Flower Power
It really isn't funny
When the day is warm and sunny
But your nose is red and runny
Though you haven't got the flu.
And isn't it a pity
When the garden looks so pretty
That you eyes are dry and gritty
So you can't enjoy the view.
Throughout the Summer season
While you're coughin', pantin', wheezin',
Snufflin', splutterin' and sneezin'
Others frolic in the sun.
Antihistamines can buffer
The discomfort that you suffer
Still, you find it so much tougher,
In a heatwave, to have fun.
It's amazing that a flower
So petite, can have the power
To reduce, within an hour
Human beings to floods of tears.
So we all should raise a glass
To the humble blade of grass
No, on second thoughts - I'll pass!
Here's to Autumn weather - CHEERS!
poem by Dawn Ferrett
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Related quotes
~Wish~
Blueness blowing through me
with the coming of a season's last hurrah,
Hints of sallowness and indifference
spilling through it all.
The greeness of each and every blade
has not faded into fall,
And yet I wish the summer sun
could make the autumn stall.
How I'll miss the summer
with her warm and sunny ways,
Wishing a wish for my summer
to last all of my days.
2005
poem by Sinnaminsun Sinnaminsun
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A Reason for Every Season (My ode to the seasons and Indian summer.)
There is a purpose that God and nature gave us every season.
Fall, winter, spring, and summer always happens for this reason.
In the fall all the trees turn many cool colors and paint a wonderful hue.
Winter arrives the temperature drops and can make some of us blue.
When spring is near they say April showers bring May flowers.
The weather becomes hotter when summer arrives.
The summer also brings us June weddings and brides..
Without the seasons then life for all mankind would be just a bummer.
We all wish for our weather outside to be like a warm Indian summer.
*I got inspired this write my poem after I read the poems; ‘INDIAN SUMMER’ by Emily Dickinson and the other poem is called ‘LOVE IS LIKE AN INDIAN SUMMER’ by Sue Raymer Woods.
Definition Indian summer - noun is a name given to a period of sunny, warm weather in autumn, not long before winter.
poem by Nichole Kaci McKnight
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The Mower's Song
My Mind was once the true survey
Of all these Medows fresh and gay;
And in the greenness of the Grass
Did see its Hopes as in a Glass;
When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
But these, while I with Sorrow pine,
Grew more luxuriant still and fine;
That not one Blade of Grass you spy'd,
But had a Flower on either side;
When Juliana came, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
Unthankful Meadows, could you so
A fellowship so true forego,
And in your gawdy May-games meet,
While I lay trodden under feet?
When Juliana came , and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
But what you in Compassion ought,
Shall now by my Revenge be wrought:
And Flow'rs, and Grass, and I and all,
Will in one common Ruine fall.
For Juliana comes, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
And thus, ye Meadows, which have been
Companions of my thoughts more green,
Shall now the Heraldry become
With which I shall adorn my Tomb;
For Juliana comes, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
poem by Andrew Marvell
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Last Days of Summer
Whatever the way the summer days end,
In the type of summer is how it has been,
Whether a good one or bad one,
The last days of summer,
Can be sad or happy endings,
As each season ends,
With another one beginning,
The summer could have been,
Miserable yet,
Sun scorching us everyday,
And sunlight shining on all our faces,
It is how it is,
Out there where all is seen,
In,
Summer days of fun,
Summer days of love,
Summer days of seeing,
Summer days of been,
Out and about where summer is,
And when summer came and went?
With a mundane feeling that it left?
Was the last days of summer,
And the begining of another,
Autumn as we know it,
Fall in other places,
Where the ending of one season shows,
By the decaying of it,
When Autumn Fall shows,
Where we will wrap up and snuggle,
With warm cuppas drinks,
With a book,
Or,
Catch up on watching films,
Yet,
Still,
Musing over the summer days,
Of sunshine memories,
Now,
Warm hats and gloves,
With rustle leaves,
That rustle beneath,
Our feet as we walk,
Through the park,
And see,
The summer leaves turn,
To autumn shades,
Taking in,
The last days of summer,
Reflecting,
And remember,
The falls of Autumn's,
Is the signs of summer,
That has ended,
And minglings with,
All that falls,
From the summer ending,
To autumn beginnings,
Is the,
Decaying,
Of summer,
To regrow itself,
For next season's of summer,
When it begins again,
Yet,
In between,
There's,
Autumn,
Winter,
Spring,
Till,
Again,
Last days of summer,
And all in bloom again.
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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Something Funny
I'm thinking of something Funny
And it looks a little Runny
I suppose it could be from someone's Nose
That the person never Blows
I'm thinking of something Funny
Could make your Day a little more Sunny
In Holland they say it rains like Cats and Dogs
But I say it rains like Cows and Hogs
Lets all Say,
A Joke a Day
Keeps the Doc. Away
P.S.
