I am here
Supposing I became the cool breeze that slipped
through your early morning window brushing your day and cheek awake,
would you know me then wrapped around you holding you safe?
Supposing I became the gentle sun that broke your first steps
into the working week, would you know me there
on the pavement warm beneath your feet?
Or perhaps the starling in the sky above
or the heron by the low running creek
or the purple thistle by the rugged path
which holds you standing
watching the fluttering wings of a butterfly landing.
Would you know me then?
For I am here in all nature's bounteous gifts.
poem by Diana Rosser
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Related quotes
The Green Starling
When you look at the green starling
it screams in the long grass,
gleams green in the morning dew
and catches your eye
as it comes out of a hole, out of a tree,
as it picks up insects at a small stream
as it comes out,
as it comes out
as if caught in your daydream.
When you look at the green starling
it sparkles here and there
as if it sometimes is holding onto rays
and it warbles
stretches out under the sun,
view it as a red balloon
stretches out
stretches out
and it would fly away if it could.
When you look at the green starling
it pecks at a sorrel
when at times it holds onto a big worm
before it sings a song of joy
flies up fluttering, spreading its wings
and for moments distract you,
flies up fluttering
flies up fluttering
and so a whole mornings swishes past.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Watching For Pa
Three little forms in the twilight gray,
Searching the shadows across the way;
Two pair of black eyes, and one of blue --
Brimful of love, and of mischief too;
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
May, with her placid and thoughtful brow,
Beaming with kindness and love just now;
Willie the youngest, in anguish did lay,
Stealing sly kisses from sister May,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Nellie, with ringlets of sunny hue,
Cosily nested between the two;
Pressing her cheeks to the window pane,
Wishing the absent one home again.
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Now there are shouts from the window seat;
There is a patter of childish feet;
Gaily they rush through the lighted hall --
"Coming at last" is the joyful call.
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Standing on the doorstep,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Standing on the doorstep,
Watching for Pa!
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Supposing Tomorrow
Whenever I think of the supposing tomorrow
I think of a day without pain and sorrow
Where all bright ray and sunshine
Will appear as all yours and mines
Where all the skies will be free of clouds
And all men's heart will be free of doubts
And every one will be given the share
Of joy and sorrow, smile and tear
And there I wish in the supposing tomorrow
Everyone will be ready to lend and borrow
the flowers of the blooming smile
And fains new ways and bright styles
Where no one will be left alone to sigh
Or fight with sorrow's place taht're high
And no one will be forced to lay
Sorrow's brick one by one with the hay
And I wish I can live taht long
So I can also recieve with song
The day when there'll be no pain and sorrow
Yes ofcourse I'm talking of the supposing tomorrow.
poem by Seema Chowdhury
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Ode to a Yellow Butterfly
The Yellow Butterfly
The butterfly rested on the ground
Near the spot of water it had found
A place where a refreshing bit
Of moisture would surely be
Necessary for this flight of fantasy
A flight over many miles
Of deserts, mountains, and steamy tracks
To be passed beneath it on its way
For a date with others in Nature's sway.
With a flutter of the wings
A pumping action begins
That moves the refreshing dip
To recharge the butterfly for the trip.
Then once again the process begins
With a drum roll of spreading wings
The coiled proboscis carefully put in place
And six legs touching earth in a final embrace,
Waiting for a gentle breeze
To lift him above the trees
And off to places yet unknown
The yellow butterfly goes alone.
poem by Sidi J. Mahtrow
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A Novermber Morning
In a rather cool morning
Myself, I find
Here drinking hot chocolate
And eating snacks,
Watching through the window
The green nature that is all alive;
The cool hands of the wind
Touching my nose and cheeks,
My warm breath going out my mouth;
A worthwhile time to ponder and write
Poetry or a few lines is all right.
11/13/09
poem by L.P. Alexanders
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There’s a new breeze coming
There is a new breeze coming
It is whispering to my ear
There is a new morning coming
There is a new sun
There is a new breeze coming
It is so so refreshing
Making all my burdens lighter
My heart is not heavy
My thoughts are happier
That this new breeze
Everything has become light
Like the weigthlessness of a butterfly
Fluttering to the melody of
This new soft breeze
There is a new promise
There’s a new breeze coming
There is a new morning
There is a new breeze coming
From my home, sweet home.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For An Autumn festival
The Persian's flowery gifts, the shrine
Of fruitful Ceres, charm no more;
The woven wreaths of oak and pine
Are dust along the Isthmian shore.
