En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Trolls, Moonbeams, Leprechauns And Stardust

A world of caves, caverns, thickets and ledges
A place of bracken, heather, thistles and sedges

Of Spider webs, mosses, mushrooms and hedges
Green grassy dells, craggy hills of raggedy edges

Environments of enchantment, worlds of auld lore
Mysterious encampments of wee people of yore

Broad iron hinges on wee ancient oak doors
Behind which lie treasures on cool earthen floors

Oak roots brace ceilings, which green lichen adorns
Crude clever furniture, fashioned from shells of acorns

Curly toed slippers, forest green pointy caps
Thistle down mattress, bunk bed for long naps

Gossamer wings of wand wielding fairies
Flitting about o’er fields of silverberries

Leaving scintillating trails of sparkling, luminary
Like tiny comets tails, so temporary

Trolls under bridges, mean tempered and grumpy
Grey unkempt hair, clothes soiled and frumpy

Short and squat, a bit ugly and dumpy
Big crooked noses and skin mottled and bumpy

Worlds of mysterious wonder of which man knows little
Beings and places neath and above the earths crust

Haunting sounds o’er glen from a wee golden fiddle
Trolls… moonbeams… leprechauns and stardust

poem by David Whalen
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The War

It roams far away where there is no one but the trolls,
There is much inconvenience in the land of trolls.

We are tired of the telling of tales by the people against them,
Then our commands are not obeyed and they are not with them.

Who? The Trolls. They are not with the Trolls, who are hard.
They, the Orcs, are not with them, fighting instead who are hard.

The ogres are grotesque compared to the Trolls,
And the orcs are no match in strength to the Trolls

Or the Ogres, for they are in combat with each other -
They, the ogres and trolls and orcs fight each other

Until one of them has defeated and conquered-
Triumphant Trolls.

poem by Naveed Akram
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A Glen Song

There's a green glen in Eirinn,
A green glen in Eirinn!
Do you remember yet, a gradh, the sunshine of that day,
How the the river ran before us, and the fleckless blue hung o'er us,
And against the purple heather gleamed the yellow of the hay?

There's a green glen in Eirinn,
A green glen in Eirinn!
Where on a dew-wet swinging spray brown throstles trilled above,
And the blackbird carolled after in a silver rain of laughter,
And the little linnet piped its song that has no theme but Love.

There's a green glen in Eirinn,
A green glen in Eirinn!
'Twas sweet with you beside me in a world of harvest gold:
The sallaghs made a shadow in a corner of the meadow,
And your eyes were wells of kindness, and my hand lay in your hold.

There's a green glen in Eirinn,
A green glen in Eirinn!
The voice of Spring comes on the winds like cuckoo calling clear
She bids us fare together, nor heed the fitful weather–
And seek in yon green glen the joy that waits our hearts, my Dear.

poem by Anna Johnston MacManus
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Huldra

In the green valley
Near lake blue and pink salmon
Lived a huldra
Beautiful in human eyes
But trolls had rejected her
Ugly in their eyes
I heard her desolate song
Saw her shimmering
Blond as Iberian sea straw
Made gold-leaved by the sun
I saw her tail too
And before she charmed me
Sprinted for my life
Since folklore has made it clear
Human and trolls may not mix
Because if they do
The offspring will be rejected
By trolls and human
And for perpetuity be lost
Walking the strand of loneliness

poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Green, Green, and More Green

There is green everywhere,
even in peoples' hair.Some
on hands, some on shirts.
There is green everywhere!

Green, green, and more green.
I think I'm going crazy over green.
If you don't wear green you get pinched,
then you'll start to itch.
So many people are obsessed with green.
Green Spring, green air.Green feet, green wheat, green meat.
Green isn't very neat!

poem by Autumn Howard
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A Natural Green

Who coloured the green trees?
Who coloured the green grass?
Who coloured the green hills?
How about my green spider plant? ?

Green, Green, you are so glorious green...
An abundance of beautiful green, not coloured, but just natural and kind.

Makes me wonder how your creation of green came to life....

A ride on a helicopter over the huge Rain Forest and see nothing, but acres & acres of simply gorgeous green!

Green, Green, you are so glorious green...
An abundance of beautiful green, not coloured, but just natural and kind.

Makes me wonder how your creation of green came to life...

