En.Citatepedia^®.ro

I Walked Out One Evening

I walked out one evening, ,
as the sun was setting low.
Trees were whispering in the breeze,
as it yielded a gentle blow.
Skies transformed to reddish hues,
as my feet crossed o’er the ground,
Then along the path by the brook,
dead leaves lay scattered all around,
Birdsong filled the loud silence,
one last song, for twilight creeps.
The sun has set behind the trees,
as the darkness its vigil keeps.

I walked out one evening,
observing such beauty spread.
To experience the colours,
orange and gold so finely wed.
The music of the water,
as it trickled down the stream.
Such peacefulness, silent, calming,
a perfect floating tranquil dream.
Now as the day is ending,
such visions assail the eyes,
One royal sky ‘s magnificent,
enhanced by the night’s fireflies.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Colours of Autumn

Coppery red leaves,
Falling from trees,
That soon will be bare.

The colours of Autumn.

Piles of reddish brown,
Lying scattered on the ground.
And a chill in the air.

The colours of Autumn.

The sky is grey,
Shorter days,
And darker nights.

The colours of Autumn.

Evenings bathed in gold,
Thunderclouds so bold,
And weaker sun, not as bright.

The colours of Autumn.

poem by Amy Darnbrook
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The Village Street

In these rapid, restless shadows,
Once I walked at eventide,
When a gentle, silent maiden,
Walked in beauty at my side.
She alone there walked beside me
All in beauty, like a bride.
Pallidly the moon was shining
On the dewy meadows nigh;
On the silvery, silent rivers,
On the mountains far and high,--
On the ocean's star-lit waters,
Where the winds a-weary die.

Slowly, silently we wandered
From the open cottage door,
Underneath the elm's long branches
To the pavement bending o'er;
Underneath the mossy willow
And the dying sycamore.

With the myriad stars in beauty
All bedight, the heavens were seen,
Radiant hopes were bright around me,
Like the light of stars serene;
Like the mellow midnight splendor
Of the Night's irradiate queen.

Audibly the elm-leaves whispered
Peaceful, pleasant melodies,
Like the distant murmured music
Of unquiet, lovely seas;
While the winds were hushed in slumber
In the fragrant flowers and trees.

Wondrous and unwonted beauty
Still adorning all did seem,
While I told my love in fables
'Neath the willows by the stream;
Would the heart have kept unspoken
Love that was its rarest dream!

Instantly away we wandered
In the shadowy twilight tide,
She, the silent, scornful maiden,
Walking calmly at my side,
With a step serene and stately,
All in beauty, all in pride.

Vacantly I walked beside her.
On the earth mine eyes were cast;
Swift and keen there came unto me
Bitter memories of the past--
On me, like the rain in Autumn
On the dead leaves, cold and fast.

Underneath the elms we parted,
By the lowly cottage door;
One brief word alone was uttered--
Never on our lips before;
And away I walked forlornly,
Broken-hearted evermore.

Slowly, silently I loitered,
Homeward, in the night, alone;
Sudden anguish bound my spirit,
That my youth had never known;
Wild unrest, like that which cometh
When the Night's first dream hath flown.

Now, to me the elm-leaves whisper
Mad, discordant melodies,
And keen melodies like shadows
Haunt the moaning willow trees,
And the sycamores with laughter
Mock me in the nightly breeze.

Sad and pale the Autumn moonlight
Through the sighing foliage streams;
And each morning, midnight shadow,
Shadow of my sorrow seems;
Strive, O heart, forget thine idol!
And, O soul, forget thy dreams!

poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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Spring Evening Chant

Let the breeze blow,
Let the river flow,
In the spring evening
Let the moon come slow.

The music of the fallen leaves around
Or when they rolling on the forest ground,
Does it remind you the song
I've sung in a whispering sound?

The bird comes back to its nest,
And the sun sets down in the west,
The wrapper of the sky is disappeared,
Still I find in my mind unrest.

