Stone Breaking
March wind rough
Clashed the trees,
Flung the snow;
Breaking stones,
In the cold,
Germans slow
Toiled and toiled;
Arrowy sun
Glanced and sprang,
One right blithe
German sang:
Songs of home,
Fatherland:
Syenite hard,
Weary lot,
Callous hand,
All forgot:
Hammers pound,
Ringing round;
Rise the heaps,
To his voice,
Bounds and leaps
Toise on toise:
Toil is long,
But dear God
Gives us song,
At the end
Gives us test,
Toil is best.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Will Of A Lover
Cover the ground with snow and white
Bury the town in soft moonlight
Watch the buildings flee from sight
On a lovers night
Chase the flakes with a windy blow
Wave them where they always go
Deep in wooded forest hollow
Where the trees dance slow
Lay us here, just her and I
Neath the snow and a lovers sky
Neath the snowflakes passing by
While lonely dies
Then let the trees and the moonlight sing
Let the snow and the cold wind bring
These flowers and stones to form a ring
And know that love’s not ending
Then bury us, just her and I
Neath the snow and a lovers sky
Neath the footfalls passing by
While lonely dies
poem by Ben Paynter
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Let them get their dues
Adi Sankara toiled;
Sri Ramanuja toiled.
What for?
To enjoy the Supreme
Or to enjoy being supreme?
To save the mass
Or to serve their egos?
To cleanse the fallacy
Or to leave their legacy?
Be it either of the both;
Let us give them their dues
Else who will want to serve?
23.08.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Is the Wind For?
What is the wind for?
If it's not for songs in trees;
What is the wind for?
I feel a song inside of me.
Every day the wind blows,
I think of thoughts from my heart.
Wind melodies come and they go,
Without me knowing where they start.
What is the wind for?
If not for songs like these.
What is the wind for?
If not for songs in trees.
I have been going through life,
Both with comfort and pain.
I have been going through life,
Both with effect and in vain.
But still I hear wind songs,
As they steadily grow;
With melodies chanting,
That no one really knows.
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Mighty Mum!
As Mighty Mum prepared her day,
Her little list grew long,
But she cast all her doubts away,
My word, she's really strong!
Her faith was but a mustard seed,
A teeny-weeny thing,
Yet she knew where such faith could lead,
What wonders God could bring!
As Mighty Mum, with kids in tow,
Drove onwards to their school,
She prayed their minds would someday know
That love's the Golden Rule...
If not for love, she'd stand no chance!
Her powers soon would fade...
She knew God's powers would enhance
To help her make the grade...
As Mighty Mum kissed kids bye-bye,
She waved then bid farewell,
To speed along, morale still high,
As if saved by the bell...
Now orf to work! So orf she went
Intent to do her best,
Where every one was like a friend
By whom she was impressed...
As Mighty Mum arrived on time,
She organised each task,
As if each mountain meant to climb
And folks had but to ask...
She toiled and toiled and toiled and toiled,
Yet teamwork worked O.K.
Such that each setback had been foiled!
Yeah, praise the Lord! Hoorah!
As Mighty Mum left work once more,
The shopping must be done!
She'd saved a fortune that's for sure!
In fact, she thought it fun!
Then she drove home, then made the tea,
Then heard the mobile phone...
'Hey, Mighty Mum! It's half-past-three!
We're still at school alone! '
As Mighty Mum left home again,
She made her way to school,
She knew kids don't forget this when
Their Mum thinks she's so cool...
But Mighty Mum had come this far!
She prayed that she'd improve...
'God help me be their Superstar! '
And that's the Gospel Truth...
Denis Martindale, copyright, February 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Snow Man
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Spring. (From The French Of Charles D'Orleans. XV. Century)
Gentle Spring! in sunshine clad,
Well dost thou thy power display!
For Winter maketh the light heart sad,
And thou, thou makest the sad heart gay,
He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train,
The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain;
And they shrink away, and they flee in fear,
When thy merry step draws near.
Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old,
Their beards of icicles and snow;
And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,
We must cower over the embers low;
And, snugly housed from the wind and weather,
Mope like birds that are changing feather.
But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear,
When thy merry step draws near.
Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky
Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud;
But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh;
Thou tearest away the mournful shroud,
And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly,
Who has toiled for nought both late and early,
Is banished afar by the new-born year,
When thy merry step draws near.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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What for?
Songs are there, the writers forgotten.
