Day's Of Summer
The scented air of summers breath, the warming summer sun
The tree-top call from Nightingale says Spring is on the run
The cattle graze at snails pace the sheep are being shorn
The cat has found the perfect place lay flat-out on the lawn
The background air is filled with noise, a tune the insects play
The crickets dance their noisy tune as they go on their way
The shimmer of the warming fields play tricks upon the eyes
The land it seems to dance and leap towards the very skies
The summer yields her grace and beauty right throughout the day
The lazy brook now slowly warming, trout in shadows stay
The fields of corn bring colour's bright, the insects sweetest potion
The ripening oats and Barley sway like waves on deepest ocean
The summer show... the best on earth no tickets here to buy
The limit just your senses and a clear blue open sky
poem by Dave James
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A tale of summer
Swallows catch insects on the wing
In the early morning sun,
And a cuckoo calls to tell us
That the summer has now begun.
The flowering meadow comes alive
With butterflies and the sound of bees,
Cherry blossom showers down like confetti
Carried on the summer breeze.
Swift and house martins arrive back from afar
Making a welcome sight,
And a nightingale sings on a summer evening
And on into the night.
The sweet smell of honeysuckle
Fills the evening air,
While fox cubs play on the edge of a coppice
The beauty of summer is everywhere.
A skylark sings high above
Fields of barley corn and wheat,
While on the lake swans with thier cygnets
Make the summer complete.
poem by Gordon Butchers
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Dance, Dance Everywhere!
Dance, Dance Dance
everywhere,
When I look at the sky,
I see the clouds dance
Into steps of winds
My heart dance when I watch clouds dance!
How it can make me dance?
Without any tune or beats,
Its own beats me my heart dance.
Some strange tune it sings in silence and dance!
When I see at shore of ocean waves that dance,
Some birds in sky fly and dance,
On the waves boats that to the tune of waves, dance,
My mind sing lyricless
music to which it dance!
When I walk along the beach,
The headless crown of palm trees with wide open hands dance,
Watching them dance trees start their dance!
When I on countryside, green paddy fields dance,
Looking at them, the bird on the branch dance!
When walk along, trees with fruits dance,
And to its own rustling music, leaves dance!
When I walk in the park,
Plants with flowers dance!
Looking at the graceful dance flowerless dance,
When I move on street, hope and hap dance,
Seeing at them even hopeless an hapless to dance!
Smile on faces with hope dance,
Wrinkles on the forehead of hapless dance!
When I look at people in them mind dance,
In some happiness dance,
In some sorrowfulness dance,
Some I found with desperation dance
In some their laziness dance,
In some saintliness dance,
Most of the time wickedness dance,
And in some other dreams that dance!
Success that dance with some,
Distress that in unsuccessful dance,
In some hearts mercy that dance
Together with love and kindness dance!
Some where cookedness dance,
And some where innocence dance,
In every nation either hunger dance,
Or in people's mind anger that dance,
Either corruption in corrupt mind dance,
Or those systems on the heart of people dance!
Dance, dance, dance everywhere,
It is time for my soulful dance,
If you see somewhere some other type of dance
Just sing it dance
and let no other see the pain in your heart dance
Hide it with that unfailable lips on which smile may dance
Dance, Dance, dance,
Tune your steps with eternal dance!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Summer's Beckoning Call
The profusion of colours
decks the fields in spring
with new shoots to show us
of summer's beckoning call.
Winter's cold winds splinters
under the sun's warming rays
and we count the time
until our approaching holidays.
We dream of relaxing days
when work will be forgotten
on beaches with sand stretching
near sparking ocean sprays.
Our smiles reflecting
in countless camera lens
as the warm sea breeze
whisk our problems away.
poem by David Harris
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September Midnights
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.
The grasshopper's horn, and far-off, high in the maples,
The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn, borken,
Tired with summer.
Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed and heavy.
Over my soul murmur your mute benediction,
While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest,
As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,
Lest they forget them.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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September Midnight
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.
The grasshopper’s horn, and far-off, high in the maples,
The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn, broken,
Tired with summer.
Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed and heavy.
Over my soul murmur your mute benediction,
While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest,
As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,
Lest they forget them.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Insects
Tiny insects in my hair
Tiny insects everywhere
Tiny insects in my pants
Watching insects make romance
Insects make me make me want to dance dance dance
They make want to dance . . .
Flying insects everywhere
Flying insects buzzing buzzing buzzing thru the air
Just like little diamonds in the sky
Insects buzzing in my eye
Buzzing insects make me want to dance dance dance
They make me want to dance . . .
Insects crawling all around
Insects squirming in the ground
Insects gooey squeaky chewy
Should I eat them--no
Id rather stomp them hurt them stomp
Stomp them while I dance dance dance
I hurt them while I dance dance dance
I stomp them while I dance dance dance . . .
Insects make me scream and shout
They dont know what lifes about
They dont have blood
Theyve got too many legs
They dont have brains in their heads
They know theyll rule the world some day
They bite and sting me anyway
They bite and sting and suck
They bite and sting and suck suck suck
They bite and sting and
Suck suck suck suck suck . . .
