Uncovered
`
Belying this despised state
you hunch upon shuffling feet,
pondering the crunch of browned leaves.
Burrowing this dusty soil
you hide beneath scurrying paws,
forgetting the crash of billowy waves.
Blowing out raspy breath
you pucker withered lips;
release cotton-downed doves.
Bellowing against the horizon
you herd the flock from grazing;
shackled gates embrace nightfall.
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Darkness Uncovers
`
Belying this despised state
you hunch upon shuffling feet,
pondering the crunch of browned leaves.
Burrowing this dusty soil
you hide beneath scurrying paws,
forgetting the crash of billowy waves.
Blowing out raspy breath
you pucker withered lips;
release cotton-downed doves.
Bellowing against the horizon
you herd the flock from grazing;
shackled gates embrace nightfall.
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Uncovered
`
Belying this despised state
you hunch upon shuffling feet,
pondering the crunch of browned leaves.
Burrowing this dusty soil
you hide beneath scurrying paws,
forgetting the crash of billowy waves.
Blowing out raspy breath
you pucker withered lips;
release cotton-downed doves.
Bellowing against the horizon
you herd the flock from grazing;
shackled gates embrace nightfall.
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Farewell
`
grief belies this despised state
hunched upon shuffling feet
pondering the crunch of
browned leaves
grief burrows this desiccated soil
hidden beneath scurrying paws
forgetting the crush of
billowy waves
grief bruises this demented breath
hollowed out withered lips
releasing the fluttering wings
cotton-downed doves
grief bellows across horizons
herding the flock from grazing
shackling the gates
embracing the nightfall
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
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A Society of Grazing Sheep
The herd meanders, searching for the green
Pastures that hide past distant mountaintops.
They're a society of grazing sheep.
The herd looks down, ignoring what they've seen.
They're too busy chewing grass to stop.
They're a society of grazing sheep.
The herd wanders only to convene
In the pursuit of inhaling more crops.
They're a society of grazing sheep.
They don't yet realize that hungry eyes
Guide them—that wolves are hiding in disguise.
They're a society of grazing sheep.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Autumn On The Horizon
Autumn is on the horizon, I can tell
By the colored leaves that fell,
While all around the land was green,
The change in the season hardly seen.
Autumn is on the horizon, I can tell,
Orchard trees are fruitless as well.
Their outstretched boughs as if in a spell
As the succulent leaves begin to pale.
Autumn is on the horizon, I can tell,
Birds not singing on the porch rail
Sensing the coming of the autumn chill,
Prepare to flock on the nearby hill.
Autumn is on the horizon, I can tell
Seeing woolly caterpillars on the boarded well,
Squirrels scurrying across the ground
Where hickory nuts now abound.
Autumn is coming soon, if one believes,
The land will be covered with a blanket of leaves.
Flowers wilting beneath the hazy sky,
No longer attracting a beautiful butterfly.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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The Doves And The Tree
what i first see are the doves hovering on the tree
they are many and the tree looks as though its leaves are plenty
for one thing
the doves when they hover
they hover together
as a flock
and when they leave
they also leave together
as a flock
and the tree can do nothing about it
and thus it happens
the doves all left at the same time leaving the tree to the truth
of its existence
it has no leaves at all this summer
when hot is really hot in here
when all the doves fly away together
the tree
looks like the thin, worn fingers of a very old man
opening, stretching to the skies
praying for mercies
and what about it God?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Credit Crunch Punch
I had a hunch about the credit crunch
Now it is making an unusual loud scrunch
Take a look at the whole financial bunch
Stock brokers make money on just a keypunch
Millionaires overspend on exquisite lunches
Those in poverty get the credit crunch punch
While many in this world cannot afford brunch
I had a hunch about the credit crunch
Now it is making an unusual loud scrunch
With Governments pumping billions into bank
As Banks claim to have an empty money tank
Everyone moans about previous inadequate loans
But the inevitable can no longer be postponed
I had a hunch about the credit crunch
Now it is making an unusual loud scrunch
As we all have to face the credit crunch punch
Coypright 2008 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Views From Here....
the afternoon sun
leaves its last light cast upon the dusty leaves of the mango tree
the sea is calm and from a distance it hardly moves
as though it has given all its waves away to the passing winds
a red truck parks beside a cemented fence
below it so much of gravel and unwanted fragments of rocks
as i finish another work deciding upon the
liberty of this man wrongfully accused
of a crime which he denies as always
as not having committed it
i am pondering now how to see the truth beyond all these
views.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It Was Autumn Night
Hear the yell at front the door
Knock! Knock! In there!
