In The Shade Near Evening Time
As I sat in the quiet garden
at the back of our hotel,
the scent of flowers
drifted through the air
by a cooling breeze,
surrounding me with fragrance
as I sat on a park bench
in the shade near evening time.
26 July 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Park Bench
Sitting on a park bench,
the fragrance of the grass
scents the fresh air.
It makes you look more closely
to everything that is there.
The beauty of the day,
white clouds, no black ones of dismay.
A breeze that bends
every leaf and petal to and fro.
Then there are the colours,
a multitude of green.
Everything assaults our senses,
every smell and flower there.
The sun is over my shoulder,
blue skies, and no clouds in sight.
As I sit here on a park bench
enjoying everything, I see.
(7 July 2007)
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Memories On A Park Bench
He sat on a park bench
just to pass the time away
when he saw her there
from the corner of his eye.
She was older now,
but her beauty had not faded.
She turned in his direction
and he smiled at her.
At first, she looked at him strangely
until there was recognition.
She smiled back
and then joined him.
They sat there on the park bench
the sun smiling down on them
as the daffodils swayed in the breeze.
For both of them came a flood
of memories of when they were young
before the world spirited them away.
Both had walked down many roads,
had some hard knocks along the way.
Both recalled them now
the way old friends meeting do.
As they sat there
recalling memories from happier days.
All too soon they would be parting
and as they would go,
they would take with them
a little of each other
in the form of memories
that they acquired on a park bench.
5 April 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Place Of Romantic Mood!
Romantic mood comes whenever we see a park!
One such park is a centre of attraction in our town;
Green lawn all around the park with open space wide
And trees with wide branches giving shade make it
A romantic place for lovers and tourists to enjoy here!
The parks of this kind I have seen in hill stations where
The climate is a plus point for tourists’ attraction there!
Varieties of flowers of different colours and fragrance
And fountains ejecting high up water give thrilling joy!
Blue sky, green grass lawn, fountain waters cooling all
And tall trees of big branches giving shade all over there
Make the park a small paradise for lovers and tourists!
For regaining joyful mood and relaxing in romantic mood
Where can we go for except the park of paradise here?
poem by Ramesh T A
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The Old Man
The old man sat on a park bench
just watching the people pass by.
He did it day after day
alone in everyone's eyes.
He would smile occasionally
but no one ever knew why.
Everyone who saw him
wondered why he sat so still
and just looked out
at everyone who passed him there.
The old man sat in repose
from dawn until dusk fell.
He sat there in the summer sun
and as winter's bleakness fell.
He looked for some face
he might remember from his past
so they could reminisce for a while.
Sadly, the years slipped away.
Everyone spoke about him,
but no one ventured to talk.
Then one day the old man
wasn't on the park bench
and he was nowhere to be seen.
Now a different question was asked.
Day after day, the bench was empty.
Where had the old man gone?
Had he simply passed away?
The questions remained unanswered
because no one ever stopped
to enquire of his name.
I would like to think
that in the dying hours
on the park bench one day
that he had found
what he was waiting for
and then happily he faded away.
12 July 2012
poem by David Harris
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In The Air
Like fresh blossoming flowers on a spring day.
Her scent is in the air.
Like the smell of rain right before it pours down.
Her scent is in the air.
Like the aroma of a hot apple pie cooling on the window seal.
Her scent is in air.
I try to cover my nose with my shirt
but her scent seeps right through it.
It is in the air.
I try fanning it away
but the more I fan the stronger her scent lofts in the air.
I decide not to fight it anymore and I inhale her scent.
It first suffocates me but then it sustains me.
To me her scent is love and it is
In the air.
The Linden Avenue
A house of unimagined beauty
Is set in parkland, cool and dark;
Gates with an arch; then meadows, hillocks,
And oats and woods beyond the park.
Here, with their crowns each other hiding,
Enormous linden trees engage
In dusky, quiet celebration
Of their two hundred years of age.
And underneath their vaulted branches,
Across the regularly drawn
Symmetric avenues, grow flowers
In flower-beds upon a lawn.
Beneath the trees, on sandy pathways,
Not one bright spot relieves the dark,
Save-like an opening in a tunnel-
The distant entrance of the park.
But now the blossom-time is starting,
The walled-in linden trees reveal
And spread about within their shadow
Their irresistible appeal.
The visitors, in summer clothing,
While walking on the crunchy sand,
Breathe in unfathomable fragrance
Which only bees can understand.
This gripping scent is theme and subject,
Whereas-however well they look-
The flower-beds, the lawn, the garden,
Are but the cover of a book.
The clustered, wax-bespattered flowers
On massive trees, sedate and old,
Lit up by raindrops, burn and sparkle
Above the mansion they enfold.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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My Garden Fair
Flowers are blooming in
my garden fair. Their
sweet perfume fills the
air. My Garden fair is
beautiful to see., with all
its glory surrounding me.