Creations are there, the composers unknown.
Celebrates are known but not their parents.
For this, had they toiled to produce such things?
01.01.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Youth
Strange bird,
His song remains secret.
He worked too hard to read books.
He never heard how Sherwood Anderson
Got out of it, and fled to Chicago, furious to free himself
From his hatred of factories.
My father toiled fifty years
At Hazel-Atlas Glass,
Caught among girders that smash the kneecaps
Of dumb honyaks.
Did he shudder with hatred in the cold shadow of grease?
Maybe. But my brother and I do know
He came home as quiet as the evening.
He will be getting dark, soon,
And loom through new snow.
I know his ghost will drift home
To the Ohio River, and sit down, alone,
Whittling a root.
He will say nothing.
The waters flow past, older, younger
Than he is, or I am.
poem by James Arlington Wright
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Concrete
Eighty nine winters I have toiled
none as cold as this
strangers among me
gazing like if a circus performer
wispering, shut up, my ears still work, well one does
so here I am, no perfect ending, no family around
just me, and this cold hard concrete
poem by Vincent Armone
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Winter With a Question
The aging trees will creak and groan
To find themselves ringed by frost in sleep
And snow by the wind already blown
Cast upon snow already deep.
The cold is echoed only by silence all,
And the leaves of Autumn entombed in white
At the place where leaves fall
And passing time, vanish from sight.
Who is it that judges these—
Sends leaves beneath the snow
And trees to shiver alongside trees? —
And where do they go?
poem by Ronny Self
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Slow Rivers (feat. Elton John)
The weather man, he looks confused.
Shakes his fist at the sky like you used to do.
But you don't remember things like that, do you?
The balance was uneven but i'm breaking through.
Slow rivers run cold,
Shallow waters never sank so low.
I thought i'd drown and you'd never know,
You're a slow river and you run so cold.
The winter here don't belive in god,
The bitter wind just bites through me like a wild dog.
I still see in your eyes tonight like headlights through the fog,
But one foot in your door, oh that's all i ever got.
Slow rivers run cold,
Shallow waters never sank so low.
I thought i'd drown and you'd never know,
You're a slow river and you run so cold.
Chances are you'll reappear.
Swim my way in a flood of tears,
No place to hide your conscience
So you're a sinking ship with no place to go.
Slow rivers run cold,
Shallow waters never sank so low.
I thought i'd drown and you'd never know,
You're a slow river and you run so cold.
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Snow
See the snow
Its a blanket, soft and white
Falling slow
Covering the world, making it bright
Hear the snow
Crunching underneath feet
Children throw
The snow in the street
Smell the snow
The freshening scent
As the steady flow
Makes my heart content
Feel the snow
Powdery, it freezes your toes
As the blanket starts to grow
And the cold wind blows
Taste the snow
The way it makes the world look clean
Still cold though,
Makes the world, a beautiful scene
Love the snow
When I see it snowing all day
I just know
That everything is going to be okay
poem by Katniss Everdeen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We Sang In The Snow
When we sang in the snow
Under that cold amber glow
That professed to be the sun
Trying to melt our fun;
Lighting our wonderland show
Warming our laughter below
Young promises- freezing to death.
Biting wind stealing our breath.
Snowmen hoping frost lingers.
Mittens with tingling fingers.
Sledging out of sight
Under new moonlight
Spangled diamonds above
Lit fires
In our hearts of love.
I kissed your cheek
And held you near
This minute, this hour
This day this year
Would burn within our very being
Embers of youth warm memory fleeing.
But without your hand to hold
My hand is empty and cold.
I curse that I let you go.
What's worse than a cold echo
Of that day
When we sang in the snow.
poem by Kevin East
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At San Sebastian
The Countess sprawled beside the sea
As naked a she well could be;
Indeed her only garments were
A "G" string and a brassière
Her washerwoman was amazed,
And at the lady gazed and gazed, -
From billowy-bosom swell
To navel like a pink sea shell.
The Countess has of robes three score,
She doffs and leaves them on the floor;
She changes gowns ten times a ay,
Her chambermaid puts them away.
"How funny!" thinks the washer-wife;
"I've toiled and toiled throughout my life,
And only have, to hide my skin,
This old rag that I'm standing in."
The Countess never toiled at all;
She begged for coin when she was small,
And later, in the ancient fashion,
In gay resorts she peddled passion.|
But now to noble rank arrived,
(Tom wed the old Count she contrived)
Her youthful lover, lounging there,
Is hirsute as a teddy-bear.