The beating of my heart pounds
Thump! Do you have any care!
It was Autumn night
Out the door we leave our way
The long winding dusty road ahead
Crunch! Crunch! Crunch!
Atumn leaves sit in a piled bed
It was Autumn night
Here we are just the two of us alone
Clink! Clink! Clink! raise our glass
Smiles, laughter, and thrills
As we toast to today and for the past!
It was Autumn night
poem by Suelynn Walters
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An Amber Autumn
Beneath the leaves
Of an amber autumn
I hide myself, deep away
At the foot of the trees
Colors above
That sway in the soft breeze
But I can see only one
The branch of the turtle dove
This cool autumn
Has taken away love
And has thrown it from the trees
It rests at the bottom
So far from here
Over the fields of cotton
The small white turtle doves fly
A journey lasting years
A time has passed
I can think without tears
Back to the amber autumn
That now rests in the past
poem by David DeAngelo
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Beneath All Else...
beneath my feet
i hide my shadows and
they escape like
fugitives
under the guises
of their
sad stories
beneath my hands
i clasp my emptiness
and shaped like a ball
you mistake it for
fullness
you are confused
and i look amazed
still unfazed by your
feigned confidences
beneath my hair
i hide my thoughts
beneath my skull
i hide my soul
beneath my beliefs
i hide a number of faces
beneath my heart
i tell love stories
beneath all these
are the shallowness of them all
something that nobody expects
for i am simple
as a yellow paper
where you list
your bad debts
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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George Edmunds' Song
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around he here;
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
How like the hopes of childhood's day,
Thick clust'ring on the bough!
How like those hopes in their decay-
How faded are they now!
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here;
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
Wither'd leaves, wither'd leaves, that fly before the gale:
Withered leaves, withered leaves, ye tell a mournful tale,
Of love once true, and friends once kind,
And happy moments fled:
Dispersed by every breath of wind,
Forgotten, changed, or dead!
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here!
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
poem by Charles Dickens
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Browned chestnuts roasting,
present wraps reflect past fire
downed champagne toasting
haiku by Jonathan Robin (22 December 1994)
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A Whirl-Blast from Behind The Hill
A Whirl-Blast from behind the hill
Rushed o'er the wood with startling sound;
Then--all at once the air was still,
And showers of hailstones pattered round.
Where leafless oaks towered high above,
I sat within an undergrove
Of tallest hollies, tall and green;
A fairer bower was never seen.
From year to year the spacious floor
With withered leaves is covered o'er,
And all the year the bower is green.
But see! where'er the hailstones drop
The withered leaves all skip and hop;
There's not a breeze--no breath of air--
Yet here, and there, and everywhere
Along the floor, beneath the shade
By those embowering hollies made,
The leaves in myriads jump and spring,
As if with pipes and music rare
Some Robin Good-fellow were there,
And all those leaves, in festive glee,
Were dancing to the minstrelsy.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Under An Oak Tree
The leaves of my soul crunch beneath my feet
With the many pieces of me
They all collapse without the other half
Wind telling them secrets
The flowers singing them songs
But all of them horror
Saddened lies and deceit
The sent of a green tree so sweet and desirable
Just stands behind me to protect his prize
A rose gently swaying in the breeze
If carefully picked she might know how to please
Then yet again like a man of waves and fire
A man of stone and beard
Once said all women are like snakes
Not all snakes are venomous
But all snakes are deadly
I am different
And this he sees
Very easy to please
All I want is to laugh
To smile and to give
This he does
The wind in my hair is so great
But I know the evilness it holds
The secrets it tells
Dares not to share them with me
Blowing the pages in my journal around
Like a teen to its mother
The fresh due tickling my finger tips
As if feathers trying to make me sneeze
Warming my cooled face
The reds and yellows spying into my eyes
To see what I’m dreaming about
I see as I open my eyes
I was just sleeping under the oak tree
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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Cotton Candy Clouds
Big billowy clouds float by,
Like so much cotton candy.