My garden fair is romantic
and bright, and so redeeming
in sunlight where song birds
nestle in the trees, and sing
with each flowing breeze.
My garden fair is a glorious
sight, that I rush to greet
at twilight my garden fair is
most supreme with such lovely
enchanting scenes.
poem by Dr. Janice Marie Murrell
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The Poem Of The Evening Is A Quiet Poem
THE POEM OF THE EVENING IS A QUIET POEM
The poem of the evening is a quiet poem
It comes in gentleness with tired eyes
It does not know how long it will last
It believes a fresh breeze
And a simple song
Are all its needs
To feel happiness.
The poem of the evening this evening
Believes in life
Believes in Goodness of God
Believes it will somehow be alright.
The poem of the evening this evening
May be a foolish one
But it is a quietly happy one.
We need such poems sometimes
For life is hard in the long working days
And in the times of difficult idleness
When no dreams come.
Quiet and quiet
Soft as sleep
The poem of the evening this evening
Is a gentle one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Saturday In The Park
Saturday in the park
I think it was the fourth of july
Saturday in the park
I think it was the fourth of july
People dancing, people laughing
A man selling ice cream
Singing italian songs
(fake italian lyric)
Can you dig it (yes, I can)
And Ive been waiting such a long time
For saturday
Saturday in the park
Youd think it was the fourth of july
Saturday in the park
Youd think it was the fourth of july
People talking, really smiling
A man playing guitar
Singing for us all
Will you help him change the world
Can you dig it (yes, I can)
And Ive been waiting such a long time
For today
Slow motion riders fly the colors of the day
A bronze man still can tell stories his own way
Listen children all is not lost
All is not lost
Funny days in the park
Every days the fourth of july
Funny days in the park
Every days the fourth of july
People reaching, people touching
A real celebration
Waiting for us all
If we want it, really want it
Can you dig it (yes, I can)
And Ive been waiting such a long time
For the day
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In This Garden
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
The flowers and the grass
The stones and the water
The sculptures and all art
Sing a song
A song of beauty
A song of harmony
A song of hope
The wind whistles gently
Is it to the east?
Or is it to the west?
I don’t know and I don’t need to know
All is so beautiful
Hush…
Hush humanity
Hush…
I can feel the scent on y nostrils
The scent of the flowers
The sound of the water nearby welcoming
Peace
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
With beautiful flowers
Where art lives
Hush
Play the music
Let the flowers live the music
Let the drums be heard
Let the music come to life
Play the music
Let it be heard here today
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
With very beautiful flowers
Where art comes to life
poem by Jack Shaka
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My Lovely Rose
I have a rose in the garden,
Unfolding red lovely petals,
With thorns surrounding it,
Could not touch and smell its fragrance.
I left the garden,
I left my lovely rose,
Far away yet so near,
Could not touch and smell its fragrance.
Time have passed,
Have seen again my rose,
Beautiful and sweetly scented at its full blossom,
Could not touch and smell its fragrance.
My rose is not mine anymore,
Yet I let my rose feel
Thy undoubting care and heart rejoicing,
Could glimpse again my lovely rose.
poem by Dong Agosto
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Outcast
Costa Rica (outcast)
When going ashore in Puerto Lemon (Costa Rica) we had to walk
through a park were the town’s people sat or walked enjoying
the evening breeze. They didn’t like us, we’re uncouth seamen
up to no good. We felt their odium and it made us noisier that we
otherwise would have been. We were on our way to the seedy
part of town where we were welcomed because we had money.
One evening I sat in the park enjoying the peace and sea breeze…
after some time I was approached by a police officer who told me
to move on, he never said way, but the good people felt offended.
As I left I was filled with sadness and I had only one place to go.
Late at night when the good people had gone home the park was
a whore house, just raucous noise and the sea breeze had died.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Sweet Evening Breeze
I was loud and a little sad
She was visiting from atlanta, georgia
She had come to spend the summer with her dad
I thought she was very pretty
We would kiss and hold hands
Every night by the football field
Her body was tan
From the afternoons by the public swimming pool
Chorus:
Sweet evening breeze
Blows around my thoughts and memories
As I lie here today
And drink my tea
I can still see
Sweet evening breeze
I saw her in a coffee shop
In a big hotel down in austin, texas
She had cut her long hair off
And replaced it with
Blue eyes of sadness
Still acted like we were kids
And she told me that she had to marry
And she asked me if I did
Still remember
Chorus:
Sweet evening breeze
Blows around my thoughts and memories
As I lie here today
And drink my tea
I can still see
Sweet evening breeze
How redundant the future can be
These days of old are very, very
Ridiculous for me to see
When I think about the real gone stories
And how time holds the winning hand
I can tell by the lines on our faces
And the young cant understand
That they look at me
When they look at themselves
Chorus:
Oh, sweet evening breeze
Blows around my thoughts and memories
As I lie here today
And drink my tea
I can still see
Sweet evening breeze
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mountains And My Dawn!
