Woods and Hills at Ponmudi
Seclusion under the foliage
Enchants me amidst wild melody.
Bowing blossoms give me homage
In the afternoon breezy.
Wood is fresh as virgin of village;
It’s chill puts out all embers softly.
Woods and hills are lovely so;
Spend a week there I wish I could.
Farms in woods are pensive so;
Scatter my seeds I wish I could.
In the darkness, fire-worms flash and out go;
Return with thought fruits I wish I could.
Soon all my wishes are milled,
While all clutched the mind under.
Again, down the hill I am pulled
By some gravitation power.
I am always thus pulled
To the same busy corner.
poem by Fabiyas M V
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Pulled Up
Mommy, daddy, come and look at me now
Im a big man in a great big town
Years ago who would believe its true
Goes to show what a little faith can do
I was complaining, I was down in the dumps
I feel so strong now cause you pulled me up!
Pull me up up up up up up up up
I slipped, and I got pulled
Pulled up, I tripped, and then you pulled,
You pulled me up
I slipped, and I got pulled,
Pulled up, I slipped, and then you pulled,
You pulled me up pull me up pull me up...
Pulled me up up up up up up up up
I drift away to another land
Sleeping dreaming such a simple thing
I think of things that I might be
I see my name go down in history
I was complaining, I was down in the dumps
I feel so string now cause you pulled me up!
Pull me up up up up up up up up
I slipped, and I got pulled,
Pulled up, I tripped, and then you pulled,
You pulled me up
I tripped, and I got pulled
Pulled up, I slipped, and then you pulled
You pulled me up! pulled me up up, pulled me up...
Pulled me up up up up up up up up
I got up
cause you pulled me up
I stood up
cause you pulled me up
I got up
And that was because you pulled me up
I got up
In a little while you pulled me up
Pull me up up up up, up up up up!
Pull me up up up up up up up up!
I cast a shadow on the living-room wall
Dark and savage with a profile so sharp
Keep that wonderful food on the table
Theres really no hurry Ill eat in a while
I was complaining, I was down in the dumps
I feel so strong now cause you pulled me up!
Pull me up up up up up up up up!
I slipped, and I got pulled
Pulled up, I tripped, and then you pulled,
You pulled me up
I slipped, and I got pulled
Pulled up, I slipped,
And then you pulled, you pulled me up!
Pull me up...pull me up...watch out!
Pull me up up up up up up up up!
Pull me up up up up up up up up!
Pull me up up up up up up up up!
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Into The Void
Im losing power and I dont know why
Not really sure if Ill live or die
I wanna leave but I cant get away
Its a strange sensation
Out of control being by myself
I feel this gravitation
Caught like a magnet and Im being pulled
Into the void
I wanna get away, get away
Into the void
Im being pulled, Im being pulled down
Into the void
This place is spinning, spinning around
Into the void
Fell like Im being pulled into a black hole
This crazy feelings screwing with my head
Im overloading and my gauges are red
State of confusions got ahold on me
I feel a hesitation
Im being (? )drug, pulled out of the track(? )
Dont like the situation
Caught like a magnet and Im being pulled
Into the void
I wanna get away, get away
Into the void
My head is spinning, spinning around round
Into the void
This force is getting, gettin stronger
Into the void
Fell like Im being pulled into a black hole
Into the void
Im being pulled, being pulled down down down
[solo]
Into the void
Dont like this feeling, Im being pulled down
Into the void
I wanna get away, get away
Into the void
Feel like its spinning, spinning around
Into the void
Im being pulled, being pulled down down down
Into the void
Get away, get away
Into the void
Fell like Im being pulled into a black hole
Into the void
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The poetess, the moon...and the woods Pt1
A tear traced a path on her cheek in the moonlight
As her lips brushed the brow of her sleeping child
She stood still for a moment, with eyes closed tightly
Corners of lips pulled up… in a winsome smile
Strode heavily to the open window
stared out into the woods, soft lit by the moon
Then with a sigh pulled down the window
And quietly tiptoed out of the room
Glanced in at her husband, long asleep in their bed
And in her mind gave him a kiss on the top of his head
Then sat at her desk and finished her poem
Sat back and reviewed it… one last time
It was about her life… and about her home
And about the glow of the woods in the moonshine
She nodded her head… as if in agreement
With the words that she had carefully, composed
Her finger touched “enter” with determined intent
Then her whole body slumped in repose
From the corners of her eyes, she saw the moon rise
