En.Citatepedia^®.ro

In the Speed of Time

Again the sun painted the sky blue, orange, gray;
Then through the castles of clouds a full moon shines,
With every earth’s breath let the wind chimes play,
While the birds dwell in their leafy shrines,

Below the horizon in the heat of this long thirsty summer,
Golden-green hays crept to the dawn of autumn,
While the big appetite of gnawing mammals kept waiting,
The chill of winter came in the very speed of time.

As each sunrise unveils the snow-covered mountains,
Patches of snow pursed in to icy-pocket of the river,
While the scents of wild flowers perfume the atmosphere,
The choir of birds now welcome the birth of spring.

poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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The Days of Autumn

Looking out through my windowpane,
I mastered the beauty of the earth:
A sun setting across the mountain,
A crescent moon above the horizon;

Green grasses, the trees, the flowers,
Born on the first day of spring,
Left the earth's man-made heaven,
After the act of summer wind;

Dwelling in their old-leafy homes,
The birds halted of their last song,
By the last stroke of my paintbrush,
The dawn of autumn crept on at last.

Reality changed my heart at sunrise,
When a chick lost its first home,
Eyeing for a new place called paradise,
It left the leafless tree on its own.

As it flew and wandered to the south,
The days of autumn went by so fast,
Then the northwest wind begins to chill,
Holiday song's now playing on the air.

Looming through the mountains,
A dirt road snaked on to the valley,
Down the hills and in to the beach,
Where it meets the sunrise ashore;

Bare-toes as teeth to chicharrons,
Crackling bask of fallen leaves,
Kicking sands' less-perfect cones,
Now, all cleansed by winter waves.

poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Autumn Thoughts

Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers,
And gone the Summer's pomp and show,
And Autumn, in his leafless bowers,
Is waiting for the Winter's snow.

I said to Earth, so cold and gray,
'An emblem of myself thou art.'
'Not so,' the Earth did seem to say,
'For Spring shall warm my frozen heart.'
I soothe my wintry sleep with dreams
Of warmer sun and softer rain,
And wait to hear the sound of streams
And songs of merry birds again.

But thou, from whom the Spring hath gone,
For whom the flowers no longer blow,
Who standest blighted and forlorn,
Like Autumn waiting for the snow;

No hope is thine of sunnier hours,
Thy Winter shall no more depart;
No Spring revive thy wasted flowers,
Nor Summer warm thy frozen heart.

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Spring Lovers

Love comes like a rose-vine clinging upward
Grasping for that first cool breeze of spring air
With a kiss of sunrise to its beauty’s reward
Fragrance burst out from its eminent bud’s lair.

When withered tree stands upon winter’s bliss,
And a snow shimmers on its branches’ content,
Love comes in spring for new leaves then to hiss,
Till this season’s course breakthrough its intent

When castles of clouds assent playful birds
Glide high and low beyond their leafy shrines
And the sunset’s amber blush oceans’ greens,
Spring is from the hearts of many sky’s herds

When the prairie cast its colors from the distant,
Unfold their leaves to dance with the windward,
And the cattle begins to sheave in a wide verdant
Spring spread love to the land of the shepherd

When the sun gives the moon a tranquil light
To the faintest stars throughout sky’s height
And the wind chimes playing a great harmony
Under the moon is where spring lovers stay

poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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The summer it snowed

Blue skies
yards of green
flowers of mulitude
among such wonderess gifts
I walk towards my ever nearing
winter

My lungs full of dirty snow
I hear not the singing of birds
but the calling of my black forcast

Summer
kids play
boats sail
I succum
no longer able to shovel
the snow away

Yet in peace in tread
for months are now weeks
and soon weeks will be days

For me spring brought fall
and the summer brought
snow
and the winter will bring
my forever peace

poem by Vincent Armone
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Looking, Watching, Waiting

It's Winter now,
And everything is cold and bare.
Used to be lush and green,
Covered in leaves.

The snow is melting.
It's getting warmer.
Spring is on it's way.

Now Spring has come
The snow has all melted,
And the trees are getting more leaves.
It's warm now,
And i can't wait for Summer to arrive.

Summer is finally here!
I go outside and run barefoot through the streets.
Windows are open and the birds are singing.
Summer is finally here!

