get a buzz from being cold and wet
The pleasure seems to balance out the pain
And so you see that I'm completely crazy
I even shun the south of France
The people on my hill they say I'm lazy
But when they sleep I sing and dance
Some people have to have the sultry evenings
Sipping cocktails in the blue, red and grey
But I like every minute of the day
I like every minute, of the day.
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sacred to the Memory of “Unknown”
Oh, the wild black swans fly westward still,
While the sun goes down in glory—
And away o’er lonely plain and hill
Still runs the same old story:
The sheoaks sigh it all day long—
It is safe in the Big Scrub’s keeping—
’Tis the butcher-birds’ and the bell-birds’ song
In the gum where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping—
(It is heard in the chat of the soldier-birds
O’er the grave where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping).
Ah! the Bushmen knew not his name or land,
Or the shame that had sent him here—
But the Bushmen knew by the dead man’s hand
That his past life lay not near.
The law of the land might have watched for him,
Or a sweetheart, wife, or mother;
But they bared their heads, and their eyes were dim,
For he might have been a brother!
(Ah! the death he died brought him near to them,
For he might have been a brother.)
Oh, the wild black swans to the westward fade,
And the sunset burns to ashes,
And three times bright on an eastern range
The light of a big star flashes,
Like a signal sent to a distant strand
Where a dead man’s love sits weeping.
And the night comes grand to the Great Lone Land
O’er the grave where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping,
And the big white stars in their clusters blaze
O’er the Bush where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping.
poem by Henry Lawson
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My Four Seasons
I gaze out through my window to the colours of the leaves,
Reds and browns and yellows floating like fairies from the trees.
I follow the as they burst alive and dance among the breeze,
And my smile is echoed effortlessly in the colours of the leaves.
I peer out through my curtains to the snow upon the ground,
Dreaming of the diamonds drowsily fluttering from the clouds,
Strewn across the hedgerows and the fields and all around,
The snow lies peacefully sleeping, a jewel upon the ground.
And look! - all of a sudden grow the bluebells in the wood!
Swaying happily to and fro, just like they always should.
And as the spring awakens, rusty from the flood,
The sun begins to shine upon the bluebells in the wood.
At last, through my curtains I see the flowers of July,
Their beauty almost mirrored in the sunshine in the sky,
And I see the tuplips grinning as a bright blue butterfly
Lands upon the petals of the flowers in July.
poem by Twilight Whispers
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Silver Birds
Silver birds
getting ready to fly
red, white and blue
it's our pride in the sky
Silver birds
above the clouds
making waves
making us proud
Silver birds
shining bright
into the evening
into the night
Silver birds
amongst the rest
flying strong
to be the best
Silver birds
coming round the bend
getting ready to land
out of their descend
Silver birds
representing the states
with the colors of freedom
at all their gates.
Charlie Vergara
11.21.2007
2576
poem by White Tiger
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Short; Nature: Out Our Window On A Breezy Evening
The sun has finally settled behind the nearby Belmont hills,
but its lingering light, the evening sky, with blue pastel fills.
Our star has warmed another San Carlos April day,
and now westward it recedes, as outside calls a jay.
A few grey clouds were briefly-edged with bright orange for my eye,
but it won't be long before the planet Venus sparkles in the sky.
A fragile birch tree peeks at me through a nearby window,
its limp branches swaying as the wind moves them to and fro.
Beyond the birch, beyond some roofs, a wooded hillside rises,
concealing roosting birds and browsing deer and more nighttime surprises.
(4-23-2012)
poem by Bri Edwards
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Meditation on a Grey Morning
Grey morning
lights
the bland sky.
Black birds light
on bare trees
thin limbs wavering
as they flit
scanning
the frozen earth.
All the world is waiting,
to unwind explosive buds
to shed thin shrouds
and burst into emerald light
as joyful black birds rise
into the endless
blue sky.
Great is their faith,
these birds and trees.
They know beyond all reason
that the sun
will thaw
the icy grip
of violent winter
poem by Steven Federle
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Snow In The Air
Snow In The Air
Snow in the air
comes gently down
and it is everywhere
as it hits the the ground
it can be love because it is pure and white
Snow in the air
love fills children with delight
because they do not care
they take a slieghride downhill.