Oe’r the woods from out of her window
A teardropp fell softly to her desk as she stood
And walked through the door for the very last time
She looked up at the moon and then strode into the woods
She had posted her last poem…her very last rhyme
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Setting The Woods On Fire
Comb your hair and paint and powder
You act proud and Ill act prouder
You sing loud and Ill sing louder
Tonight were setting the woods on fire
You my gal and Im your feller
Dress up in your frock of yeller
Ill look swell but youll look sweller
Setting the woods on fire
Well take in all the honkey tonks
Tonihgt were having fun
Well show the folks a brand new dance
That never has been done
I dont care who thinks were silly
You be daffy and Ill be dilly
Well order up to bowls of chili
Setting the woods on fire
Ill gas up my hot rod stocker
Well get hotter than a poker
Youll be broke but Ill be broker
Tonight were setting the woods on fire
Well sit close to one another
Up the one street and down the other
Well have a time o brother
Setting the woods on fire
Well put aside a little time
To fix a flat or two
My tires and tubes are doing fine
But the air is showing through
You clap hands and Ill start bowing
Well do all the laws allowin
Tomorrow Ill be right back plowing
Setting the woods on fire
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Settin The Woods On Fire
Comb your hair and paint and powder
You act proud and Ill act prouder
You sing loud and Ill sing louder
Tonight were setting the woods on fire
You my gal and Im your feller
Dress up in your frock of yeller
Ill look swell but youll look sweller
Setting the woods on fire
Well take in all the honkey tonks
Tonihgt were having fun
Well show the folks a brand new dance
That never has been done
I dont care who thinks were silly
You be daffy and Ill be dilly
Well order up to bowls of chili
Setting the woods on fire
Ill gas up my hot rod stocker
Well get hotter than a poker
Youll be broke but Ill be broker
Tonight were setting the woods on fire
Well sit close to one another
Up the one street and down the other
Well have a time o brother
Setting the woods on fire
Well put aside a little time
To fix a flat or two
My tires and tubes are doing fine
But the air is showing through
You clap hands and Ill start bowing
Well do all the laws allowin
Tomorrow Ill be right back plowing
Setting the woods on fire
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
poem by Robert Frost
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Walking in the Early Afternoon
When walking in the early afternoon
I think of you and wish you here with me;
The woods are such a lovely place in June,
You would enjoy it, this I guarantee.
Walking down the trails relieves my stress,
The beauty all around envelops me;
If you were here with me I could express
The happiness I feel with you and what I see.
Come take a walk with me some afternoon,
If you can find the time to get away;
The woods are such a lovely place in June,
We’ll savor every step along the way.
poem by Gail Grierson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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His Axe
Go and tell it on the mountains,
Go and sing it to the woods,
And go and tell her to return to her lovely tent;
For the woodman is ready with his axe.
Why share your nakedness with many men around?
For i have heard your voice from the midst of the fire and,
I will come looking for you.
Go and tell your sweet lover to return to you,
For she's still with her widow's clothes;
And there are no harlots in this town.
Let her keep what she has from you and,
Let her learn from my muse always;
For i could not find her among the lot when,
The sun went down in the woods.
Of the staff in your hand and,
Of her widow's garments;
But i need a ram for the Passover sacrifice.
It is like a sheep for my lover and,
A ship for you to sail on to your lover;
For i have seen the fire and the wood but,
Where is the lamb for the burnt offerings?
Who is still making love with her?
Because you still want her back!
But the mountains are still waiting to remind you of your first date.
Oh, the intent and the thoughts of man's heart;
Do you still remember the first time you fell in love with her?
For i will go out looking for her early in the morning and,
We will meeet again in the land of love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unbearably lovely music is heard as the curtain rises, and we see the woods on a summer afternoon. A fawn dances on and nibbles slowly at some leaves. He drifts lazily through the soft foliage. Soon he starts coughing and drops dead.
Woody Allen in Without Feathers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ancient Greek Song Of Exile
WHERE is the summer, with her golden sun?