GREEN, I admire and respect the vitality you bring in the air that I breathe...

poem by Premila Patel
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Green.

Green are the valleys
green are the fields
green are the forests and long rolling hills
green like the shamrock and eyes with a smile
green as old Ireland
The emerald isle.

poem by Charles M. Moore
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Meet Me in the Green Glen

Love, meet me in the green glen,
Beside the tall elm-tree,
Where the sweetbriar smells so sweet agen;
There come with me.
Meet me in the green glen.

Meet me at the sunset
Down in the green glen,
Where we've often met
By hawthorn-tree and foxes' den,
Meet me in the green glen.

Meet me in the green glen,
By sweetbriar bushes there;
Meet me by your own sen,
Where the wild thyme blossoms fair.
Meet me in the green glen.

Meet me by the sweetbriar,
By the mole-hill swelling there;
When the west glows like a fire
God's crimson bed is there.
Meet me in the green glen.

poem by John Clare
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The Little People

'Twas a long bush night; and the old hut light
Shone out thro' the open door
To flood the knees of the great bush trees
And the scrub that grew before.
And, as I dreamed where the firelight gleamed,
And watched the long hours lag,
Came there to my shack Kilkenny Jack
With his fiddle in its green baize bag.

So I bade him sit and rest a bit,
And we yarned of this and that.
Pipes well alight, we watched the night
As he on his old swag sat.
'Lonesome, indade, this life we lade,'
Said he, 'Why let time drag
For me an' you?' And he stooped and drew
His fiddle from its green baize bag.

Then the scrub before the old hut door
Was people suddenly
With elfin' folk who rose and spoke
Strange, mystic things to me.
Then into the glare from the bracken there
The Little People crept;
And, suddenly, by fern and tree
The fairies danced and leapt.

Kilkenny Jack he leant him back,
And his bow went to and fro;
And there outside the banshees cried
In mournful tones and low.
And where the light stabbed thro' the night
To cast dark shades about,
In many a place I saw the face
Of a leprechaun peep out.

Then the music stopped; and Jack he dropped
His fiddle, and was done;
And into the night in sudden fright
I saw the small folk run . . .
Then off he went, his small form bent
'Neath his old, familiar swag
Upon his back - Kilkenny Jack,
With his fiddle in its green baize bag.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Green Woods Of Truagh

In the green woods of Truagh we met without fear,
Your kiss on my lips, and your voice in my ear,
Your tender arms about me, and your eyes glad and clear–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh the days go on wings,
On every brown branch a gladsome bird sings
And the fragrant amber blossom of the honey-suckle swings–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh the bracken stands high,
And wells of spring-water in deep hollows lie,
And the red deer is browsing in the cool shadows nigh–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh no sorrow dared stay,
The lark called me early at dawn o' the day,
And o'er my sleep at night pleasant dreams used to play–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh you wait till I come–
I left home and you for the stranger's far home,
To bring a hoard of yellow gold across the grey foam–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh–if God hears my prayer–
I shall reach you, O true love, my empty hands there,
For little of the yellow gold has fallen to my share–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

In the green woods of Truagh–your heart on my own,
And your bright hair in ringlets across my cheek blown
Now where in all the wide, wide world, could greater bliss be known?
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!

poem by Anna Johnston MacManus
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A Golden Memory

When I was a young child
about five to seven years of age.
I noticed the neighbour's trees
were dirty and sooty and black.
Black with smoke chimney coal dust.

The bark was ugly dirty and black
the leaves were ugly dirty and black.
And barely green if at all in most places,
except a little on the side facing the sun.
The sun I saw as a beautiful yellow light.

Next to my father's garage grew these trees.
They were really tall shrubs, but I was but still
a young child, with much to learn in this world,
ruled by mean men. Magic and the elfin language,
still danced like sparkling stardust in my eyes.

Next to my father's garage grew these trees.
They were so sad dull black lifeless and ugly.
I took a bright yellow lively house paint.
And painted the trees yellow bright golden yellow,
in all sad places I could short armed easily reach.

But I also got paint on my hands face clothes.
In my wonderful joy I got paint on my clothes.
My apparently best going to town best clothes.
My mother punished me for painting the trees.
And the leaves a bright joyous yellow colour.

For making a small part
of this dull adult world.
A golden magical shinning
bright fairy glade place.