Let the breeze blow inside our mind's hollow,
Let the river flow and carry our heart's sorrow,
In the spring evening
Let the moon pass its way slow.

poem by Riffat Samad
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Autumn Leaves

Autumn leaves, in the trees
Falling to the ground
Colors of many, in the breeze
Of red and orange and brown.
Rainbow parks in the dark
Moonlight shimmers down
On the leaves, from the trees
Falling to the ground.
Lovers walk, hear them talk
To where Children played
See the beauty, and feel the warmth
From where nature stayed.
Barren trees, forgotten leaves
Another year gone by
All alone from a breeze
As the lovers softly cry.
Autumn leaves from the trees
Lying, on the ground
See the beauty, feel the warmth
And hear, autumns sound.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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The Sun and The Moon

As the Sun
Sets on the Sea
With its reddish glow
And orange hues...
The day shades in for me
Awakening the
Night of Darkness
Within me...

And the setting Sun
On the horizon
Beckons me
Nearer to it
As if asking me
To seek shelter
In its radiant warmth
And magnanimous
Splendour...

Yet when I see
The swirling waters
Of the Sea...
With their myriad colours
Reflecting the Setting Sun's
Evening Glory -
I remember that
It is all a mirage
For the very same Sun
Inviting me in with all
Its Grandeur -
Can Scorch me dry
On one of those days
When it is bright and shining
In the clear, blue sky.

So I see it,
Cherish it
From far-away...
I love the sun setting
On the Sea
It is a lovely sight for me
Every day
Yet - I always revert back
To my night of darkness
When the sun sets in
Even if it is lonely and
Shadowy out here...

I still prefer
The coolness of the night
The bright, starry delight
Of the sky and the stars
And in that darkness -
That still, sombre mood
Of being alone, solitary
And so very lonely...
The tears in my eyes
Speak to my Beloved
Sans any words
Nor any letters
Yet feelings galore
Dreams aplenty...

The beautiful Moon
with its subtle grace
Takes the place
Of my messenger of love.
In its blue moonlight
I bask and ask -
Questions aplenty
To my Beloved.

And I wait and I wait
For the answers to come
Drifting by...
Like the soft evening breeze
And the cool night air
Rejuvenating me,
Arousing me
Teasing me
Making love to me...
Revitalising and
Refreshing me -
From lands afar,
Across the miles
Over the seven seas.

Like a clandestine affair
Of the Night
Amidst the stars and the sky
Where I laugh and I cry
With You
In my Fantasies...
Like it happens every night
When the Sun goes down
And ushers in the Night -
And Yes - The Witness
Of this night long
Love affair...
Fantasising without a care -
Remains my messenger of love:
The eternal Moon
With its blue moonlight.

poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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The Place Of My Dreams

Nobody ever walked this path before
-before trees grew here nearly touching the sky,
I am alone safely inside a world of my own-
A world where only deer roam and birds fly about-
Cardinals, robins and sometimes
I believed I saw angels-
Angels singing in harmony with bird songs-
The wind would rustle the leaves upon the trees and
In the early summertime, cicadas would sing incessantly-
Incessantly and melodiously-
Only one day I heard a different sound-
The sounds of footsteps and children screaming,
Following closely behind me-
I would hide behind a tall oak tree and I would almost weep as
My solitude has been interrupted and
I am no longer safe as my private world had been invaded-
Nobody ever walked this path before until this day and
My dream has been transformed to a nightmare-
I am not safe in a world destroyed by the presence of strangers-
Cardinals, robins and cicadas are my friends and
Other people are my enemies whom I do not trust-
Following in my footsteps and trying to make eye contact,
To read the verses of the songs my mind composes?
I know I have seen angels and heard them singing, and
Birds chanting along with the gentle winds
Rustling the leaves upon the trees-
But now other people have discovered the path,
upon which I have walked alone,
And my secure space has become a public tenement-
I once believed nobody ever walked this path before,
This path to which I could escape reality and lose myself inside
The magnificent world of my delusions-now they have come to take me away and
To lock me inside this prison which I cannot escape?
I cannot hear the angels singing here and birds are seemingly far away-
Here I have lost myself inside my own world,
one so different and so frightening?
There are people here, so close to me, yet I feel so alone-
Although alone in a dangerous way- I am singing my own song,
Hoping that the angels can hear me and one day I shall be back in unison with nature,
Far away from intruders and singing in harmony with nightingales –
And once again, alone safely,
as I shall have abandoned the nightmare of reality,
Touching the sky in my dreams, dancing with angels as I listen to the cicadas chanting
Happily as they are lost inside the world of their fantasies, just as I wish to be…

poem by Claudia Krizay
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Forests of the Heart

Deep within the forests of the heart,
Resides a town lit by fireflies.
Dwellings built within the trees,
All beneath the starry skies.