Dance dance dance
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pantoum - To Near Perfection
on sandy beaches with no wind
gentle sunshine warming skin
turquoise water topaz skies
periwinkle shaded eyes
gentle sunshine warming skin
perfect summer days begin
periwinkle shaded eyes
blocking sun and hiding lies
perfect summer days begin
on this spinning rock time flies
blocking sun and hiding lies
on sandy beaches with no wind
poem by Ray Schreiber
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I Remember the Snows in the Summer's Light
I remember the snows in the summer's light
Thinking of winter in summer;
When I see the blue, I see white;
I see the fume over roofs so bright,
Feel the warm air caressed by azure,
I remember the snows in the summer's light.
Summers are lazy in my inner sight,
Winters, lazy on the outside, are sure to secure
The blue when I sense the cold of white.
Winter takes me on a summer's flight
To visit the summer and endure
Snows and remember the light.
Perhaps I like spring and fall best,
But winter is spring in summer to allure
Me to feel the fall and see blue in white.
I keep remembering, seeing the bright;
Everything is just a thought you conjure;
I always remember the snows hiding in the light;
When I see the blue, I also see the white.
poem by Dejan Stojanovic
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Summer Of '78
It was one of those summers
lasting forever
making the winter wait.
A summer of music and passion
the summer of '78.
You appeared like the summer
sudden and perfect
and not a day too late.
I swear there was music
when I found you
that summer of '78.
It seemed we floated
through the days
and nights were always
filled with stars.
And it seemed every song
that they played on the
radio was ours.
It was one of those summers
only for lovers
touched by the hand of fate.
And now when winter's are long
I remember the summer of '78...
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sick Man and the Nightingale
(From Lenau.)
So late, and yet a nightingale?
Long since have dropp'd the blossoms pale,
The summer fields are ripening,
And yet a sound of spring?
O tell me, didst thou come to hear,
Sweet Spring, that I should die this year;
And call'st across from the far shore
To me one greeting more?
Catatonica
As our duet of love, a performance shown, is put upon display for vulgar eyes on the floor; the lights change with painted overlooks splashing their palette of watercolours over our moving bodies.
To the beat we dance, our tune a virgin, for the tune's beat that we dance to is no longer a mere dance away, our dance must fly with this tune in time with the tune's beat and in beat with our dance that we synced to this tune.
We tune our bodies in, tune them perfectly together with not just the beat and our dance, but with each other's minds and each other's hearts.
Within our thin, weak, skinny minds our thoughts think their own thoughts, deeper within our thought's tune and beat it dances inside a caved-in thought of the thinking tune's rhythmic beat timing itself to our dance.
Matching in the sky, our steps amaze, no tune can support us on its waves of notes and colons and no beat can out-beat us in it's own tragedy of percussion.
Our dance is a shaman of ritual love, packaged under the moon's eye for all to see and admire in its own tunefully-beating-dancing light.
We are going to dance forever, dance until there's no dance left in us, dance until our blood mixes with each others and our soul's diseases decay with one another's and we become the dance.
The tune we create in our minds is that of purity, no one will hear this tune except for us. Me and You.
The beats will never fade, no stamp stopped too sincerely, no stomp slacking too slowly.
We're going to dance, we're going to dance, we're going to dance. We're going to dance to our own beat, to our own tune, and to our own love.
poem by April Abigail
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Spring!
Plants n’ insects await spring
Promised by a warming sun
Chipmunks chirp n’ robins sing
God looks on with admiration
May Day brings forth a fiery sun
All life reaches up in joy
The land is filled with animation
Spring restores what winter tried destroy
All creatures great n’ small now procreate
“Survival of the fittest” the only law
Spring rain falls, the Earth it doth refresh
Another cycle completes, without a flaw
Mother Earth has birthed another season
She questions not her role or God’s reasons
poem by Ray Lucero
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Just Another Day.
To wake up
To the perfume of the morning.
And breathe in
Skyline of pastel shade.
The miracle
Of a new world dawning.
And to rest my eyes
In greenest glade.
Call me a dreamer
If you may.
But it is never
Just another day.
To bathe
In Summer
Like a lazy river.
Twinkling
En route
To the ocean.
Nature playing the flute
In slow motion.
Rub my shoulders
With your lotion
That clings to the breeze.
And massage my pain
Away.
To ascend
To highest sky.
Call me a poet
Drunk with rhyme.
Drugged by beauty.
When moonsongs chime.
As with my darling
I lay.
But it is never
Just another day.
To sail
In that sea above.
So high
Where colours
Blow me
And my mind away.
Oh my,
To drink that music
Of the sky.
And beg a bleeding sunset
To stay.
To run through
An open frosted field.
The moon promising
All will be revealed.
His symphony shines
On the orchestra below.
As notes are played
By falling snow.
Hold my hand
With your warming glove.
As we dance
Dressed in white
In our snowflake love.