For painting making a small part
of this dull adult fading world.
A golden orb magical shinning
bright mystical fairy glade place.

For trying to make the tired
world a better magical place.
Thus were childhood dreamers
often beaten into submission.

By those who failed to see
the divine presence in dreams.
By those who failed to see
the magical sparkle in dreams.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Monroe Louisiana

On the green, green farm
In green, green Monroe Louisiana
So green, green
Wet-luscious green and alive
So green after the rain
So bright green and clean
Just passing through
On my way to tomorrow
But so green today and yesterday
It was on that stranger's green, green farm
And I didn't stay long
And I didn't expect someone
To fire that shotgun right next to me
The barrel pointed out the front door
Into that green, green world beyond.
There were hot springs
On the green, green farm
In green, green Monroe Louisiana
Back in 1973.

poem by M.L. Squier
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Across the Green Fields

Across the green fields
Up on the bluffs
High into the sky
A place I didn’t realize existed
Montana
Yes green
Once in a drought
It now is green from pounding rain.
God’s country again
It looks like a different place
No brown desert prairies
No desolate fields
It’s green now
A beautiful velvety green.

poem by Marilyn Lott
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Song Of A Mountain Man

I come from Land of bracken hills and green meads fringed by hedges
And I am still a mountain man and rough around the edges
And now I live in Sherbrooke Shire in the Dandenong Ranges
From Bracken hills to gum tree hills the scenery so changes.

I've never cared for city life and I feel only pity
For those who have to live and work in the smoky inner city
Pollution clogs the city skies, the traffic noise and rattle
Down in the smoky concrete World life's like a constant battle.

The mountain man a healthy man the air he breathe is cleaner
And he's living in a Natural World a World that's quiet and greener
He's living in a Natural World his life span ought be longer
The mountain man a healthier man than city man far stronger.

I love the hills the quiet hills, the woods where birds are singing
And every time I leave the hills back to the hills my thoughts go winging
For I don't like the Concrete World the World of man's endeavour
And I'll always be a mountain man a mountain man forever.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Cool An Green An Shady

This song was first released on the back home again album. it is the only album it has been released on.
Saturdays holidays, easy afternoon
Lazy days, summer days
Nothin much to do
Rainy days of better days
Hangin out inside
Rainy days and city ways
Make me want to hide some place
Cool an green an shady
Find yourself a piece of grassy ground
Lay down close your eyes
Find yourself and maybe lose yourself
While your free spirit flies
Find yourself a piece of grassy ground
Lay down close your eyes
Find yourself and maybe lose yourself
While your free spirit flies
August skies are lullabies, promises to keep
Dandelions and twisting vines
Clover at your feet
Memories of aspen leaves
Trembling in the wind
Honeybees and fantasies
Where to start again some place
Cool an green an shady
Cool an green an shady
Cool an green an shady
Cool an green an shady
Cool an green an shady
Cool an green an shady
Cool an green an shady
Words and music by john denver and joe henry

song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Flying Cow

Millie Moo Cow was grazing
in a field on day
when her fairy godmother
came to pay a visit to her.
Millie you are a good old cow
and your days are not yet through.
If I had wish for you
what would that wish be fore?
Millie chewed at her cud
and thought for a bit.
I would like a pair of wings
so I could fly like the birds
and then I could find the green fields
with all the tenders shoots to graze upon.
The fairy godmother waved her wand
and on Millie, two beautiful wings grew.
Millie flapped her new wings
and into the sky, she flew.
As she, few around she caused quite a stir.
Looking down she remembered
all those who had tormented her.
Now she had wings she could get her revenge.
She dived and did a somersault
and then began her bombing run
laying on them cow pats big and round.
People ran for cover as Millie flew on by.
Tiring of her games in a green field, she landed.
Her fairy godmother wasn’t pleased.
You were only supposed to look for green fields
not go bombarding people with your poo.
For your bad behaviour,
I’m taking your wings away from you.
She waved her magic wand again
and Millie’s wings were gone.
The moral of this story is
when they say do unto others as they do unto you.
You will be punished
so go do it first.

poem by David Harris
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Sonnet Too

Sonnet.
I touched upon a dream perfectly chorographic
as a ballet troupe of sardines avoiding predators.
A dance where no one applauds and everyone
is a loser, sad except for the mysterious beauty
of shimmering silver in a bottle- green ocean.

