En.Citatepedia^®.ro

And Winter Comes Again

The spicy condimental smell
Of crushed Autumn leaves
Faint distant cries
As from damned souls
Whisper from the trees

Skeletal limbs…in gelid winds
Grasping desperately
For things they cannot see
And spirits unconsigned
To either heaven or hell
Roam earth eternally

The lead ochre gleam
Of frozen stream
Hard and spare as flint
Light crystal path
with winter’s gleam
Imbued with glacial glint

Winds with razored
edges keen
Shave shapeless drifts
To ghostly forms
Spare and mean

Gives souls pause
To shrink and shrivel
In fond membrance of summer
And then
Commence into acquiescence
to icy caresses
And surrenders to winter
again

poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Season of Change

Autumn winds gently in,
washing away Summer's sin...

Autumn winds blow free,
chasing colored leaves from every tree...

Autumn winds chill,
frosting through every valley and hill...

Autumn winds passed,
waiting for Winter's snowy blast.

poem by George Aul
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Turbine

The summer ends and the winter winds
Begin to holler all around the bend.
We will smile and sail away
This wont be no sadness day
When the winter winds greet the trees back there.
We can watch the turbine turning in the wind
Up on the ridge line, before the fog rolls in.
Falling leaves in the autumn air
People feeling good everywhere
When the winter winds greet the trees back there.
We can watch the turbine blowing in the wind
Up on the ridge line, before the fog rolls in.
We will smile and sail away.
This wont be no sadness day
When the winter winds greet the trees back there.

song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Desperately Autumn

Desperately autumn
Trees are bleeding
Winds escort leaves desperately teaming.
Desperately autumn
Hearts are slower beating,
But I’ll never leave your side.
Desperately autumn
Fantasy leaves, now revealing
Desperately autumn fantasy now retreating.
Desperately autumn seeks September
And never to leave your side.

poem by Vereen Fransman
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When September Arrives, Again

September arrives and Autumn begins.
The Summer then bows to Fall.
I use to think,
The leaves would cling on until Spring...
In New England.

September arrives,
And the sky loses brightness.
Winds start to whip...
Leaves off of trees.
I use to wonder,
Why I heard thundering...
As it rained to bring a change to things.

September seems erratic and dramatic.
Shifting as it does...
To prepare all for the Winter.
Children return to school,
As cool winds descend.
September has come back,
Again...
So quickly.

September arrives,
And Autumn begins.
The Summer then bows to Fall.
I use to think,
The leaves would cling on until Spring...
In New England.

I use to think,
The leaves would cling on until Spring...
When September arrived.
And Autumn began,
With winds again.

I use to think,
The leaves would cling on until Spring...
As Autumn began,
With winds again to begin.
When September arrived.
When September...
Arrived!
When September,
Arrives...
Again.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Hill Maples

Here on a hill of the occident stand we shoulder to shoulder,
Comrades tried and true through a mighty swath of the years!
Spring harps glad laughter through us, and ministrant rains of the autumn
Sing us again the songs of ancient dolor and tears.

The glory of sunrise smites on our fair, free brows uplifted
When the silver-kirtled day steps over the twilight's bars;
At evening we look adown into valleys hearted with sunset,
And we whisper old lore together under the smouldering stars.

Crescent moons of the summer gleam through our swaying branches,
Knee-deep in fern we stand while the days of the sun-time go;
And the winds of winter love us­the keen, gay winds of the winter,
Coming to our gray arms from over the plains of snow.

Down in the valleys beneath us is wooing and winning and wedding,
Down in the long, dim valleys earth-children wail and weep;
But here on these free hills we grow and are strong and flourish,
Comrades shoulder to shoulder our watch of the years to keep.

poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Life Is Lovely All the Year

When the buds are blossoming,
Smiling welcome to the spring,
Lovers choose a wedding day -
Life is love in merry May!

Spring is green - Fal lal la!
Summer's rose - Fal lal la!
It is sad when Summer goes,
Fal la!
Autumn's gold - Fal lal la!
Winter's grey - Fal lal la!
Winter still is far away -
Fal la!
Leaves in Autumn fade and fall;
Winter is the end of all.
Spring and summer teem with glee:
Spring and summer, then, for me!
Fal la!