The Countess will be honoured when
She dies past three-score years and ten.
The washer-women will wear out
With labour fifty years about . . .
Yet as the two look at each other
The Countess thinks: "So was my mother;
And washer-wife to live and die,
But for God's grace so would be I."
poem by Robert William Service
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My Home Town
The last time I saw my home town, her trees were dressed for spring,
And her people walked beneath those trees and birds found songs to sing.
The last time I saw my home town, her heart was warm and gay,
No matter how cruelly they change her, I'll remember her that way.
I dodged and hided in the fields of golden corn that I had dodged for years.
The chorus of the wind blowing the heavy loaded stems was music to my ears
I thought of happy hours and pure childhood lost, and laborious people who toiled their day
Old women, selling flowers, in markets at dawn, kids rushing to their play
Lonely I was, scanning with lonely eyes, seeking her in vain
Her streets are where they were, but there's no sign of her; the pain is insane
Where are the children who ran in the park and in sun sandy paths
And those who danced under summer night looked at the stars and laugh
I used to watch as a child the fair morning fog clearly chiming in its flowing before my eye;
Warmly and broadly the south winds were winding and blowing over the sky.
One after another the white clouds over the fields of wild tulips were fleeting;
Every heart that gorgeous May morning in joyance was brimming and beating
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They who eat cherries with the great, are like to have the stones and stalks flung in their face.
Cold winter night
It was a cold winter night.
All was deadly still.
My guts so tight
I must kill!
The cry of a wolf enters my head
Like a train whistle that echoes far away.
Can it be…something lives on this winter night?
Follow the sound and pray
It does not go away.
My hunger juices flowing; I go.
I and the wolf both now know
Neither is alone in the land of snow.
Oh, how I wish I had his sight
On this cold winter night
The north wind moved in the night before.
The ground all snow and bitter cold…so bitter cold.
The sky filled with stars.
The snow grows old.
My guts so tight
What a cold, cold winter night!
The wolf stays hidden from my sight
With it’s furry coat of gray and white.
He glides across the snow without sound
Like a ballerina tiptoeing over the ground.
My guts so tight
On this bitter cold winter night
I with my blood running slow
My hands burning cold; my face red glow
Driven by the pain in my gut
On this cold-cold bitter winter night
I must kill
To make the night still
So the hunger pains
Will be gone again
I hear nothing on this cold winter night
My hair stands up on the back of my neck
I fear the wolf knows
I turn
Crutch to spring
His fangs showing white; my knife in my hand
We circle like two roosters in a pen.
For one this will be the end.
The pain in my gut is still tight
I will kill but not for the trill
On such a killing bitter cold winter night
With the grace of a cat he springs to flight
My throat his aim on this cold winter night
My knife hits his heart…he hunches in pain;
His fangs rip my throat cutting the jugular vein.
The snows now stain on this cold winter night.
Blood and flesh flung upon the snow
Cries of pain, moans of death…soon will go
From this bitter cold ground
All is still on winter’s playground.
The wolf dances no more
My lips move but there is no sound.
My gut is still tight
I feel alright
No more time to fight
On this bitter cold winter night
Wind and snow now fill the air.
The wolf has an empty den.
The snow will be tracked no more.
Twinkle, twinkle little star
Genocide complete
In a galaxy so far
poem by Ronald Brissette
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High Price Of Coal
Hundreds mourn in Comfort, W VA
Dead miners who toiled at great peril
Mine CEO lied ‘bout laws not obeyed
With haughty demeanor cold n’ sterile
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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A Snowy Sunset
Snow Snow on the ground
Sun is sinking down down down
Trees trees covered in Wight
People gasp at the sight
Snow Snow on the ground
Animals scurry all around
Snow Snow in your hair
Stiffness and cold in the air
Snow Snow on the ground
People sledding down down down
Hot Coco and coffee inside
Why not go for another sled ride
Snow Snow on the ground
The sun has set past the ground
Lights light up the city bright
People every where say what a sight
poem by Miranda Will
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This Morning...
I awoke this morning blinded by the white
bare trees, plows and 10 inches of snow was all that was in my sight
the wind blew, now watch the feathery snow go
people shoveling and cars driving slow
snow covered roofs and snowflakes falling fast
me just wondering how long this beauty woud last
poem by Mckenzi Lew
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