-That festal glory hath not pass'd from earth:
For me alone the laughing day is done!
Where is the summer with her voice of mirth?
-Far in my own bright land!
Where are the Fauns, whose flute-notes breathe and die
On the green hills?-the founts, from sparry caves
Through the wild places bearing melody?
The reeds, low whispering o'er the river waves?
-Far in my own bright land!
Where are the temples, through the dim wood shining,
The virgin-dances, and the choral strains?
Where the sweet sisters of my youth, entwining
The Spring's first roses for their sylvan fanes?
-Far in my own bright land!
Where are the vineyards, with their joyous throngs,
The red grapes pressing when the foliage fades?
The lyres, the wreaths, the lovely Dorian songs,
And the pine forests, and the olive shades?
-Far in my own bright land!
Where the deep haunted grots, the laurel bowers,
The Dryad's footsteps, and the minstrel's dreams?
-Oh! that my life were as a southern flower's!
I might not languish then by these chill streams,
Far from my own bright land!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.
Robert Frost in Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hiding From The Broom!
i walk the paths of stillness
into the setting sun...
in the company of dead poets,
and a few mongrel dogs.
we come to a clearing,
and gather wood for a fire,
waiting on the night spirits to join us.
my hands are broken,
they cling to nothing and no one.
i see with my ears,
and listen with my eyes.
my soul rhymed by darkness
dissolves into dust,
while crickets chant eternity.
i return to an empty house,
curtains pulled, door flung open.
lighting a candle, i sit on the floor,
waiting for death, or morning.
only then i notice the spider,
candlelight tracing the web in the corner.
and in this moment i knew,
of such am i!
a moment, a corner,
my heart just a web...
waiting on love,
while hiding from the broom!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the strips of woods [În arcane de pădure]
In the strips of woods, the darkness in a scary way is clinging.
Both the crowded leaves are silent and the slender trees, so high;
Night is dumb, and sad, and dying, sheltered by the opaque sky,
But the nightingale is singing, but the nightingale is singing.
In the strips of woods, the tempest in a scary way is spinning,
Sending down a flood of water and a crimson bolt of flame;
Why is harmony a nuisance and a fury without aim,
But the nightingale is singing, but the nightingale is singing.
In the strips of woods, the terror with the quietness is mingling,
Late aurora under foliage cannot come to light the moss,
For in front of it the darkness blocks the way and lies across –
But the nightingale is singing, but the nightingale is singing.
poem by Alexandru Macedonski, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Winter and Hope
First snow atop the hill
sends a chill to the spine
it melts down all hopes
for the morning sunshine
men, women, pets and cattle
bit dismayed, amidst lull and calm
iced winds, blades cutting through
yet into a storm it has not brewed
hordes of men hurry and store
piles of extra wood and grass
time for them to hibernate
talking and singing to hour-glass
each one must tell a story
sitting by fire, under lock n bolt
happy women, busy with stove
lots of tea, meat and broiled poult
father and sons, one by one
climb the roof of their muddy abode
with shovels, spades and iron blades
they brush aside the unwanted load
every winter passes thus
with such fervour and desire
for a sunny and brighter morning
so as to smother the burning fire
(It is about how my hometown/village was until a few decades ago, where there was no electricity, and therefore, no television, computers or other gadgets to keep the family members unnecessarily busy and occupied) .
While the woods were green
WHILE the woods were green,
'Oh I' she sang, 'my heart is new,
Leaping, longing, in my breast:
Let him come that loves me true,
Let him come that I love best,
I will tell him what I mean,
Now the wood-birds tell it too,
Now the woods are green.'
While the woods were bare,
'Oh I' she sighed, 'my heart is grey,
Shrinking, shivering, in my breast:
Love me, hate me, as they may,
None of them do I love best:
Let me be alone with care,
Now the wood-birds hide away,
Now the woods are bare.'
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Line-Storm Song
The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift,
The road is forlorn all day,
Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift,
And the hoof-prints vanish away.
The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee,
Expend their bloom in vain.
Come over the hills and far with me,
And be my love in the rain.