Call me romantic
With just sad songs to display.
But forever is never
Just another day.
poem by Kevin East
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Summer Return
the sounds of summer
starting up
in the revving, humming engines
of lawnmowers thawing out
from the long winter’s freeze
the voices of children
carried on the evening distances,
reveling in
sunlight after dinner,
homework laid aside for now
until late-night sunset beckons
the insistent birds and crickets
who cheer the warming air
as night’s cool breath
lets go and offers day,
one step closer
to the sounds of summer
starting up again
(Summer,2005, Los Lunas, New Mexico)
poem by Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson
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[ Late August ]
Heat still sizzles in the fields
In August summer still yields
The sun shines to no regret
Wind sauntering 'til sunset
'though heat is being cool off by the rain
Preserving flowers, and meadow - green
But summer still taking what it brings
The August incense with fugacious wings
Bounty blooms, butterflies, bees are insane
Birds, crickets sing and the night listens
Summer's sky, bright burst so clear
It's the late August in summer's fair
Summer in August still in standby
Sooner balmy weather is coming by
The hot temper will bicker with cool air
With soothing breeze here comes September
Ency Bearis
(c) copyright 2012
poem by Ency Bearis
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Beauty Of A Summer's Day
The beauty of a Summer's day begins
Watching the bright, morning sun rise,
Dew upon the lawn and roses,
And the early flight of colorful butterflies.
The beauty of a Summer's day
Is an attractive and picturesque one,
A sky of a variable color of pale to light blue,
And sport and entertainment for everyone.
The beauty of a Summer's day
Is stetched with green foliage on the hill,
And colorful wildflowers bordering the roadway,
The water wheel turning at the grist mill.
The beauty of a Summer's day increases
Watching the rolling waves of the ocean,
Sea shells washing upon the sandy shore,
And gazing at the sea gulls gliding in slow motion.
The finality of a Summer's day
Is depicted with memorable scenes
Of picnicking, camping, swimming, and traveling,
Reserved for Summer enthusiasts for future dreams.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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Pessimism
I
WHILE baby Spring sticks daisies in her hair,
Or Summer laughs with flushed triumphant face
We crush our heart rebellious at earth's grace,
And smile 'How, like the season, life is fair!'
But when the last leaf falls in the dull air,
And skies grow pale, and fields lie lost a space,
Ere their first furrow ploughs begin to trace,
And pastures shiver desolate and bare--
Oh, then one breathes; at last free from the sway
Of selfish spring--from summer's insolent reign,
One dares to speak the truth--how all life's way
Is blank as autumn skies made grey with rain,
Most blank when most the glad year bade forbear
To mar her grace with our unveiled despair.
II
NOT Spring--too lavish of her bud and leaf--
But Autumn, with sad eyes and brow austere,
When fields are bare, and woods are brown and sere,
And leaden skies weep their exhaustless grief.
Spring is so much too bright, since Spring is brief.
And in our hearts is autumn all the year,
Least sad when the wide pastures are most drear,
And fields grieve most robbed of the last gold sheaf.
For when the plough goes down the brown wet field,
A delicate doubtful throb of hope is ours--
What if this coming Spring at last should yield
Joy, with her too profuse unasked-for flowers?
Not all our Springs of commonplace and pain
Have taught us now that autumn hope is vain.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Shadows On The Barley
(DickKellyMosleyRotheryTrewavas)
[The music for this song later became "The Bell In The Sea"]
Storm clouds cruising cross the blue skies
Shadows float across the fields of barley
I find myself an island in an island
I have to sort things out just my way
And all I find is my bar
To laugh to me I say
Like all you know is true
Is for every time we know it's mine
I saw clouds cruise floating cross the blue sky
Shadows float across the fields of barley
Hero down the right ... way
Everything will come out my way
Now I know, I see, I find
It's the only way I ever felt the way I do today
All I say, I play the game
I know I never could be sure of all the places that I've seen
Clouds cruising cross the blue skies
Shadows float across the fields of barley
Every self an island in an island
Working every problem out my way
Now I see, I feel, I know
It's the only way that anything could sort out to the way
I say you'll find it's out of mind
It's the only way I could have been
It's the only way I stand
Clouds cruise
Float upon the barley
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Day Gone By
The clouds floating,
Like a lazy summer day.
The silver reflections,
Glitter and light my eyes.
The blue clear and bright,
The colour rich with promise.
The clouds gentle now,
As the summer storm has passed.
The day done.
The hours and minutes gone.
I feel the green of the leaves,
In this balmy summer's eve.
(Bolton, UK. Tuesday 26 June 2007)
poem by Champaben Mistry
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Fields Of Gold
Youll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
Youll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in the fields of gold
So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold
Will you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
Well forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in the fields of gold
See the west wind move like a lover so
Upon the fields of barley
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth
Among the fields of gold
I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that Ive broken
But I swear in the days still left
Well walk in the fields of gold
Well walk in the fields of gold
Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
Youll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in the fields of gold
When we walked in the fields of gold
When we walked in the fields of gold
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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