Gently floating through the sky,
Just as pretty, as they can be.
Some are grey, some are white,
The tops extend forever.
Cotton candy in the heights,
Pursuing their endeavors.
12/28/10
poem by Juan Olivarez
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The Tiger Smells Blood
Silently resting neath a tree,
Pawing at the straw of grass.
Eyes piercing the horizon,
Searching all senses alas.
Resting on the cool mud,
Then the Tiger smells blood.
The Tigers nostrils become filled,
Running toward the freshly killed.
The Tiger stalks through the meadow,
Sun to back, ready to attack.
A pack of dogs surround the meat,
He leaps into the pack ready to eat.
The pack filled with fear,
Stare at the mighty beast.
Would they stand fast,
Or become a part of the feast.
The Tiger snarls shoulders hunch,
Who would stand before his lunch.
The dogs bark and run away,
They would not eat their prey.
The Tiger eats the carcass crushing bones,
He then returns to lay beneath the tree.
His meal digested and stomach moans,
He licks his paws, then smiles with glee.
An old man robbed by ruthless hood,
Like a pack of dogs they draw blood.
They leave him laying in their city pride,
In the jungle, the beast will eat their hide.
poem by Saint Eule
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November Cotton Flower
Boll-weevil's coming, and the winter's cold,
Made cotton-stalks look rusty, seasons old,
And cotton, scarce as any southern snow,
Was vanishing; the branch, so pinched and slow,
Failed in its function as the autumn rake;
Drouth fighting soil had caused the soil to take
All water from the streams; dead birds were found
In wells a hundred feet below the ground--
Such was the season when the flower bloomed.
Old folks were startled, and it soon assumed
Significance. Superstition saw
Something it had never seen before:
Brown eyes that loved without a trace of fear,
Beauty so sudden for that time of year.
poem by Jean Toomer
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Rake At The Gates Of Hell
Mother's eyes are sparkling diamonds,
Still the moon shows no light
This rose is withered, may God deliver
The rake at the gates of hell tonight
Yigh!
I wish that they could walk forever,
On the earth, alone, unfettered
Til they pray for consolation,
Til they beg for sweet damnation
Then I'll come and bring them water,
Bring them hope, bring them laughter
Raise their hopes so sad and sunken
Slash them up as they lie there drunken
Push them down into the foul mud
Til they choke up on their own blood
Drag them out before their last breath
To take away the mercy of death
Mother's eyes are sparkling diamonds
Still the moon shows no light
This rose is withered, may God deliver
The rake at the gates of hell tonight
Yigh!
Mother's eyes are sparkling diamonds
Still the moon shows no light
This rose is withered, may God deliver
The rake at the Gates of Hell tonight
Mother's eyes are sparkling diamonds
Still the moon shows no light
This rose is withered, may God deliver
The rake at the gates of hell tonight
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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‘Fantasies
You-you were in my dreams last-last night
You came -came unto me from the heavens
So beautiful
Even stars bow down at your feet
And angels desire your virtue.
His sweet lips run down my spine
Blowing-blowing my mind away-
His gentle touch cause my bones
To echo in anguish delight.
His placid tongue explored my body
So mild-
Searching for my fruitful garden,
My fountain filled with honey
Overflowed-
And his fingers probe my sweet folds.
We were-connected
His hard muscles crash between
Soft pillows.
Our bodies merged in heavenly bliss
As our fantasies exploded in sweet torment.
poem by C.F Francis
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