In the Spring-time seed is sown:
In the Summer grass is mown:
In the Autumn you may reap:
Winter is the time for sleep.

Spring is hope - Fal lal la!
Summer's joy - Fal lal la!
Spring and Summer never cloy,
Fal la!
Autumn, toil - Fal lal la!
Winter, rest - Fal lal la!
Winter, after all, is best -
Fal la!
Spring and summer pleasure you,
Autumn, ay, and winter, too -
Every season has its cheer;
Life is lovely all the year!
Fal la!

poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Whispers of trees

Trees whisper of the coming winter
Leaves mutter among themselves

Seasons silently steal upon us…
As Falling streams from rocky shelves

Soft sibilant sighs, indistinct…incoherent
Nature’s voices, spoken through the dells

It’s the trees whisper… of the coming winter
The voices of Trolls, faeries and elves

Branches freeing…captive leaves fleeing
Limbs bleakly waving…in poignant farewell

Listen closely! …to the trees soft whisper
Of places of mystery…where legends dwell

Trees whisper the coming winter
Voices elusive…secretive as well

Hear the murmur of the wooded heart…
muted tumble of an acorn shell

Trees whisper…coming winter…
Tales that only trees can tell

poem by David Whalen
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Autumn Is Coming

Autumn is coming
With gentle breezes
And howling winds

Autumn is coming
To change the colors
To red, brown, and gold

Upon the forest floor
Will lie the leaves of all the trees
When Autumn is here

When the days cool
And the nights grow long
With a bright silver moon in the sky

When the sleepiness sets in
We will sleep until
Winter breaks

Autumn is coming

poem by Autumn Winds
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Autumnale for M lady ernestine

The falling leaves dance in the breeze
and clothe the ground beneath the trees,
in autumn colours rich a rare.
The trees themselves will soon be bare.

Left no defence against the wind.
Their winter plans are well designed,
bare twigs and branches hold less snow
than useless leaves they have let go

The wintry gales to no avail
try hard but they are doomed to fail,
They can’t destroy the sturdy trees;
resisting with apparent ease.

Although they bow before the blast
they know that winter cannot last
The winds will die and fade away
the trees will they’re here to stay.

Spring will return the trees will green
as if the winter had not been.
The trees put on their new spring clothes
along with every plant that grows.

8-Oct-08

http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Winter Song

The browns, the olives, and the yellows died,
And were swept up to heaven; where they glowed
Each dawn and set of sun till Christmastide,
And when the land lay pale for them, pale-snowed,
Fell back, and down the snow-drifts flamed and flowed.

From off your face, into the winds of winter,
The sun-brown and the summer-gold are blowing;
But they shall gleam with spiritual glinter,
When paler beauty on your brows falls snowing,
And through those snows my looks shall be soft-going.

poem by Wilfred Owen
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A Dream in Winter

When all the daisies and daffodils
are buried deep below,
and summer's but a memory
hidden 'pon the drifting snow ~
'tis there beneath the whitened glow,
in a bed of greenest green,
that lives the dreams of springtime hue
with a gleam of emerald sheen.

When all the trees are bared and bent
against wintry winds that blow,
and spring is but a wistful sigh
'pon the branches that bow low ~
'tis there within the boughs so wide,
in a bed of greenest green,
that lives the buds of springtime hue
with a gleam of emerald sheen.

When roses fade 'pon winter's morn
as their petals flee on frosty breath,
and thorns are left to sadly yearn
in their bed of beauty's death ~
'tis there beneath those roses grown,
in a bed of greenest green,
that lives a vision of springtime hue
with a gleam of pastel sheen.

When winter brings a world of white,
a wonderland of icy glow,
and ends the seasons of green, and gold,
hidden 'neath a field of snow ~
'tis there the sleeping earth awaits
in a bed of springtime green,
sighing softly through winter's chill,
'pon a dream of emerald sheen.

poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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The Child Of Earth

I.

FAINTER her slow step falls from day to day,
Death's hand is heavy on her darkening brow;
Yet doth she fondly cling to earth, and say,
'I am content to die, but, oh! not now!
Not while the blossoms of the joyous spring
Make the warm air such luxury to breathe;
Not while the birds such lays of gladness sing;
Not while bright flowers around my footsteps wreathe.
Spare me, great God, lift up my drooping brow!
I am content to die--but, oh! not now!'
II.