Please write something Funny
And you'll be my Friend, to the End
Well to the end of your Poem :)
poem by David Darbyshire
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Season of Mists
I thank you for your view of a view of autumn, Keats
who never saw your own autumn with its actual pitfalls.
Yours was the autumn of childhood, of hope, or romance, of belief,
my mother's autumn though not that of her hardworking family,
yours was never my father's autumn, season of mists,
and yours is not mine. My autumn
for all I would like to subscribe to your lavish play,
is like yours only in single ways each year,
perhaps there are swallows making a din,
or plums and apples falling wasp-eaten, unharvestable.
There is no sickle in my vocabulary or shed,
my autumn is based more on dread of the winter
and having had so little time each summer
to tidy or attend to the garden. Last year
early snow fell on flower baskets ditched from the street
and remained both snow and baskets until the spring
leaving me two seasons behind, without strategy
for a fast approaching repeat autumn, little wonder
and no chance to make anything faintly rhyme,
such is our modern poetry and life
poem by Sally Evans
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Thats Not Really Funny
Did you think that I would laugh when you said I was small
Did you think that that would pass as if nothing at all
You say a lot of funny things, my little bunny
And I almost always laugh, but thats not really funny
You play the little bells and tell a good story
You bake delicious pie and thats enough for me
But I dont think that Im your man, and youre my little honey
And I like what you have to say, but thats not really funny
You must not continue to wear my ? ? like me
The neighbour children threw the window to the sea
The little boy will wipe his nose bacause its runny
Then point at me and laugh, but thats not really funny
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pretty, Pretty City
Now the city has a studded nose,
Because the city is so pretty, and the city knows:
The city, she almost fooled me underneath the
Chicken sky- The city is so pretty,
But the city lie:
I loved the city and all its vermilion moods and ice-creams,
With parks and busses and city airplanes
And city rides- City coffins and city dies;
And I watched the city get drunk and turn around
And raise its monuments and party down;
And I sat upon one of her benches in a speculating mood,
And wondered if the city was so pretty,
Why was she so rude: The vulgar nebulas of the city’s
Eyes, the narcissisms of its displays:
There are so many well suited boys better than I out walking
In their sunny city days:
And I realized, the city didn’t love me,
The city plays and paws and eats up little boys such as
Me- She said she loves her little poet boys, such as me,
But the sweet, sweet city lies,
Because the city is so pretty, studded nosed and stunning eyed,
But she uses her autumn facades to blind the autumn chicken skies-
The pretty, pretty city has me hypnotized,
But the pretty, pretty city lies.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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Petite Moi
Je suis fatigue
Je suis petite
MOI
MOI
MOI
Je sais
Le Grande Illusion
Je suis fatigue
Petite moi
Petite moi
Petite moi
Moi?
Pity moi?
Pity me?
No man is an island
Je suis fatigue
Shopping aisles
Church aisles
Flat pack IKEA
Islands
And shopping malls full of lost souls
The dispossessed carriers of anonymous sperm
donors
Petite moi?
(le grande femme......I have struggled with Obesity for years...it clouds my thoughts.....I weep subcutaneous glycerol tears that's a 'figure' of speech in the photograph where we are a smiling absent family.
Pity moi?
Sod it my french is MAL
I'm done with Self PITY
In Santas Grotto the elf's motto was
Life's too short!
So i'll eat my pre packed greens
Erect my flat pack shelves
And carry a thousand digitalised friends
on my phone
No man is an Island but,
Sometimes he just vants ta be ALONE!
by mavis 'not so' lonely BINGLEY (of Wigan)
poem by Yvette Smith
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Sight For Sore Eyes
Goin downtown, goin down, goin down
neath the city, eatin ground round
Underground is pretty gritty
I turned the screw she held the light
Thats when I knew she was a
Sight for sore eyes
She was a sight for sore eyes
Playin no fair, sleepin under stairs
Downtowns a pity, takin fair square
Under where its pretty gritty
I turned the screw, she held the knife
Oh, holy jesus, shes a sight for sore eyes
Sight for sore eyes
Shes a nitty grutty
Turnin in style, walk a mile for your titty
Naked foul while under there
Under where its pretty gritty
Hey, dont you know people
Shes a love lust hussy
She left, oh she rust me
Dear old girl
She was a sight for sore eyes
But she was sittin pretty
A sight for sore eyes
She was a nitty gritty
Sight for sore eyes
Peeled back and parted
Even at the start it was delight or demise
I feel like a leopard king
Sight for sore eyes
She was a sight for sore eyes
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter Days Why Do You Came!