Homely lights amongst the foliage,
Bridges and ladders a plenty.
Rustling leaves cure the soul,
As the beams creak gently.

Hark, the herald sparrow sings!
It twitters from Oak's limb.
The river gurgles round the bend,
And along it the fish do swim.

But with the song of the stream,
comes the whisper of the trees.
With the tale of the undergrowth,
Comes the ballad of the breeze.

The moonlight reaches the forest floor,
To show the fairies atop the stools.
With leaves for their rowboats,
They sail across the silver pools.

Deep within the forests of the heart,
Resides a town lit by fireflies.
Dwellings built within the trees,
All beneath the starry skies.

poem by Stephanie Dower
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Memories

I remember my father’s garden
Roses grew in full bloom behind the maple tree
That has always been there, in my memory,
Its trunk seemed golden
Beneath the light of the moon and stars in the evening and
At dawn, it would capture the rays of the sun,
Turning copper beneath the shadows cast by the mountains;
I have always adored the nighttime hours-
The stars seemed magical to me, glistening within the darkness and
The moon brings me peace of mind, quietly sleeping,
As its gentle rays illuminated the sky, giving just enough light
So I could see the roses, trees and wildflowers that decorated my father’s garden.
My father passed away twenty years ago and
I can recall his love for nature and his passion for the silence of the evening hours-
So much like mine-so many memories have escaped me but
I can still hear his laughter ringing throughout the valley near our home,
And every time I look upward toward the moon at twilight,
I can nearly see his smile shining through its muted light-
As a gentle breeze would blow, rustling the leaves upon the trees-
It would remind me that my father’s soul is still alive-
I see his face in every rose and his hands grasping the branches on the trees-
And I have always believed that even though people die and
Though their bodies may never be seen again,
The love and recollection of their spirits remain
In the places that they so loved-
My father’s home was in his garden amongst the maple trees, roses and wildflowers, and
In my innermost thoughts, it is there where he remains- and
Every day and every night, when I walk amongst the trees and flowers
I can hear his voice calling my name and in my heart I know
He can still hear my voice and see my face, as in the light of the moon and stars-
We shall be bonded in spirit for an eternity.

Claudia Krizay

poem by Claudia Krizay
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Peach Knoll

Peach Knoll

A poem diffused in mid air, and the fog
to dropp off; to honor skies was our call,
attending a vow; there I recall our song,
comely ode, to recreate on Peach Knoll;

Up there we walked; O, so many stories
to recount; every detail was accurate,
amidst the trees, under a nightly Aries,
so many feelings, a night cold to equate.

How many trips we described in acuity,
and ports we reached in paths oceanic,
with our glary eyes staring to continuity,
and my nautical departure to Atlantic;

There we stayed; amidst the night trees,
our images to ascend a dream sceptic,
in trustful years, it was a simple breeze,
caressing vows, and your smile esthetic..

January night 't was, under an icy drizzle;
my leather jacket upon your shoulders
you denied, folded it, amidst the mizzle,
we both felt this vow, as it grew colder;

...................................
I walked uphill, at night, on twenty first,
similar drizzle to salute me, and to extoll
our song, as I walked on time reversed,
recalling your rainy smile, on Peach Knoll.

Copyright © - G. V.- 02.11.2012
/ PoemH 29822354

poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Paradise Found

Up the mountainous path we climbed
through the ridges and valleys we walked
seeking adventure of a peculiar sort.
Down the steep ravines we paced
stopping at times to catch our breath
and to view the lovely country ahead.
On and on we made our way
until at dusk we were exhausted.
It would be here where we would make our stay
in an area that seemed to be lightly forested.
Under a clear night sky bright with stars shinning
we settled down eager to refresh ourselves and
made preparations to share our meal for the evening
seeming perhaps like some fugitive band.
A restful and joyous sleep we had that night
one that exceeded our expectations.
Some enchanted evening we experienced
one that was followed by no disillusionment;
awakening to the sweet fragrance of flowers and other delights.
It was as if we were in paradise it seemed................

