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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Birch-Tree at Loschwitz
At Loschwitz above the city
The air is sunny and chill;
The birch-trees and the pine-trees
Grow thick upon the hill.
Lone and tall, with silver stem,
A birch-tree stands apart;
The passionate wind of spring-time
Stirs in its leafy heart.
I lean against the birch-tree,
My arms around it twine;
It pulses, and leaps, and quivers,
Like a human heart to mine.
One moment I stand, then sudden
Let loose mine arms that cling:
O God! the lonely hillside,
The passionate wind of spring!
Tess... Tess
Sad tortured hillside, against
a pastel slate sky;
mute; purple stucco stubble.
Smoking chimney; early morning lit.
Wind blown, lean trees
beautified mystical silver birch;
doors of classrooms; I to enter do not want.
Morning tea; on a wooden bench.
Black top, sexy miniskirt
terracotta pots;
matchbox houses; ghastly trousers.
Leaves sparkling; wind turned.
Smoking crayon, set
against an ash-grey sky;
swirling; blue grey mist.
Toast; vapour steamed.
Dog!
lichen on wild; wall top undisturbed;
man on lawn mower; that win lotto didn't.
Dog!
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Sun Setting.....
Blazen with an orange hue,
The sun started setting,
As if the running clouds
Are on fire, the trees
Gently swaying in the wind,
Birds roosting, after
Their feeding and happy flights,
Darkness started setting
On the eastern horizon,
With the mountain haloing
With the gently setting sun,
Stars dawning from the east
To the west of sky,
Bats strarted their
Daily evening prowls,
The sun said aduie
To one more daylight,
To star on the horizon
On the other side of earth,
Night softly landing after
The sun enduring daylong.
poem by Ravikiran Arakkal
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On Seeing Tawny Frogmouths
At nightfall the birds known as tawny frogmouth come out in family groups of three or four
They do not have a song the only sounds they do make is a sort of a low pitched nasal snore
In the wooded parkland they fly from tree to tree in their search for tree insects and flies
And they return to roost on their roosting trees at the dawning just before sunrise,
Quite expert at camouflage in their colours of brown lengthwise on a bare branch of a tree
In the bright light of day they look part of the branch they are almost impossible to see
Disguised from the prying eyes of predators in safety they rest Nature never ceases to amaze
Of her so little we do seem to know we are strangers to Nature's ways,
Related to the nightgars nocturnal insect eating birds though frogmouths far greater in size
For better vision in dimlight the night birds 'twould seem than day birds have far larger eyes,
I have seen the frogmouths at nightfall in the park near my home almost tame to them I approached near
Of human kind so little they seem to know so of humans they show little fear,
From tree to tree in the parkland they fly these quiet brown birds of the night
So well camouflaged on their bare roosting branch they seem part of the tree in daylight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Unwavering Tree
Orange and yellow sunrise
That showned over the tree
Oscillating, moving its eyes
And flying nearby was a bee
The wind was blowing
The only noise in the country-side
And the tree was moving
Forward and back, side to side
A man was walking towards the farm
Consumed, forlorn, anxious
Constantly looking at the watch on his arm
Too busy to see the walking tree which was conspicuous
And when he finally realized something was there
All he saw was a tree; unmoving and bare
poem by Tim Worden
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Waiting For A Blue Sky
He sits upon the empty sand
and gazes up to the endless grey
The weathered face
and battered hands
Protest the soul
that carried them so far this way
The beaten skin
is turning to a wrinkled smile
And his eyes light up
and give his soul away
He said, I'm waiting for a blue sky
I am waiting for a bright day
I'll be there thru the wind and rain
Don't care what anybody says
I'm waiting for a morning bright
that fills the day with all its clean bright light
I'm waiting for a blue sky
I'm waiting for a blue sky
I'm waiting for a bright day
I'll be there thru the wind and rain
Don't care what anyone else says
I'm waiting for a morning bright
that fills the day with all its clean bright light
I'm waiting for a blue sky
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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North Woods
The teeming black waters
Of a wooded creek
Run amuck
To the waterfalls calling -
There is a pragmatic hubris
To the North woods
Set so far from social expectancy,
An un-self-concerned amalgam
Of accepting and being accepted by
Simply living, being, and even dying -
The scent is intoxicating
The sound symphonic
The sight luminous;
Here, these North woods
Home to so much
And community to so few -
Jays sit entwined
Within a bevy of birch branches
Voicing the folly
Of an eastern wind,
In a furry fit of contentment
A squirrel dances with a maple leaf,
And a dropp of dew
Gives itself to a colony of working ants -
Supple, and turbulent
Are the irresistable ways
Of the seasons up here!
Nights and days
Swamps and hills
Frogs and flies
Deer and bear,
All a part
Of the heart and blood of
The great North woods -
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Path into the bushes
There’s a road like out of a dream
or a fairy tale
that twists into the bushes,
but it’s white and pure
with innocence where it snakes
into the undergrowth
and the sky is open
and blue white to the horizon.
I walk pass a great white tree
with orange brown leaves
that rises above me
and a long dried out tree
of which the branches
reach like fingers into the air.