Snowy winter days once again came!
Ah Winter days
how did you came?
Haven't you met through your road crying summer days?
Haven't you met through your ways crying Autumn days?
Ah snowy winter days
Haven't you met your friends
Through your road
while you were coming here
Ah sweet summer days
They left us in vain
They Saw our pain
Even the sun above cried for children's ache
First time through my life time
I knew even the sun above has a heart.
While unfortunately human beings didn't have!
Ah chilly winter days how could you come here?
Haven't you met through your road mourning Autumn days.
They were broken when they left
As i know you are friends.
If you ever met them there
They would tell you about our aches.
How pain we've passed through
They saw and they felt
They went home crying all alone
Ah snowy cold winter days how could you come here?
While our world is bared it's clothes
And humanIty is bared of pity as well as the mercy
Poverty huged the cold and has wrapped our world
Ah, how much pain can we bear yet!
Ah, poor souls are in pain till the vein!
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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My Delicate Flower
I love you
I love you so much
You're the reason for me being so happy
You're the reason I feel so blessed
My love
You're my delicate flower
Just let me love you
Just let me take care of you
You and I can count the stars
Or we can frolic in the grass hills
My love
My delicate flower
Let's enjoy our time together
Rolling down the hill in each others arms
Like birds of a feather
I'm not sure how things the way they are can get any better
Let's lay down beside each other in the flower garden
Just let things settle in where they are
Happiness won't be much too far
I love you
I love you so much
My delicate flower
poem by Justin Gildow
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Grass Roots' Glass Parody Witter Bynner Spectra Current Version
All flesh is grass
and all its goodness like the flower of the field
The grass withers, the flower wilts
and the word of our God stands forever
Indeed, the people are grass.
Isaiah 40
Death ripe reaps, mower, Man, grass in life's fields,
no blade but to His blade wraith ghost soon yields.
Swiftly, surely, sharpened scythe shall pass
To gather tithe in time with Time's hour glass.
So little's garnered, strength that fond youth wields
soon sinks, who thinks winks ink earthquakeproof bields
finds loss in toss, soon tossed aside, morass
awaits sass lass, rank mocking rank, race, class.
Though each would sow
fresh seeds to show
true traces flow,
through/in/ on grow
in ALL all know
alas we pass
but once through farce
before Time's crow
thrice calls, with no
reprieve and so
weeds overgrow...
All bravado
winds staccato
turn tornado
away soon blow
breath's ribboned bow,
'mid worms below
life's strife trace race stow.
So, Mower, mow,
sweep all who weep,
would keepsakes keep,
with final coup de grâce.
(14 February 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Daybreak is A Glowing Bright Ball
Daybreak is a glowing bright ball
from which the fiery rays shine,
sometimes drops falling along with thunder,
with freshness embracing me when I go outside.
Early morning is a bright sun hanging in the heaven
when the colour of the bright blue
catches you with something full of mystery,
with the wind sometimes clinging to you with fingers.
Spring is flower upon flower
that is spread over fruit trees,
the beauty that astonishes you
when the garden of God stretch into the fields.
Summer is fruit that waits ripe and luring
when everything becomes adult,
sunny day upon sunny day
where the prettiest flowers are still flowering.
Autumn is coloured leaves that are everywhere,
the summer still lingering for the last time
and everything has a secret knowledge
that winter is coming, even every sunray
and nowhere I can find the words of a child,
while I am blinded by the glorious world from being young.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I don't often write
I don't often write about the seasons
how the newly budding flowers melt my heart.
I seldom dwell on heat or summer madness,
of how long warm evenings mellow darker thoughts.
Autumnal leaves blow gently over parchment
just like the summer kisses we once shared
and so I dare not speak about the Autumn
for I know that I would cry and that I'm scared.
Winter is so cold and brings the darkness,
within it, misty days and frosty nights,
bringing thoughts of you, my precious lover
and dreams about your sunny face at night.
I don't often write about the seasons
and now I realise why I never do.
It's because with every season comes a memory
and that memory, most often, is of you.
poem by Ruth Walters
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The Autumn Sing
Here’s the autumn sing…
A symphony from its falling leaf…
Catching the wind from a future winter…
Rolling through a shy light…
Oh autumn shall not die in winter…
As a promise summer will surely come….
Ah autumn is a second spring…
Not all could see, all leaf is flower….
Autumn warn a terrible winter phase….
No one listen, No one will hear it…
As it is only the sound of silence….
Who can hold an indefinite sound...?
No one embrace the autumn….
As it is only a sad phase…
It gives nothing but an autumn chill….