Mountains call me from mystic terrains
a prayer comes from divine heart
wild flowers fall on discreet dreams
dews on garden flowers
fragrance brings placid breeze
docile numinous dreams arrive
clouds fly on confused confines
tremors shrivel on stiff caverns
listen, calm my ocean dear
hide you treasures of mine so deep
wait, wait I come back soon
impede not until I liberate my soul
allow me to go on my part of earth
allow me to reach my dawn in style
mountains call me from distant terrains
allow me to walk till I climb its peak
allow me to embrace my dawn in grace.
© Rema Prasanna
August 2,2008
poem by Rema Prasanaa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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First Day Of My Holiday
Standing looking out at the valley below
with its small tidal bay.
The tall mast lie drunkenly on angles
as their boats are left stranded
after the tide retreated,
back to its roving wanderings.
The calls of the seagulls
bark in the evening air
as the sunset enriches
the surrounding hills in red and gold.
Little birds take their last flights
before dusk and roosting.
A serene scene to greet my eyes
in a laid-back day,
the first day of my holiday.
Away from the clamouring pace
of a life left behind for two weeks.
Just standing and watching for what joys
my life must prepare for
as the evening clouds begin to gather.
Waiting for the hour
when night decides to descend
and bring a quiet close
to the first day of my holiday.
13 September 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The First Day Of My Holiday
Standing looking out at the valley below
with its small tidal bay.
The tall masts lie drunkenly on angles
as their boats are left stranded
after the tide retreated,
back to its roving wanderings.
The calls of the seagulls
bark in the evening air
as the sunset enriches
the surrounding hills in red and gold.
Little birds take their last flights
before dusk and roosting.
A serene scene to greet my eyes
in a laid-back day,
the first day of my holiday.
Away from the clamouring pace
of a life left behind for two weeks.
Just standing and watching for what joys
my life must prepare for
as the evening clouds begin to gather.
Waiting for the hour
when night decides to descend
and bring a quiet close
to the first day of my holiday.
13 September 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Sonnet 58 There is a garden, verdant, beautiful,
There is a garden, verdant, beautiful,
With roses red and violets so blue,
The same as in love songs, so plentiful,
Except that in this garden there is you;
As I lay with the lilies, swaying free,
And tender breeze exudes with their fragrance,
I feel a thousand brides surrounding me,
Like Solomon, if all to wed at once;
Methinks, a moonlit plain is best of climes,
When not in night of darkness, such disgrace,
And so, true to the practice of the times,
I plan to bribe the moon to stay in place;
…..Talking to plants is good, as I recall,
…..At times, you would not talk to me at all.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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a Fantasy Re-lived
A once upon a time
Live fantasy insulated me
Just as on that evening when
It diluted misery to its last dreg
Dissolving it in the scent of
Freshly watered grass
And the melting sun
Twilight shadows
Played upon the eager skin
Till darkness descended
To breathe life into your hands
That picked the water droplets
Off my faltering feet
How we’re cut off from
The physicality of the surroundings
Even the gardener, reduced to a dot
In the fading light of the sun
Only the scent we had absorbed
Wafting around…
That fairytale fantasy
Came to be seated by me
On this dark cement bench
Yes, I relived every moment
Of that once upon a time fantasy
On this summer evening
Under a flickering bulb…
10 Apr 2011
06.05hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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A Mackworth Village Garden
Sitting alone in the country garden of number 82
on this July day with the sun shining through.
Watching the dandelion seeds being wafted up high
and just observing nature as the day passes by.
A magpie jumps onto the neighbour’s weather beaten roof
while a horse can be heard by the sound of its hoof.
The bees are as usual busy visiting all the flowers in bloom
as a dragonfly flits by on this Friday afternoon.
The sun’s gradual movement is taking the shade away
and shadows are growing, as afternoon tea comes my way.
A light wind refreshes as it kisses my uncovered knees,
and the trees respond by dancing along with the breeze.
The crows have decided to disturb the peace and quiet
squabbling over who gets first choice with their diet.
A woodpigeon calls out from next door’s chestnut tree,
then two more arrive, and coo in harmony.
poem by Orlando Belo
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The Morning of Yesterday
Quiet walks and pondering time
Was a magnificent day at Jells park
The gentle heat of the beautiful sun
We retreat to the shade under the tree
Birds chirping and the cool breeze
I look to the sky through the leaves
Aaric with his soccer ball, kicks…..
Naughty Nonee “Do not hold me, for you are a cheat”
Smiles, laughter's, tantrums' and disaster
Oh! what beautiful sight at Jells Park
Ducks at the lake, dogs on leashes
And people riding their mountain bikes
Oh! What a day
to spend the morning of yesterday
Out for fun, under the sun
Where family and friends become one!
poem by Noreen Fonseca
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