Now Summer is gone, and Fall is in the air.
Soon it will get colder,
And i will once again be looking, watching, waiting,
For Summer's arrival.

poem by Vi Lanflagle
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Nature's Season's

Season's come and season's go,
There are four in each year,
Of our time keeping.
Spring,
Summer,
Autumn,
Winter,
In other parts of the world,
Their season's are called something else,

Each Season is,
Of different type,
Yet,
Two and Two,
To begin and become,
Spring shows the begining,
Of growth and new season,
So for plants,
Vegetation,
Spring Chickens,
Spring Lambs,
The Calflings,
The Fouls,
All come in the Spring,
And flourish in the Summer,

Summer shows bloom,
From the plants to the Fouls,
And all are seen in full bloom,
Even the birds and the bees,
Sing the songs,
Of spring and summer,
With the Sun's rays,
That shows nature,
In full bloom,

By the time,
All is in full bloom,
And what shows and blooms,
Blossoms all summer,
And just when we are relaxed,
And see no clouds in the sky,
The seson changes,
Beginning with,
The fall,

Autumn's,
Season,
Commences to begin,
Where,
All in bloom,
Falls away and decays,
While the rest,
Fly away,
And,
Migrate,
Or,
Hibernate,

And just when,
We have seen it all disappear,
The frost and snow,
Covers all over,
And chills the air,
Where the chilling effect,
Kills off all decay,
And the blue ice time period,
Takes over for a time,
Chilling,
Freeezing,
Keeping everything beneath the earth,
As winter sets itself right in,

And far beneath the froasted earth,
Is all in nature,
Rekindling itself,
To regrowth itself,
And then spring growth,
Again,
Next season,
That starts the circle of life,
2 x 2 = 4,
The four seasons,
Of,
Our circle of life,

Spring,
Summer,
Autumn,
Winter,
The four seasons,
Of ours,
That is 2 x 2,
Spring and Summer,
Then,
Autumn and Winter,
That makes it known,
As 4 seasons,
To us all.

poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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A Calendar

Winter:
Inside the embers glow in the grate
While the garden quietly suffocates in snow.

Spring:
The ice is melting!
The snow forgets what the birds remember,
A living root dispels December!

Summer:
The heat disfigures the soil.
The sun glares angrily
Till the clouds sweat tears.

Autumn:
Summer is over,
The moon strips the trees of leaves
And paints their bark with silver starlight.

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Sonnet: Life’s Seasonal Paradox

Queen of the seasons, Spring- Thou could end soon!
When greenness, freshness, melody will cease;
Giving way to the hot summer’s Sun’s noon,
That dries the sheaves of grain rather with ease.

Sultry summer can’t go on forever!
God sends His spell of rain to break thy heat;
And autumn comes in, summer to sever,
As wind blows down fiercely, leaves/nuts to eat.

The sun no more shines brightly as it did,
For winter lays its icy hands on trees;
Snow-capping the mountains like a white-lid;
While stark-naked, leafless trees almost freeze.

But not for long as spring will soon come on!
With joyance, landscape to then green adorn.

poem by John Celes
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In the Highveld

(after Toon van den Heever)

I

In the Highveld with the sky cobalt blue and open
where rock rabbits, steenbok and baboons revel,
you see the wind skipping through the long grass
and you can still believe in God and His angels,

the rain gathers with thunder
where through the open spaces you can see far into the veldt,
you are astounded by the beauty of flowering proteas
and you still can realize your dependence

but when the city’s rumbling becomes too much,
the jacarandas start flowering in the streets,
buildings of steel and concrete start to curtail you,
you dream about wild flowers appearing everywhere

and it’s the places of a child that you miss,
in the Highveld where the veldt stretches out into the distance.

II

In the Highveld where the veldt stretches out into the distance
and the wind rollicks through the grass
the sky is pure blue and you can look for hours at it,
there you can find freedom from the city’s imprisonment.

When the wind rustles through the march you loose all sadness,
you see the African red-knobbed coot gathering her chickens,
you can hear the finches’ caper, branches full together,
you see every great small happening,

how wild flowers of every imaginable colour
grow as if planted in secret
(and I will go back if I only could)
where I can find some serenity, can have peace
where I will know about God’s heritage;
there the sun shines.