But beauty hath its homage still,
And nature holds us still in debt;
And woman's grace and household skill,
And manhood's toil, are honored yet.
And we, to-day, amidst our flowers
And fruits, have come to own again
The blessings of the summer hours,
The early and the latter rain;
To see our Father's hand once more
Reverse for us the plenteous horn
Of autumn, filled and running o'er
With fruit, and flower, and golden corn!
Once more the liberal year laughs out
O'er richer stores than gems or gold;
Once more with harvest-song and shout
Is Nature's bloodless triumph told.
Our common mother rests and sings,
Like Ruth, among her garnered sheaves;
Her lap is full of goodly things,
Her brow is bright with autumn leaves.
Oh, favors every year made new!
Oh, gifts with rain and sunshine sent
The bounty overruns our due,
The fulness shames our discontent.
We shut our eyes, the flowers bloom on;
We murmur, but the corn-ears fill,
We choose the shadow, but the sun
That casts it shines behind us still.
God gives us with our rugged soil
The power to make it Eden-fair,
And richer fruits to crown our toil
Than summer-wedded islands bear.
Who murmurs at his lot to-day?
Who scorns his native fruit and bloom?
Or sighs for dainties far away,
Beside the bounteous board of home?
Thank Heaven, instead, that Freedom's arm
Can change a rocky soil to gold,--
That brave and generous lives can warm
A clime with northern ices cold.
And let these altars, wreathed with flowers
And piled with fruits, awake again
Thanksgivings for the golden hours,
The early and the latter rain!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Morning breeze
Sun shine enters followed by
Cool breeze through the window,
Kingdom of sleep comes to end
Some string pulls head from pillow.
Feel of morning cool breeze
touching the body, soul wakes.
Thunder of memories of night cooled
on flow of dreams, putting brake.
Trees have worked whole night
now singing lullaby before go to rest.
Leaves are swaying and dancing
as some one shaking holding hands.
Reach passing through woods, orchards
mountains, sea and meadows
with sweet, salty, whiffed cool touch
wane blossoms and faces glow.
Blooming blossoms swaying say
good morning to kissing sun rays.
Whispering breeze performs prayer
in the temples and the churches.
Chirping birds swing their wings
to welcome and embrace the breeze.
Celestial cool touch pierce the soul
thoughts for a while freeze.
(C) S. D. Tiwari
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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A Butterflies Beauty
Butterfly with beautiful wings,
Glides through the summer
breeze,
As the sun shines upon the wings,
Fluttering oh so silently,
Colors of the rainbow begin to
show brightly,
Like the beautiful colors of
the flowers,
Butterflies blend in so perfect,
Making nature look pretty,
Unique patterns on every wing
has its beautiful story,
Just like nature has its own
story,
Where beauty never ends,
Butterflies will always blend in
with almost anything,
Blending in with flowers, grass,
even trees tall and small,
Including a rest on a fawns little
nose,
It is only to say hi and thank you,
for letting me rest my wings,
Now I must be on my way to enjoy
the summer breeze,
Soon it will be winter and I will
have to leave,
No worries I will return when the grass
is green and trees grow their leaves,
When rivers flow with the sunshine warmth,
Animals tall and small roam again from
slumber,
Flowers blossom beautifully,
that is how you know I will return
again,
Fluttering upon the spring and summer
breeze,
All my family will also return to fill
nature with colorful beauty.
poem by Derek James
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Rain On The Window
Round about midnight
I feel the chill closin in
Living my stage fright
I need the sun to begin - tomorrow
Thinking bout my life
And all the changes she made
And when she went running out
All the colors fade - to midnight
What a bad week Ive had
Theres rain on the window
What a bad week Im sad
Theres rain on my window
Will I be staying
Or am I moving in
Am I still standing
Ive gotta wait - shes choosing
* what a bad week Ive had
Theres rain on the window
What a bad week Im sad
Theres rain on the window
When the sun comes up
It dries that rain on the window
When the sun comes up
It dries that rain on the window
When the sun comes up
It dries that rain on the window
Repeat *
(written and arranged by nazareth)
Copyright 1983 fool circle limited
All rights reserved.