We all looked around and beheld in awe
the serenity and beauty surrounding us all.
There were flowers of many types and hues
and fruit bearing trees from which to choose.
There were various animals at a stream nearby
and birds flying overhead in the clear blue sky.
There was everything here for us to see
that we almost no longer thought could be.

poem by George Krokos
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Beauty at Dusk

The room is stilled
dimmed by evening light through
shuttered blinds
A perfect evening, summer spring
treees laced with early leaves
bright fields, sunlight on windowglass
an empty room
and silence

the brightness of the dusk is
blinding - more glaring than noon in dust
and the silence splinters with shrill throated birds
and distant laughter
til the laughter and the song seem silent too
part of the peace that oppresses this room

the beauty is too perfect
too real for me

poem by Geraldine Moorkens Byrne
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Waste not, want not for M'Lady Dee Daffodil

Dead leaves which lately clad the trees
in autumn colours brave and bold.
Are scattered by the playful breeze
Their day is done their story told

Their purpose served they’re obsolete.
A dry dead blanket on the ground
which when disturbed by passing feet.
Produce a crisply rustling sound.

The earth will re absorb them all
though slowly, there’s no need for haste.
A process which is typical
of natures attitude to waste.

What has been used will be re used
and very little is refused.

10-Oct-07

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Camel's Dream

When he deserted me
I deserted water
When I deserted the water,
it lost its shine crying.
Trees were growing dark in their places
in the woods; that evening he came to take me
with him clearing the thick glow of the sunset hues
then came he to make a path a kind of road
At the end of the road
I became the back he can ride
deserting many things I so long have to long for
while I look at the village
through those green trees
with my deep eyes
I saw him waiving at me
to bid me goodbye.
I was already entering the desert
and a portion of his road became the whole
the entire road for me.
For the borders of the nation he ruled
were the horizons of the four directions,
the sand hills I walk on with him on my back
were always the initial spot I had departed.
Numerous mornings and evenings met
on the rooftops of the sandhills where the
next morning and the sun crossed.
Originally what he wanted from me
was some amount of water he could use,
always in the shape of the water
I obeyed him.
At the same speed as the sunlight speedy
falls on the ground, stars fell.
With the power of the star-falls
the water soaked itself down to the ground
and then to
the roots of the sands.
Whenever his forehead shined
with full of heavenly words
and thirstied,
I dug up the roots of the sands
where the water gathers and kept it
in my body.

When the sun rose,
everything except the sands were
under the power of the sun;
when the wind blew,
everything along with the sands were
under the windy flows.
There I took out the water from my body
and washed his dry face.
When he loved me
I had a large amount of waters.
When he was communicating with someone
in heavens,
I listened to the music the sands were making.
Many trees were there with no shadows,
and the worlds I look through those trees were
always moving forward.
Through those trees the wind blew.
The thicket-bushes were weeping
and there came about some animals
who loved the bushes, and the one
who rides on my back
lets things to be ruled ruled
lets things to die dead.
He stands the trees and the animals
that resemble each other on their spots
then he passes by.
In the mean time he took out the water
from my body numerous times
and drank it to cleanse his body.
His songs made the sand hills
create echoes to echo
to ring through the regions afar.

When he finally changed the desert into the sea,
at its open entrance
I began to grow old all alone.
Though I wanted to serve him on the sea
he walked away from me
onto the sea.
Many years have gone by
and come along and
for me not to serve him on the sea
meant to go back to the desert, and
the sea had turned into the desert back again.
At its entrance to the sea,
I could not become a small boat for him.
All day long, I was lonely;
all night long, lonesome for days.
When he left me, I deserted the water,
I deserted again the act of deserting
and by deserting it, I no longer was left
to exist.

poem by by unknown author (22 June 2003), translated by Sangnam Nam
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My Walk II: Spring

Ducklings floating serene
Over water shimmering glean
Throw in some bread
Ducks now fed

Walk on up to the Grand house
Nothing quiet, save the field mouse
Trickling stream
Down hill on a lean

Flowing water 
Calming as we wander
Cool breeze 
Through leafless trees

Fallen trees laying about 
Birds singing, never a shout 
Clouds float by 
Masking blue sky

Great Grand Son sits in path well trodden
Clothes dirty, but not sodden
Collecting cones
Not walking alone!