III

There the sun shines
where proteas and aloes flower wildly,
bright up to the horizon
coming out of the earth by themselves

with violets growing purple-blue right through the marsh,
with daisies stretching white over the veldt,
with long tailed widow birds flapping their wings
and the earth is covered with long green grass.

To this piece of ground I am trapped
even when my days are drawing to their end,
it goes even to my heart’s deepest yearning,
with every plant, bush and flower

as it’s bought with sweat and blood,
nobody can strip it from me.

IV

Nobody can strip it from me,
I have to go back to where the sun hangs golden
in the sapphire heaven, I have got to strip the city from me
(but if I only could)

the big desire stays and out of the town I must go
away from the ambulance and police sirens that cuts through everything,
trains whistling almost endlessly,
I have got to go to where only the frog choir and crickets sing.

Again I have got to get the smell of sugar bushes,
smell the rain, spring, summer and even autumn
I must get away from a world where tinned pleasure seduces,
where people use other people for their own pleasure.

I want to stand in the green fields of grass,
when the day dies.

V

When the day dies
letting its last rays fall,
with the birds flying to their nests
darkness comes to this part of the universe,

the doves at dusk still call to each other
as if their voices bind them in the darkness,
you can see the moon sailing golden-yellow through the sky,
you are sometimes blinded by the bright rays,

the city lights glitter far away
in all the colours of the rainbow,
here you want to bond your life to a loved one,
catching her moments long in your eye

when people come together here,
the madness of the human existence is exorcised.

VI

The madness of the human existence is exorcised
even in later years past your own youth,
when you are in the world that your heart desires,
you want to invite the new spring to stay with you

shaking out that which bothers and torments to the early summer wind,
feeling the effervescence of new life,
blinded by the sun you want to find healing
while the whole of spring washes through your life

with the light, air, the flowers, birds and sun splashing down
as if your autumn is only in your imagination,
you want to wash yourself clean from old age,
you are searching for exorcism from the darkness

there are still flowers sprouting out everywhere,
when the colours of autumn smoulder in the trees.

VII

When the colours of autumn smoulder in the trees
with branches being full of coloured leaves,
the sun is still heating as in summer
before the first biting winds begin to whine.

I see opened pod upon opened pod
that lays brown scorched without any signs of seeds,
the dull blue sky has clouds in milky white,
trees become a wild watermill

that is halfway skeleton, halfway still carrying leaves,
afternoons are still drawn out
and even when days earlier end in winter
it’s a time without equal,
as if the summer can last forever,
in the Highveld with the sky cobalt blue and open.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Early Works - The Seasons

Sky clouded and morbid blue
with cracks for the sun to shine through.
Fields barren and dead
with leaves turning from green to red.
Birds on high winging south
as rivers flow from its mouth.
Sun shines a light of cold on the
ground as autumn approaching us surrounds.

The leaves of orange and red mould where they are blown
as upon us winder begins to grow.
After a while comes a white blanket of snow
covering everything that will grow.
The nights get long
and the winter winds blow strong.
Everything is frozen fast
and in this wintry waste, none must trespass.

Overnight comes the warmth of a rearing sun
bringing with it the spring,
life to every living thing.
Trees and flowers bud, bloom,
and around the corner summer begins to loom.
As everything, turns’ smiling around
there is heard in the wind loves sweet sound.

Then with sunsets beautiful, but not rare
we can tell summer is in the air.
Flowers in full bloom spread multicolour around
as small creatures scamper on the ground
under the sun profound.
All the mysteries that summer does involve
will soon be gone as the seasons again revolve.

Date Unknown. (Early 1970’s I think)

poem by David Harris
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Father Winter

Welcome back home Father Winter
we have waited all year for you.
Your lovely trees, so tall
their branches now bare
they stand there waving you
back home you brought with you
your winter jewels, now they hang
on those naked branches.

The summer flowers, have
now laid down for a long winters
nap their waiting for you to cover
them with your winter blanket.

Your blanket will keep them
warm till spring then they'll
all pop up and sing.
Now all the small animals have
laid their heads down too sweet
dreams every thing will awake to
fresh new season.

You have dressed everything for
Christmas. your ice snow flakes
have landed on our pond it looks
looks like big white frosted glass
mirror it also created beautiful
glass like ornaments that
hang on the ever green trees.

Your cold fluffy snow lays upon
their branches it drapes like a
pearl necklace among their branches
they all look so lovely.