Spring always comes with a better glory…
Oh autumn with its broken feather…
Could other season patch it up again?
No other season will devote their being….
Autumn suffers alone….
Autumns leaf keep on falling…
Spring comes cheerfully…
Summer comes strongly….
Winter always comes coldly…..
But autumn changes its face every time….
No one knows the differences….
Just the secret of the nature…
Why can’t it’d be a spring?
Why can’t it’d be summer?
Why can’t it’d be winter?
Ah autumn dance again between all the falling leaf…
It enjoys its sadness…
It embraces its pain….
As only from autumn all painter learn…
How to capture a true hidden beauty…
All speaks the same in every season….
But autumn remain different…..
For autumn is an alone singer…
Only a genuinely soul painter could witness its beauty….
That’s all the autumn need….
A silence audience....
Who can make other being see….
A glance of its beauty...
poem by Eva Clara Harahap
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Feri's Dream
I Had a little dog, and my dog was very small;
He licked me in the face, and he answered to my call;
Of all the treasures that were mine, I loved him most of all.
His nose was fresh as morning dew and blacker than the night;
I thought that it could even snuff the shadows and the light;
And his tail he held bravely, like a banner in a fight.
His body covered thick with hair was very good to smell ;
His little stomach underneath was pink as any shell;
And I loved him and honoured him, more than words can tell.
We ran out in the morning, both of us, to play,
Up and down across the fields for all the sunny day ;
But he ran so swiftly--he ran right away.
I looked for him, I called for him, entreatingly. Alas,
The dandelions could not speak, though they had seen him pass,
And nowhere was his waving tail among the waving grass.
The sun sank low. I ran; I prayed: ' If God has not the power
To find him, let me die. I cannot bear another hour.'
When suddenly I came upon a great yellow flower.
And all among its petals, such was Heaven's grace,
In that golden hour, in that golden place,
All among its petals, was his hairy face.
poem by Frances Darwin Cornford
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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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An Afternoon In July
How hushed and still are earth and air,
How languid ’neath the sun’s fierce ray—
Drooping and faint—the flowrets fair,
On this hot, sultry, summer day!
Vainly I watch the streamlet blue
That near my cottage home doth pass,
No ripple stirs its azure hue,
Still—waveless, as a sheet of glass
And if I woo from yonder trees
A breath of coolness for my brow,
They’ve none to give—not e’en a breeze
Rustles amid their foliage now;
Yes, hush! there stirred a leaf, but no,
Tis only some poor, panting bird,
With silenced note, head drooping low,
That ’mid the shady green boughs stirred.
Oh dear! how sultry! vain to seek
To while the time with pleasant book,
Soon drowsy head and crimsoned cheek
Oblivious o’er its pages droop—
And motion is beyond my power,
While breathing this hot, scorching air,
It wearies me to raise the flowers,
That lie so close beside my chair.
See stealing, wearied from their play,
The flushed and languid children come,
Saying that on so hot a day
They’d much prefer to stay at home.
Themselves upon the ground they throw,
Cheeks pillowed on each rounded arm—
And fall asleep soon, murmuring low,
And wondering “why it is so warm?”
If yonder patient sheep and kine,
Close shrinking from the sun’s hot flame,
Had man’s gift—“power of speech divine,”
They surely would repeat the same—
Each blade of grass, each fainting flower,
Would whisper to the shrubs and trees,
How much they longed for evening’s hour,
With cooling breath and grateful breeze.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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Summer In The City
Hot town, summer in the city
Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty
Been down, isnt it a pity
Doesnt seem to be a shadow in the city
All around, people looking half dead
Walking on the sidewalk, hotter than a match head
But at night its a different world
Go out and find a girl
Come-on come-on and dance all night
Despite the heat itll be alright
And babe, dont you know its a pity
That the days cant be like the nights
In the summer, in the city
In the summer, in the city
Cool town, evening in the city
Dressing so fine and looking so pretty
Cool cat, looking for a kitty
Gonna look in every corner of the city
Till Im wheezing like a bus stop
Running up the stairs, gonna meet you on the rooftop
But at night its a different world
Go out and find a girl
Come-on come-on and dance all night
Despite the heat itll be alright
And babe, dont you know its a pity
That the days cant be like the nights
In the summer, in the city
In the summer, in the city
Hot town, summer in the city
Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty
Been down, isnt it a pity
Doesnt seem to be a shadow in the city
All around, people looking half dead
Walking on the sidewalk, hotter than a match head
But at night its a different world
Go out and find a girl
Come-on come-on and dance all night
Despite the heat itll be alright
And babe, dont you know its a pity
That the days cant be like the nights
In the summer, in the city
In the summer, in the city
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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