I touched upon a dream sparkling as fizzy wine
bobbles clung to cool glass disappearing with
plop- a momentarily rush of happiness- murmour
of voices; then the wine was still, yet for a second
the of mysterious wonder is remembered.

I touched upon a dream cold as a winter forest,
blue, frosty mist wrapped around trees; layers
of snow on the lake of recollection, but one day
a mysterious flash; and all will be remembered.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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I fancy I Can See You Old Duhallow

I fancy I can see you old Duhallow
The swallows o'er your fields wing to and fro
And cows from wintering houses out on pasture
And birds are whistling on the green hedgerow.

I lay upon the bracken slopes of Clara
I see the Kerry hills beyond Rathmore
A skylark sing above the silent mountain
His song bring back to me the joys of yore.

You wear your green cloak of the Spring Duhallow
And your beauty from the mountain side I see
From Millstreet to Kanturk on towards Newmarket
Kiskeam to Cullen and up to Knocknagree.

I often think about you green Duhallow
You were the first great love I ever knew
But many others loved you better than I
And they feel quite content to live with you.

I fancy I can see you old Duhallow
In your green groves the wild birds nest and sing
And swallows fly above your fields and meadows
And cuckoo pipes his fanfare of the Spring.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Earth

Words and music by tim staffell
I might be at a table
And suddenly Ill catch
A fleeting vision of her crystal seas
Or I might be standing in a crowded dockyard faraway
Underneath the sun Ive never seen
cos I have seen many worlds
For what its worth
But Ill never see again the planet earth
My earth
I might be chasing waves of light
Out towards the rim
Where stars are sparse
And the cold of space seeps in
But I might be in a bar room
Drinking methylated gin
And thinking of the places I have been
Yes I have seen many worlds
For what its worth
But Ill never see again the planet earth
My earth
I have seen many worlds
For what its worth
But Ill never see again the planet earth
My earth
Cast adrift amongst the stars
I float from sun to sun
Dreaming of the world that gave me birth
All the places I have been
Remind me there is none
To match the green living hills of earth
cos I have seen many worlds
For what its worth
But Ill never see again the planet earth
My earth

song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spring Song

SING out and be happy!
The Spring is at hand,
The grass green, and sappy
The trees o' the land.
Sing! for the breeze is
Rustling and silky,
And toys with and teases
Long blossoms and milky.
The root in the juices
Unfrosted drinks deep;
The loving wave sluices
The weeds as they sleep.
Sing out! for the bees in
Their quest of wild honey
Are haunting the trees in
Green places and sunny.
Distant blue reaches
And green hills invite,
Green hills and long beaches
And roads red and white.
Locked waters are calling
With many gold voices,
Where tides gently falling
Make soft liquid noises.
Broad-spreading sun-glamour
Wraps blossom and stream,
Gold-tinting the armour
Of beetles that dream.
Full-sunned on lit ledges
The bronze lizard dozes,
And painting proud ridges
Grow tiny pink roses.
Sing out! and let trouble
Another pursue:
It will burst like a bubble
And vanish for you.
Out, out on old Sorrow,
Who skulks in her sable!
Laugh gaily, and borrow
Gay laughs while you're able.
If any care rankles —
Away! and behold
Pink feet and white ankles
On beaches of gold,
And surf that runs after
To kiss clinging dresses,
And white teeth and laughter,
And wild clinging tresses!

poem by Roderic Quinn
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Unicorns and Myth

Many moons ago, England had its myths,
Stories of fairies, leprechauns and unicorns,
Who lived in a mythological land,
Where mystery and magic still stand,
For the forest were dark and dangerous places,
The unsuspecting walking through their depths,
Knowing the magical creatures watching over their steps,
Protecting them from the devil that hides in the dark,
Shadows waiting in the tall trees,
But nature has always had its power in magic,
White witches harnessing nature's secret power,
The plants and trees that surround and fill the forest,
Magic and myth to be found in the dark green leaves,
For the forest contains many secrets,
Many secrets where unicorns run at the witching hour,
Or the moon sharing her secret power,
And there are many beautiful flowers,
Blooming, even in the dark,
The fairies sprinkling their magic dust,
To make mushrooms and petals grow,
The forest rich with its vast, magical beauty,
That has captured the imagination of all who see.

poem by Paula Glynn
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