Snow in the air
looks beautiful to me
the snow is on the ground this winter night.
it looks bright against the darkness especially
nothing is wrong everything is white.
poem by Meg Harrison
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Wish I Could Fly
Halfway through the night,
I wake up in a dream
Echoes in my head,
Make every whisper turn into a scream
I dreamed I could fly, out in the blue
Over this town, following you
Over the trees, subways and cars
Id try to find out who you really are
In the middle of the night,
Cool sweatin in my bed
Got the windows open wide,
Thinkin about all the things you said
I wish I could fly, out in the blue
Over this town, following you
Id fly over rooftops, the great boulevards
To try to find out who you really are
Who you really are
Who you really are
I wish I could fly now
I wish I could fly now
I wish I could fly, around and around
Over this town, the dirt on the ground
Id follow your course of doors left ajar
To try to find out who you really are
To try to find out who you really are
I wish I could fly
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black and White (Stream XV)
I have black thoughts,
It is a black day,
A day when the black dog
Coal black, hovers at my shoulder.
I shoulder the burden.
Deep in the black hole.
Black as a black hearted night.
Negative.
Stark.
Black and white.
I do not call my good days white days.
Why?
Or have white thoughts
On a white day,
When the white dog
Pure white sits upon my shoulder.
Which is unburdened.
Out of the pit,
Luxuriating in the bright white light;
White as the purest snow.
Positive.
For we live in a too white world
Maybe we should have grey days,
And light days.
Why should Black be negative and White poitive?
For me then, today is a grey day.
Maybe tomorrow will be a light day.
Copyright P H Brookes 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
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Free
Birds flying free
where can you be going?
I just wish knowing
would help me be free.
Flying south in winter,
no more cold for you.
Ample berries on the trees
under skies so blue.
Flying north in summer
where the nests you'll build
where twigs and feathers
will do fine
'til your nest is filled.
Birds flying free
never will there be
escape from the landscape
like yours, for me.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Snow-White (Part 4)
While the queen's dogs were howling into the broken night to throw away
The forces, the queen was preparing the poison for the Snow White's birthday.
The poison was melted into blood and dew by that queen with innocent eyes.
Her beggars jumped over the moon for a ritual dance of a princess, who dies.
Her crows were flying in the wind being so proud of what they have done,
Her dress could hide the truth so well, with her mask she enjoyed the fun.
''I'm having bodice laces for sale, '' she said knocking on the dwarfs' door.
Then, she pulled the laces so tight that Snow-White fell down on the floor.
The sun hid behind the sea of clouds not to see the Snow White's death,
The dwarfs came home and found her on the floor without having breath.
They cut the bodice laces in two and Snow White could come back to life,
''She will give you poison to drink in sips and you will die without any strife.''
‘'Mirror, on the wall, who in this land is fairest of all? '' Queen wanted to know.
‘'You, my queen, are fair; it is true, '' replied the bad mirror through its glow.
''But beyond the seven mountains, in the dwarfs' house, Little Snow-White
Is a thousand times fairer than you, moreover, her future is extremely bright! '
She poisoned a comb and went out to knock again on the Snow White's door,
When she stuck the comb into the girl's hair, the girl fell down on the floor.
When the seven dwarfs returned home, they drowned in their own despair,
But she opened her eyes, when Liar pulled the poisoned comb from her hair.
‘'Mirror, on the wall, who in this land is fairest of all? '' Queen wanted to know.
‘'You, my queen, are fair; it is true, '' replied the bad mirror through its glow.
''But beyond the seven mountains, in the dwarfs' house, Little Snow-White
Is a thousand times fairer than you, moreover, her future is extremely bright! '
Everything was grey, while the queen was saying her mystic words aloud,
Inside her dark castle's granite walls, even the signs of time were not allowed.
Only lonesome birds and souls were flying there above a big fragile shroud,
Only craggy faces and weary eyes could be seen there in a demonic crowd.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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The White Birds
I WOULD that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!
We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee;
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky,
Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.
A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled, the lily and rose;
Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes,
Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew:
For I would we were changed to white birds on the wandering foam: I and you!
I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore,
Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more;
Soon far from the rose and the lily and fret of the flames would we be,
Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea!
poem by William Butler Yeats
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The Creators Touch
The Creators Touch
His hand is in everything
In the air we breathe with all living things
The sky's that rain down upon thee
Into the oceans deep and blue
He brush's the colours
Of Mother Natures easel of life
That paints into life
The birds the bee's
Along with the beauty
Of the flowers and tree's
He writes the songs
That the birds sing in the morn
He sways the trees
As the winds rush through thee
He's the droplet of snow
Up high on the mountain top
The raging white rapids
Down a mountains stream
The sun and moon
That shines down upon me
The Creator touch's all
He is everything
poem by Kaila George
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