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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early days ***** PRETTY BUTTERFLY
my childhood poem
there is a pretty butterfly
merrily waits the sun to shine
with purple wings she uses to fly
over the wind, a passer-by
this pretty butterfly
flying low and high
beneath cloudless blue sky
above flowers show un-shy
when i cry, mine eyes would dry
as I stare the pretty butterfly
If I have wings i use to fly
she never leave me and says goodbye
poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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I saw a Butterfly Today
I saw a butterfly today
Small and green with no wings
Crawlsing into shadows\hiding from a world who ignores it's subtle beauty
Afraid to never be noticed...appreciated
I saw a butterfly today
Camoflauged and shielded in self-made walls
Neglecting the world of it's gentle touch
Afraid to be met with a forceful hand
I saw a butterfly today
Wings new and fresh
Excited with exhileration
Facing a world with new courage
Knowing it can not be harmed
I saw a butterfly today
Blue and gold streaked the sky
embracing the sunlight's rays
Fluttering around my head
Carring my heart on her flight
I saw a butterfly today
poem by Venos Tricon
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Apple Tree
Standing where
The grass and the
Cement meet
In what could be called
A walking path
Looking towards
An old apple orchard
Its blossoms tenderly in bloom
Filled with pinks, white and red
Her gypsy blood stirs
She is a vagabond
By her own name
So much sweetness to be drunk
From the small pedals
Pink, White and Red,
Swaying through the sunny hours
Meeting her own needs.
By dunking in her little head.
I remember one spring
The cool wind
Lifting my hair.
I felt a Butterfly
On my cheek
She left a kiss
It tickled with such gentleness
How I loved her kiss
Every spring
I hold that moment
Close to me,
I love her
That gentle little butterfly.
poem by Howard Johnson
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Outside My Picture Window
It has been said that there is a world outside my picture window and
Beyond the trees I see everyday and the sky, sometimes overcast and
Other days, when the sun rises early- I can see the sky and have often wondered if
There exists another world within our universe- I know that
There exists a world inside of my mind and
My pupils are the windows into which
People would look if I were to venture outward?
Beyond the sky, and beyond the sun-
Beyond that world inside my mind,
I would never know where there exists a place for me-
Last night outside of my window
I could see the stars- stars mean different things to different people as
Does the sun, the trees and this whole world outside-
The world inside my mind revolves about
The sun that shines upon my own horizon and
As for this world outside, all I can do is look- and to
See a tree, perhaps a single cloud and the grass that grows-
I have shut my mind to the people who live beyond
The trees, clouds and the grass that I can see-
That window opens to the world inside of my thoughts-
I have just shut and pulled the curtain to discourage all intruders-
I am lying by my window in total darkness now as I place my hand over my eyes,
Shutting out reality and now I can see mountains, flowering trees and
A creek flowing in which I can see my reflection and
I am running upon the grass that grows beneath my feet-
I believe I heard music playing inside the fortress of my mind-
It has been said there is a world outside and I have pulled the curtain
To the window once opened to veracity-
Darkness has never looked as beautiful as I am safe here in my solitude-
Even when the stars are shining and the sky is such a magnificent sight to see-
No place is as exquisite as the creek that runs through my inner space and
The sun inside the world of my thoughts that shines upon my horizon?
The stars are far away and all that is real, though just outside my picture window
I perceive as too far away for me to reach- I would touch the stars and I could be a dove
That can lift my wings and fly away from all that threatens, but only inside my dreams-
Children sing songs and read fairy tales and they believe and I believe that
The sun shines light upon their worlds and
Someday their dreams shall blossom as has mine and shall become their homes-
Home is the safe place inside a person's mind, not within the madding crowd that
Exists outside my picture window- even if the stars are always there- and
That unique and special sun shall just keep on shining upon the world of my dreams….
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Butterfly, Butterfly
Hoping to catch your eye
Circling around you, oh my
Butterfly, butterfly, come into the light
Oh, what a beautiful sight
Flying so gracefully
Into the sky, the butterfly
Trying to catch a butterfly
Fly, fly, fly, butterfly
There he sets upon the mums
I'm having so much fun
Here's another on the sill
Your standing so still
You go to touch him
There he goes, the butterfly
I hear a tapping on the window
It's the butterfly, fly, fly, fly
There he goes into the sky
Flying so high, the butterfly
I'll see you another day
Butterfly, butterfly, away
poem by Sharon Adamson
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A view of spring turning into summer (hybridanelle)
From the time that the first sunlight hit me
I was surrounded by heat like a cocoon
and I saw the clear blue sky and felt free
while the early morning breeze
kissed my cheek
with an early morning freeze
and there were clouds escaping from my mouth that I could see
evaporating like steam or gas from a balloon.