The spring hath ripen'd into summer-time,
The season's viewless boundary is past;
The glorious sun hath reach'd his burning prime;
Oh! must this glimpse of beauty be the last?
'Let me not perish while o'er land and lea
With silent steps the lord of light moves on;
Nor while the murmur of the mountain bee
Greets my dull ear with music in its tone!
Pale sickness dims my eye, and clouds my brow;
I am content to die--but, oh! not now!'
III.

Summer is gone, and autumn's soberer hues
Tint the ripe fruits, and gild the waving corn;
The huntsman swift the flying game pursues,
Shouts the halloo, and winds his eager horn.
'Spare me awhile to wander forth and gaze
On the broad meadows and the quiet stream,
To watch in silence while the evening rays
Slant thro' the fading trees with ruddy gleam!
Cooler the breezes play around my brow;
I am content to die--but, oh! not now!'
IV.

The bleak wind whistles, snow-showers, far and near,
Drift without echo to the whitening ground;
Autumn hath pass'd away, and, cold and drear,
Winter stalks on, with frozen mantle bound.
Yet still that prayer ascends:--'Oh! laughingly
My little brothers round the warm hearth crowd,
Our home-fire blazes broad, and bright, and high,
And the roof rings with voices glad and loud;
Spare me awhile! raise up my drooping brow!
I am content to die--but, oh! not now!'
V.

The spring is come again--the joyful spring!
Again the banks with clustering flowers are spread;
The wild bird dips upon its wanton wing:--
The child of earth is number'd with the dead!
'Thee never more the sunshine shall awake,
Beaming all redly thro' the lattice-pane;
The steps of friends thy slumbers may not break,
Nor fond familiar voice arouse again!
Death's silent shadow veils thy darken'd brow;
Why didst thou linger?--thou art happier now!'

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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May-December Kisses

She is a flower given
in summer time,
full of ocean-ness;
it's vastness swims
in her eyes.

She moves soft winds before her;
floating lightly;
shiny new
with a young soul

touched only by sentiments
innocent;
all experience her delight.

She has never known Mean Love,
only Love Requited.

Joy seldom comes to the Stapled Heart
and hers has never been.

I am older than she;
I am mangled innocence;
yet still I crave what I see-
her soft putty etherealness;
her purity.

I am the Winter Bulb
underground;
she, summer sun
warming ocean waters.

I need to know
is her heart,
and my dark bulb
together
yet fertile?

What irony
meeting brings
in words wandering
cross pages
when she says;
'I love you.'

My Winter and her Spring
were clutched in her Hearts First
meandering
into Love's Realm.

When individuals
invest
their best souls
and their best
summer flailings
we must perforce
measure the fit.

She is the rare soul not potted yet
not yet a bulb a'growing
yet before me now
professing
to love my old soul
covered by
winter ground
frozen.

I ponder and say to her:
'whisper me
just one word,
your soul's summer smells
inhaled,

your bouquet refreshing
my dusty soil;
my winter eyes greying.

I am mighty stirred
by youthful seeds
yours;
which arrive with summer's souling-
fitful winds blowing
innocence
which coaxes old flowers
to new blooms.
But I am, '
I said

'I am
too old for you
but not for Summer's kiss

and planted her cheek
with my Winter kiss
and set her free
to sail
Summer Winds
to find her own
true,
younger Prince
closer to her own age.

And I died
surely that day
having forfeited life's Last Love Note
for Youths Future Bliss.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Kings Vengeance

Down and out in the city
Wont you give a boy a break
Juvenile on trial before committee
Taken all he can take
But the king shall have his vengeance
Especially on the poor
Some say preaching to convert him
Me Im not too sure
Spring she comes and spring she teases
Brings summer winds and summer breezes
Blow through your hair till autumn leaves us
When autumn leaves us, oh how winter freezes
And the child is still breathing
With the beating of a heart (with the beating of the heart)
Some say we are equal
Some a million miles apart
Oh my god
Oh my god
But the king shall have his vengeance
While the queen she represents the innocent
And the child so dependent
But the seasons conquer all
Spring she comes and spring she teases
Brings summer winds and summer breezes
Blow through your hair till autumn leaves us
When autumn leaves, oh how winter freezes
But the king shall have his vengeance
Especially on the poor
Some say preaching to converted
Me Im not so sure

song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Flower

She is a flower given
in rainy hours
in her is ocean-ness

moving soft winds before her;
floating lightly
shiny new soul blooming

untouched by sentiments darkly
all experience her delight
having never known mean love
only love requited.