I follow the path
to the long blue gum trees
that are covered
with dark green leaves
and the odour of the trees
and the wood
hangs heavy in the air
and there’s something concrete
that’s stronger than a dream
[Reference: Wooded landscape by Mandi. Look at the painting on my web page: http: //www.mabooki.com/poems/display/1413_Path_into_th e_bushes.htm]
poem by Gert Strydom
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28 Wind Poems
Wind chimes play not on time... but when the Spirit moves.
The South Wind has for the evening donned jasmine scent*
*
The wind weaves many white caps so quickly for the blue sea
*
Mother Wind moves the water rocker
to and fro on the stormy sound's deeps. On the boatcradle by lapping
waves she is softly lulled to sleep.
*
Will, your winded wings will win.
*
Clouds' whitewaterweave covered the sky.. and yet
everywhere there was a patch of blue.. it was a different
hue... here aqua.. there cerulean... or teal or indigo
*
The east wind blowing westward marries the falling rain
turning her attention elsewhere
*
Crosswinds quilt the Connecticut River ever so slightly
but stil the waters flow to the sea.
*
As gauzy veils lie on the shoulders of the slender, as avalanche
clouds pour through tall firs, as morning mist
rolls through ship masts, do monsoon clouds flow
over the peaks of the Himalayas
*
Froggie croaks on his rock dais encircled by dizzy daisies
throughout summer days. The wind makes them wave in applause.
*
The wind has blown away the cloud cover..
and he pond's reflection from grey to blue clover
*
Spirit Wind when talking with wind chimes
strikes not on the hour nor at the 'right' time
================================= ===
poem by Saiom Shriver
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Summer Scenario
The splotchy blot of the yonder eastern sky
So cooling piercing the grey
Bewitching its aesthetic orange
Empowering its blue sprawled
But fallacious, fallacious
In mid-day of its white bright..
Ogreish, throwing a volley of invisible ammunition
Scorched up feasting on the fauna
Horrendous combusting the flora
Ferocious quench of its thirst
Atrociously impinging the nearby Indian ocean
Entering steaming into homes
Devastatingly beating humans down to sweat-streams
Leaving everyone to feel on edge
Departs in diminished grey, black, dark, night
Lingering on.. its fiery menace fully swung
Farther twinklings pacify crooning 'don't worry'
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Hare And The Fox
The fox lay still by the birch-tree's root
In the heather.
The hare was running with nimble foot
O'er the heather.
Was ever brighter a sunshine-day,
Before, behind me, and every way,
O'er the heather!
The fox laughed low by the birch-tree's root
In the heather.
The hare was running with daring foot
O'er the heather.
I am so happy for everything!
Hallo! Why go you with mighty spring
O'er the heather?
The fox lay hid by the birch-tree's root
In the heather.
The hare dashed to him with reckless foot
O'er the heather.
May God have mercy, but this is queer! --
Good gracious, how dare you dance so here
O'er the heather?
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Evening Star
I travelled to a distant shore
I felt I had to go
An inner voice had called me there
But why I did not know
I saw the evening star rise up
Shining out to sea
And now I understand at last what it means
What it all means
Evening star I can see the light
Evening star guiding me so bright
I used to tempt fate
I couldnt see straight
I faltered through my younger days
Never knowing where I was going
Then something helped me penetrate the haze
Evening star I can see the light
Evening star guiding me so bright
Now I am stronger
The haze no longer
Ruins my future destiny
Such inspirations and new sensations
Pull up these string ties chasing me
Evening star I can see the light
Evening star guiding me so bright
Im home once more, much better for
The things that I have found
Much wiser now, so simple how
Each time I turn around
I see the evening star rise up
Shining out on me
And now I understand at last what it means
What it all means
Evening star I can see the light
Evening star guiding me so bright
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fall Leaves Dance
Look up and they're green,
Look up and they're yellow and green.
Then they're yellow, orange, red and green.
And then most are yellow, green, orange, brown,
Masses of moving colors, dancing up and down.
Slow, colorful dances bemuse the morning breeze,
The pace quickens with the evening wind.
It's right, it's left, it's up and down,
It's east, to west, to north, to south,
Warmed and energized by the setting sun.
Squirrels race among the leaves
Doing their dance routines,
Skimming and swaying the branches,
Weighting the limbs and twigs
With buoyant starts, stops and turns.
The new season is appearing: Fall is here!
Quietly and slowly birds hop from branch to branch
Camouflaged among the leaves
That silently fall, to carpet the ground and invite
New crushing, musical rolls from children at play.
poem by Hildred Marjorie Schloss
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The Orange Tree
The young girl stood beside me.
I Saw not what her young eyes could see:
- A light, she said, not of the sky
Lives somewhere in the Orange Tree.
- Is it, I said, of east or west?
The heartbeat of a luminous boy
Who with his faltering flute confessed
Only the edges of his joy?
Was he, I said, borne to the blue
In a mad escapade of Spring
Ere he could make a fond adieu
To his love in the blossoming?