The winter clouds that you have blown
in float beneath the stars so bright
the full moon shines down upon the
hill tops all covered in your beauty.

The fresh snow glistens like stars
and silver gliter it looks like
millions of diamondseen have been
scattered on the beaten paths.
Your winter air smell so crisp
and cold as you speak, you can
see your breath in \the cold air
the only lights are from the new
full winter moon.

As you can see Father Winter has
blown, in with such briskness.
Every where you now look,
now looks bright and fresh.

Little children have started the
count down.To that special
night which is not to far off in sight.

And like ''SANTA'
You'll be gone, in the wink
of an eye.

We thank you for all the beauty
that you have given us, you'll
only last a while upon you I'll
walk a brisk mile.

We'll love you as long as you'll
last..Upon your snow we'll
dance and play.

We'll do this each cold day..
Until you melt away.
and then we'll say a sad good-bye.,

GAYLE ANNE GOFF
DECEMBER
2008

poem by Gayle Anne Goff
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Fairies Come A-calling

winter fairies come
a-calling
faces pressed window panes
twinkling
frost makes lacy prints
glittering
light snow pristine pure
falling
world young life fresh
breathing
winter fairies come
a-calling

spring fairies come
a-calling
birds return twig nests
building
flowers open petals pink
blooming
fresh life everywhere
springing
pink green blue pale
coloring
easter eggs painted coats
hiding
spring fairies come
a-calling

summer fairies come
a-calling
evenings teem fireflies
sparkling
watermelon opens red
eating
grass crisps green gold
waving
wind soft thunder nights
lightning
ocean swim hazy twilights
fishing
summer fairies come
a-calling

autumn fairies come
a-calling
colors ripe red gold
falling
harvest pumpkins orange
picking
apples delicious fresh
tasting
leaves underfoot piles
crackling
autumn fairies come
a-calling

poem by Sophia White
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In January In Duhallow

The cold winds of January from the north east does blow
And the weather is cold quite cold enough for to snow
And the hungry birds silent on the naked hedgerow
In the flat and rushy fields where the Blackwater flow.

January in Duhallow from here far away
In the chill of the morning the frost bound fields gray
In the farmyard sheds cattle bellow for silage or hay
Where the sun seldom shines on a January day.

The distinctive harsh caws of the silver backed crow
In the Season where grass does refuse for to grow
And few cars on the roadway that leads to the town
Near where the river flows bank high in flood waters of brown.

In January in Duhallow the old fields looking bare
With the harsh chill of Winter in the cold Morning air
And at least eight long weeks till the first breath of Spring
When Nature will bloom and her wild birds will sing.

poem by Francis Duggan
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What a wonderful world of nature...

When the early morning is born with heavenly blessed
When the bright sun rays shower through the misty clouds
When the birds choir being to chirp their songs on the trees
then the day being with a wonderful of nature.
I can feel the Mother Nature touches me with her love
I can feel the nature illuminates my heart and brighten my soul
I can see the green grass in summer-spread lovely
I can see the flowers in the spring bloomed lavishly
I can see the leaves falls in the autumn covered earth greatly
I can see the trees full of snow in the winter sprinkled
I can see the stream water gurgles from the mountain
I can see the fauna in the jungles freely set to live happily
I can see the barren lands wet and fertile
Not only they are beautiful in nature
but they serve a purpose for us
Not only they are beauty as forest
but they serve food and water for us
Always, praise the God and thank HIM for HIS beautiful creation
What a wonderful world of nature that you and me live.

poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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Immortal Autumn

I speak this poem now with grave and level voice
In praise of autumn, of the far-horn-winding fall.

I praise the flower-barren fields, the clouds, the tall
Unanswering branches where the wind makes sullen noise.

I praise the fall: it is the human season.
Now
No more the foreign sun does meddle at our earth,
Enforce the green and bring the fallow land to birth,
Nor winter yet weigh all with silence the pine bough,

But now in autumn with the black and outcast crows
Share we the spacious world: the whispering year is gone:
There is more room to live now: the once secret dawn
Comes late by daylight and the dark unguarded goes.

Between the mutinous brave burning of the leaves
And winter’s covering of our hearts with his deep snow
We are alone: there are no evening birds: we know
The naked moon: the tame stars circle at our eaves.