The birds have less to say for themselves
In the wood-world’s torn despair
Than now these numberless years the elves,
Although they are no less there:
All song of the woods is crushed like some
Wild, easily shattered rose.
Come, be my love in the wet woods; come,
Where the boughs rain when it blows.
There is the gale to urge behind
And bruit our singing down,
And the shallow waters aflutter with wind
From which to gather your gown.
What matter if we go clear to the west,
And come not through dry-shod?
For wilding brooch shall wet your breast
The rain-fresh goldenrod.
Oh, never this whelming east wind swells
But it seems like the sea’s return
To the ancient lands where it left the shells
Before the age of the fern;
And it seems like the time when after doubt
Our love came back amain.
Oh, come forth into the storm and rout
And be my love in the rain.
poem by Robert Frost
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Tiger in the wood
There is a tiger in the woods
With such an attitude
There is a tiger in the woods
Do not stay out there in the nude
There is a tiger in the woods
Alternating between humble and rude
There is a tiger in the woods
Looking for its prey, so pray
Soon will be injurious what was once good
Ready and steady he sets about to slay
The brave who protrude along his way
There is a tiger in the wood
Thinking about you as food
A known serial killer
Seeking a bestial thriller
There is a tiger in the wood
Whose beautiful stripes, I conclude
Put you off guard. Understood?
Such display, I call the tiger’s interlude.
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Bounce Right Back
I was walking down the street
With my old friend luke
And the strangest thing we saw
There was a flash like dynamite
And we fell down to the floor
And as we looked up this weird dude stood
I guess he was standing about four feet five
With a nonchalance and a joie de vivre
His face was grinning from side to side
Chorus
Well he said button up and tighten your lip
Keep a check on what you say
Those crazy words you fling from your mouth
Are going to bounce back on you some day
Now several years pass
I thought nothing more
It was down to a nine to five grind
I was shuffling round to my old friends house
I had party on my mind
While chatting this chick
A guerilla muscled in
A brace of henchmen right behind
My blood boiled hard
Ill give you a piece of my mind
And this guy appeared by my side
Dont you know what he said
Chorus
I was walking down the street with my old friend luke
We were getting into a bit of a heavy scene
He say yes and I say no
He say what do you mean
I pulled my piece and he pulled his
We stared each other right in the eye
There was a flash like dynamite
And this guy appeared by our side
Chorus
song performed by by Howard Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.
quote by Robert Frost
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Danish Boy: A Fragment
I
Between two sister moorland rills
There is a spot that seems to lie
Sacred to flowerets of the hills,
And sacred to the sky.
And in this smooth and open dell
There is a tempest-stricken tree;
A corner-stone by lightning cut,
The last stone of a lonely hut;
And in this dell you see
A thing no storm can e'er destroy,
The shadow of a Danish Boy.
II
In clouds above, the lark is heard,
But drops not here to earth for rest;
Within this lonesome nook the bird
Did never build her nest.
No beast, no bird hath here his home;
Bees, wafted on the breezy air,
Pass high above those fragrant bells
To other flowers:--to other dells
Their burthens do they bear;
The Danish Boy walks here alone:
The lovely dell is all his own.
III
A Spirit of noon-day is he;
Yet seems a form of flesh and blood;
Nor piping shepherd shall he be,
Nor herd-boy of the wood.
A regal vest of fur he wears,
In colour like a raven's wing;
It fears not rain, nor wind, nor dew;
But in the storm 'tis fresh and blue
As budding pines in spring;
His helmet has a vernal grace,
Fresh as the bloom upon his face.
IV
A harp is from his shoulder slung;
Resting the harp upon his knee,
To words of a forgotten tongue
He suits its melody.
Of flocks upon the neighbouring hill
He is the darling and the joy;
And often, when no cause appears,
The mountain-ponies prick their ears,
--They hear the Danish Boy,
While in the dell he sings alone
Beside the tree and corner-stone.
V
There sits he; in his face you spy
No trace of a ferocious air,
Nor ever was a cloudless sky
So steady or so fair.
The lovely Danish Boy is blest
And happy in his flowery cove:
From bloody deeds his thoughts are far;
And yet he warbles songs of war,
That seem like songs of love,
For calm and gentle is his mien;
Like a dead Boy he is serene.
poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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