- Listen! the young girl said. There calls
No voice, no music beats on me;
But it is almost sound: it falls
This evening on the Orange Tree.
- Does he, I said, so fear the Spring
Ere the white sap too far can climb?
See in the full gold evening
All happenings of the olden time?
Is he so goaded by the green?
Does the compulsion of the dew
Make him unknowable but keen
Asking with beauty of the blue?
- Listen! the young girl said. For all
Your hapless talk you fail to see
There is a light, a step, a call
This evening on the Orange Tree.
- Is it, 1 said, a waste of love
Imperishably old in pain,
Moving as an affrighted dove
Under the sunlight or the rain?
Is it a fluttering heart that gave
Too willingly and was reviled?
Is it the stammering at a grave,
The last word of a little child?
- Silence! the young girl said. Oh, why,
Why will you talk to weary me?
Plague me no longer now, for I
Am listening like the Orange Tree.
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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We Three Kings Of Orient Are
We three kings of orient are
Bearing gifts, we traverse far
Field and fountain
Moor and mountain
Following yonder star
Oh, star of wonder, star of might
Star with royal beauty bright
Westward leading
Still proceeding
Guide us to thy perfect light
Born a babe on bethlehems plain
Gold we bring to crown him again
King forever, ceasing never
Over us all to reign
Oh, star of wonder, star of might
Star with royal beauty bright
Westward leading
Still proceeding
Guide us to the perfect light
Frankincense to offer have i
Incense owns a deity nigh
Prayer and praising, all men raising
Worship God on high
Oh, star of wonder, star of might
Star with royal beauty bright
Westward leading
Still proceeding
Guide us to the perfect light
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heralds of spring
A warm evening
Traffic buzzes over
An endless highway
The bare kesu tree sighs happily
As white storks alight
Folding noiseless wings
Orange flowers bedeck
Winter-stripped branches
Storks rest, nodding at the hardy tree
As birds return to colder lands
This humble tree, flowers early
To herald the onset of spring
Note: The humble and hardy Kesu tree [Coral/ Butea Monosperma] is commonly found on roadsides in India. Kesu flowers are bright orange or purple, with long and thick petals - look like semi-spiralled daisies!
poem by Anita Atina
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I have one last caprice [Mai am un singur dor]
I have one last caprice
When evening falls on me
To let me die in peace
By the majestic sea.
To have a pleasant sleep,
The woods to be nearby,
Wherever I shall peep
To see the clear blue sky.
No banners at my head,
No coffin dear or suits,
But weave me a nice bed
Of green and tender shoots.
Don't wail with gloomy face
And gather all around,
The autumn with its grace
Will lay leaves on the ground.
And when I hear the tune
And feel the spring how stirs,
Above will glide the moon
Through branches and through firs.
The bell will gently quake
When wind is running free,
The linden tree will shake
Its branches over me.
And since I quit my quest
For I am stiff and cold
I'll cherish when I rest
My memories of old.
The morning stars will rise
From shadow with much ease,
They'll friendly light my eyes
And smile above the trees.
The sea will mourn and play
A music of its own...
But I'll be dust and clay,
Forgotten and alone.
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Sonnet. The lake and star
The mountain lake, o'ershadowed by the hills,
May still gaze heavenward on the evening star,
Whose distant light its dark recesses fills,
Though boundless distance must divide them far;
Still may the lake the star's bright image bear,
Still may the star, from its blue ether dome,
Shower down its silver beams across the gloom,
And light the wave that wanders darkly there.
Star of my life! thus do I turn to thee
Amid the shadows that above me roll;
Thus from thy distant sphere thou shinest on me;
Thus does thine image float upon my soul,
Through the wide space that must our lives dissever
Far as the lake and star, ah me! forever.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Montserrat
Peace waits among the hills;
I have drunk peace,
Here, where the blue air fills
The great cup of the hills,
And fills with peace.
Between the earth and sky,
I have seen the earth
Like a dark cloud go by,
And fade out of the sky;
There was no more earth.
Here, where the Holy Graal
Brought secret light
Once, from beyond the veil,
I, seeing no Holy Graal,
See divine light.
Light fills the hills with God,
Wind with his breath,
And here, in his abode,
Light, wind, and air praise God,
And this poor breath.
poem by Arthur Symons
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On Hearing A Grey Shrike Thrush Singing In The Rain
The grey thrush sing on branch of mountain gray
At twilight of a most Unspring like day
On October evening made damp by drizzling rain
And grey bird sing his same song o'er again.
And freshening wind has breath of winter sting
Seems more like Winter now than middle Spring
And wind driven rain fall from the darkening sky
And still the grey thrush pipes his notes of joy.
I wonder why he sing so merrily
On low down branch of noble gray gum tree
Could it be that he can tell from inner eye
That tomorrow's weather will be warm and dry?
Or could he sing that in some nearby tree
His wife on nest shelter new family?
And he tell his neighbours this my territory
And I'm now a dad 'oh lucky happy me'.
And why he sing should it matter anyway
His song at close of wet October day?
The weather dreary for the time of year
But grey thrush's notes sweet music to my ears.
poem by Francis Duggan
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