It is the human season. On this sterile air
Do words outcarry breath: the sound goes on and on.
I hear a dead man’s cry from autumn long since gone.
I cry to you beyond upon this bitter air.

poem by Archibald MacLeish
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The Spring—Time, O The Spring--Time

The Spring-time, O the Spring-time!
Who does not know it well?
When the little birds begin to build,
And the buds begin to swell.
When the sun with the clouds plays hide-and-seek,
And the lambs are bucking and bleating,
And the colour mounts to the maiden's cheek,
And the cuckoo scatters greeting;
In the Spring-time, joyous Spring-time!

The Summer, O the Summer!
Who does not know it well?
When the ringdoves coo the long day through,
And the bee refills his cell.
When the swish of the mower is heard at morn,
And we all in the woods go roaming,
And waiting is over, and love is born,
And shy lips meet in the gloaming;
In the Summer, ripening Summer!

The Autumn, O the Autumn!
Who does not know it well?
When the leaf turns brown, and the mast drops down,
And the chestnut splits its shell.
When we muse o'er the days that have gone before,
And the days that will follow after,
When the grain lies deep on the winnowing-floor,
And the plump gourd hangs from the rafter;
In the Autumn, thoughtful Autumn!

The Winter, O the Winter!
Who does not know it well?
When, day after day, the fields stretch gray,
And the peewit wails on the fell.
When we close up the crannies and shut out the cold,
And the wind sounds hoarse and hollow,
And our dead loves sleep in the churchyard mould,
And we feel that we soon shall follow;
In the Winter, mournful Winter!

poem by Alfred Austin
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My Poetry

It began from a simple word,
Of what the moon had seemingly spoken,
Or a bird’s song I once heard,
Or whispers of the wind of same token;

Then there were colors of the rainbow,
Sketched briefly below the sky blue,
And the clouds’ reflection to the sea,
Spread all their words in my poetry;

The sound of the roaring river,
The melting snow after winter,
The wind breeze in summer,
You hear them in my poetry,

But without the presence of spring,
Flowers blooming every morning,
If no trees, no mountains seen,
In my poetry, you’ll read nothing.

poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Farewell To Winter

Farewell to Winter as it passes by,
To the heavy clouds beneath the gloomy sky,
And to the slumber of the snow-covered earth
That soon will be awakened to a new birth.

I'll miss sled riding on the steep hill,
And ice skating on the pond near the old mill,
The giggling of children playing in the snow,
And throwing snowballs at a targeted goal.

The shrubs and trees that were covered white
Will be replaced by new foliage and blossoms bright.
The colorful tulips standing tall side by side
Will sway in the Spring's warm breeze with pride.

Throughout the countryside, a new life is arriving,
Yellow forsythia and daffodils are thriving,
Birds have returned, filling the air with song,
Spring has arrived and winter is now gone.

I'll miss all the winter activities now at rest,
But I readily admit that I enjoy the Spring the best.
The offerings of Spring are delightful and bright,
A diversion from the arms of winter's might.

poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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Chimes are the Wind

Chime’s are the Wind

“Chimes are the wind”, when it goes from Dawn to Twilight.

“Chimes are the wind”, when the sun goes down and the moon goes up.

“Chimes are the wind”, when the Ocean’s tidal waves splash the deep blue and the aqua
water and the tidal pools disappear.

“Chimes are the wind”, when the puffy white clouds cover the golden yellow sun.

“Chimes are the wind”, when the rain floods the river.

“Chimes are the wind”, when there’s a million possibilities.

“Chimes are the wind”, when there are no more possibilities to harm the world
when there’s such a peaceful place in the universe that there is so-many
possibilities there are endless possibilities.

By: Bella Martinez

poem by Bella Martinez
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Seasons......

Spring brings joy and revival
The world is filled with freshness,
Sprinkle and sparkle glimpse
Sky gets painted with Rainbow;

Summer is bright and colourful
Bright yellow flowers bloom afresh,
Summer has arrived with fullness,
White, yellow, red, orange and blue;

Autumn is dusty and dry
Withering and falling old leaves,
Autumn is setting in fast
Old decay for new to arise;

Winter is cool and blissful,
Snow is pleasant surprise,
Everything is painted white,
Soon it shall melt to make way;

The cycle of Seasons goes on,
World changes with its mood.

poem by Manjeshwari P MYSORE
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