From the time that the first sun light hit me
some dust tickling my nose made me sneeze
and glorious bright rays
kissed my cheek,
buds opened on every plant and tree,
ants marched to and fro like in a platoon
and I saw the clear blue sky and felt free
and I was experiencing days
of spring leading into summer
and glorious bright rays
and nature’s decree
summoning new seasons, made me feel like a tycoon
from the time that the first sunlight hit me
and the wind like a drummer
sweeping through sand, leaves and branches whistling its song
of spring leading into summer
and you my love, had to agree
that an awesome summer would be here soon
and I saw the clear blue sky and felt free
as if this freaky wind was blowing me along,
turned part of me into nature and I saw it
sweeping through sand, leaves and branches whistling its song
and even you were in its spell and we
were both smitten with summer and spring that afternoon.
From the time that the first sunlight hit me
and I saw the clear blue sky and felt free
it was like standing on a high summit
while the early morning breeze,
turned part of me into nature and I saw it
with an early morning freeze.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Need For A New House....Or Home...
early morning
when the doors are still closed and the windows still tipsy
like the whole house
you fly away
the sun comes out with the clouds
early morning you fly away
away from it all
the clouds are floors and grasses
and you are a lonely bird among a flock of chairs
early morning you fly away
thinking about nothing
you fly away and you feel like a leaf inside
that gentle beast
it is a ride-awA Need For A New House....Or Home...ay
among the paradoxes of life
and its ironies
early morning there is this flight that takes you to a stop-over
of your life
no one knows that you are grieving
over a search for what you feel
the one you had which you lost
intentionally
among the flock of chairs landing early morning
on unstable floors
early morning you take a cab
you choose still
which house
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Early Morning Breeze
I open up my door to greet the early morning sun
Closing it behind me and away I do run
To the meadow where the meadow lark is singing in the tree
In the meadow I go walking in the early morning breeze
I cup my hands to catch a multi-colored butterfly
Perched upon the petals of flowers growing wild
Freeing it I watch it as it flies away from me
To visit with the flowers in the early morning breeze
Chorus:
Rainbow colored flowers kissed with early morning sun
The aster and the dahlia and wild geraniums
Drops of morning due still linger on the iris leaves
In the meadow where Im walking in the early morning breeze
Misty-eyed I look about the meadow where I stray
For its there I find the courage to greet the coming day
For there among the flowers I kneel gently to my knees
To have a word with God in the early mornig breeze
2nd chorus:
A rainbow colored meadow kissed with early morning sun
The aster and the dahlia and wild geraniums
Drops of morning due still linger on the iris leaves
In the meadow where Im walking in the early morning breez
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Time Past
The old wooden steps to the front door
where I was sitting that fall morning
when you came downstairs, just awake,
and my joy at sight of you (emerging
into golden day—
the dew almost frost)
pulled me to my feet to tell you
how much I loved you:
those wooden steps
are gone now, decayed
replaced with granite,
hard, gray, and handsome.
The old steps live
only in me:
my feet and thighs
remember them, and my hands
still feel their splinters.
Everything else about and around that house
brings memories of others—of marriage,
of my son. And the steps do too: I recall
sitting there with my friend and her little son who died,
or was it the second one who lives and thrives?
And sitting there ‘in my life,’ often, alone or with my husband.
Yet that one instant,
your cheerful, unafraid, youthful, ‘I love you too,’
the quiet broken by no bird, no cricket, gold leaves
spinning in silence down without
any breeze to blow them,
is what twines itself
in my head and body across those slabs of wood
that were warm, ancient, and now
wait somewhere to be burnt.
poem by Denise Levertov
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It's A Blue Butterfly...
inside my heart
there is a blue butterfly
it is not fluttering
it is still
and so fragile
your whisper
warm as a sea breeze
displaces it
for i shall allow it
it waits for your kind hands
to take it and keep it and hide it
if you crush it with your cares
beautifully it shall surrender its powder wings
it's been quite a long wish
that you blow it far away from its home
the death that you give
with the indifference of your fingers
shall set it finally
free
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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