Joy seldom comes to the stapled heart
her's has never been.

I am older than she
aged older than my years
mangled innocence
unrequited

the winter bulb
underground
she is summer's sun
warming waters.

I ask her if
her heart,
and my dark bulb
can yet be fertile?

What irony
meeting brings
in words wandering
'cross pages

when individuals
invest
their souls
and their best
summer flailings.

So rare the soul not potted yet
not yet a bulb a'growing
yet wise enough
to love the flower
covered by
winter ground
frozen.

Whisper me
just one word
your soul's summer smells
inhaled

bouquet refreshing
my dusty soil
my winter eyes ungreying

stirred still
by youthful seeds
yours
which arrive with summer's souling
on summer winds
whose innocence
coax old flowers
mine
into fitful starts
re-blooming
in instant's remembering
but destined in the next
to extinguish
happily.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Powdered Kaolin

Autumn’s closing in now,
leaves have dressed the ground.
Laying in heaped profusion,
so still, making no sound.

Reds and rusts are mingling,
beneath each skeletal tree.
Tumbling when the breezes blow,
off on their reckless spree.

Misty are the mornings,
bad weather’s moving in.
Frost will appear on branches,
like powdered kaolin.

October, then November,
Summer is no longer here,
Chilly days are approaching,
the last leaves disappear.

Autumn’s closing in now,
with blustery winds so cold.
But, whatever Winter brings,
Spring will again unfold.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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Improvisurrealism

Dawn's light…bone white
a sky seeming void
of all color
Breath fogging into the air
Wasted bodies and tormented faces
Ice blue eyes
And sharp glacial glare
Highlights in shadow
Bright as cold chrome
Faces round and cratered
Like the moon
Skies skewered
By skeins of blackbirds
Crazed cry… in the dark…
Of a loon
Walls discolored
By exhalations and memories
Memories thought to be
Safely hidden behind
Rheumy, tinted eyes
Souls seared black …about the edges
Weightless and ghostly
Adorned with garlands
Of the prettiest of lies
Without whisper of sound
Fans slowly strobing
In the whine of vain effort
Push humidity around
In the gloom
Foghorns moaning
Like lost souls of the sea…
Drowned, damned and doomed!
Whose only want
Is everything…
And things that
Cannot be

poem by David Whalen
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Winter Winds

winter winds so cold
winter winds blow old
the way it moves
fits into grooves
how smooth it blows
like a smooth robe
the way it feels against my skin
it could make me sin
how cold i am
i can not stand
winter winds
yet i say
winter winds are here to stay

poem by LIL Poet
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Spelling My Name

I heard you spelling my name
I answered in the winter winds
the winds that blame
my voice still - your words bid.

My winds shied - a darkened bride.

My winds cried, and then I died.

A call of altitudes waving a hand
A Deadly Nightshade, of Nyx
distance egressed,
a word uphill, your primal twinge.

My voice edges - my call subsides.

Crucifix wedges, my rain decides.

I heard the night calling my worth
I answered in the snowy landscape
your form came forth
a gleam so still, your bluish drape.

Snowy nights, my solitude's witches.

The Hydra's bark like razor etches.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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The Stream Of Life

Oh silvery streamlet of the fields,
That flowest full and free!
For thee the rains of spring return,
The summer dews for thee;
And when thy latest blossoms die
In autumn's chilly showers,
The winter fountains gush for thee,
Till May brings back the flowers.

Oh Stream of Life! the violet springs
But once beside thy bed;
But one brief summer, on thy path,
The dews of heaven are shed.
Thy parent fountains shrink away,
And close their crystal veins,
And where thy glittering current flowed
The dust alone remains.

poem by William Cullen Bryant
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