Over wooden bridge
On upto to the ridge
His footsteps so light
Eyes shinning bright

Back down the hill
We're running! Almost a spill
Trees flash past
He won, I'm last

Puffing and panting
Just climbed a mountain
Back past the lake
Homeward trek we make. 

poem by Robert Green
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Gold Clouds

As the wind goes on to its own stream
In the gold clouds of tomorrow rising
Like a summer of flowers gold sunbeam
Those from a fantasy world are actualizing

With flow in the evening rays

As the wind goes on to its own stream
And everything is in its twilight’s dream

When glow of the evening plays

With every agleam that as arisen your mind
In the flickering clouds dancing high
When those moments of days are left behind
In the night falling beyond starry sky

And the night fills with dark allays

*(lyric from 1 of my trance songs)

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Landscapes

Landscapes

The landscape I walk, used to be guarded by stone hedges; infinite
supply of stones this soil yields if not much else. Nature has taken
back what man did, the landscape is lush of weed, and bent trees.
I’m sliding into silence, but if I listen I can hear Spanish bluebells
peal in a mild breeze that also carries a whisper of a Nordic lullaby,
Last year a Canadian couple walked with me, their ancestors came
from around here. We stopped outside a ruin and they went silent,
cried. An ancient memory stirred they knew this place. Where their
tears had fertilized the ground, is, this year, full of wild flowers.
No, they are not returning, Canadians now and proud of that too.
I sit on a stone, not by the river of Babylon, and see how the brook,
free from icy shackles elatedly run, will not heed words of caution.
I have made boats of bark, and sail of green leaves, see them hasten
towards the North Sea. The brook is no more, indifference has seen
to that, but the landscape of my childhood is clear as a stream.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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When the sun goes down late in the afternoon (anaphora poem)

When late in the afternoon the sun hangs just above the trees and hillocks,
I think that you must experience the colours of the clouds yourself
I think that it would be pretty in a landscape painting,
I think that this dusk brings a silence, that it’s lonely without you,
I think that you are late, are maybe still working, or have got some other plans
I think that the gathering clouds will catch you with rain,
I think that the doves tomorrow evening will also be in love and coo like this,
I think that the jasmine and lavender tomorrow evening will also fill the air.
I think I will dream of branches that hit from the wind on the roof,
I think that maybe tomorrow I will see you for the last time.

poem by Gert Strydom
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A Song Of Savoy

As the dim twilight shrouds
The mountain's purple crest,
And Summer's white and folded clouds
Are glowing in the west,
Loud shouts come up the rocky dell,
And voices hail the evening-bell.

Faint is the goatherd's song,
And sighing comes the breeze;
The silent river sweeps along
Amid its bending trees -
And the full moon shines faintly there,
And music fills the evening air.

Beneath the waving firs
The tinkling cymbals sound;
And as the wind the foliage stirs,
I see the dancers bound
Where the green branches, arched above,
Bend over this fair scene of love.

And he is there, that sought
My young heart long ago!
But he has left me - though I thought
He ne'er could leave me so.
Ah! lover's vows - how frail are they!
And his - were made but yesterday.

Why comes he not? I call
In tears upon him yet;
'Twere better ne'er to love at all,
Than love, and then forget!
Why comes he not? Alas! I should
Reclaim him still, if weeping could.

But see - he leaves the glade,
And beckons me away:
He comes to seek his mountain maid!
I cannot chide his stay.
Glad sounds along the valley swell,
And voices hail the evening-bell.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Turning Leaves

Red, red, red
Right ahead,
Yellow, yellow like the sun,
Through the leaves run,
Orange, orange many trees,
Blowing in the breeze,
A few evergreens,
Many autumn scenes,
Walk along a stream,
Seems as a dream,
Add blue and white,
A bird in flight,
Climb to the top,
Seems the forest never stop,
From the tower view,
Only get a clue,
Sunset indigo and violet,
If only for a bit,
Walk among the leaves,
Feel the fall breeze.

poem by Fritzner Erauda
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We Walked Together In The Night

We walked together in the night
Hand in hand, intertwined
It was like a magical dream
I just couldn't believe

We walked together in the night
My heart raced on as if I might die
You calmed me down and told me everything would be alright

We walked together in the night
Just you and I
You held my hand, you held me close
You protected me, and kept me safe

We walked together in the night
That night was the best time of my life
Time I spent with you

We walked together in the night
We're just best friends....
But does this date mean anything?

We walked together in the night
We laughed, We played
We were nervous, We were afraid
What might happen after this night?

We walked together in the night
You took me out to the movies
You took me back to my house
Everything was perfect then
Until I ruined it...

I walked away with tears in my eyes.....I ruined it
I walked back home alone that night...because we weren't ready to date just yet

poem by Starrbox Munoz
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