En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Voice

`

leaves rustle in a dance
the wind, their live band
birds, their vocal ensemble
but your voice remains still
not a sound to be heard

leaves rustle on a tome
your words printed out and bound
inked clues guide memories
but your voice still remains -
faded familiar sound

leave, just leave without a word
your thoughts riding on the wind
echo back that distant call
bring to life this one last time
the hearts you left behind

`

poem by Frederick Kesner
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The Poet Tree

Rustle, little leaves above, rustle in the breeze...
Rustle, little leaves of love, rustle mid God's peace!
Rustle, every night and day, rustle every hour...
Rustle, rustle, come what may, rustle mid God's power!
Rustle, for then wise words are formed,
Great expectations made!
Through such as these, men's hearts are warmed
And children's prayers are prayed!
Rustle upon the Poet Tree,
Above the poets' ears,
So they may learn each melody,
These God-picked volunteers...
Rustle sweetly, and gently on,
Persist from age to age -
Let all God's poets write upon
Their separate nearby page...
Rustle until all humans die
And no more poets live!
Until no soul would question, 'Why? '
And there's no cause to give!
Rustle until God tells you stop,
'Dear friends, at last, be free...
'Tis time for you to fall, to drop...
Beneath the Poet Tree...
I've loved each poem, every one...
And Jesus loved them, too!
You've blessed the world! Your task is done!
Your rustle days are through...'

poem by Denis Martindale
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0018 Man Raking Leaves (re Jim Morrison lyric)

The sound of wooden rake scratching concrete.
walk nearer - rustle of dry leaves.

This, the beginning of a Japanese haiku
or maybe a Japanese film -
dry sound first, then rake, then leaves, then man -
that evokes autumn
too near the heart
to need a title

the sound stops. silence. man leans on rake.
then match strikes, there's almost yes an echo
from the dry leaves not yet fallen from the trees
in the forest all around.

then the first tickle in the nostrils
of burning leaves which
the two-year old scrunching through the trees
hand in hand with older sister
will remember all his life
like the silence between
two lines of a haiku or
the silence of the moment when the seasons turn.

and who can say
what the golden-orange-yellow-brown trees
slowly stripping in a rustle as of silken nightgown
to the tune of, more a whisper than a breeze -
what the trees feel
as the incense of their, their, burning leaves
steals like a last caress
for each such faithful
lover?

poem by Michael Shepherd
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And There is...an Echo

And there is an echo
A voice without voice
Floats and repeats
The real sound of voice

That is echo
Praised by the mute
Who shouts in the sea of mist
Without someone to know

That is echo
Swing by the name
But it ignores and says
Steals the sound of real voice

But let the echo
Takes the voice and echoes
Before the power is gone
And disappears word by word

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The wind of life

Everything has been taken down
everyone has up and left
gone, like the wind, taking leaves to another place
not necessarily better, but not the same as before
it's like the wind, an external force, is changing
all the leaves know against there own will
two paths to take, the choice at hand
embrace transition or live in your
memories, beautiful, so beautiful
memories, the times of your life
but memories, like a flytrap, like a cobra
lie in wait, appearance oh so memorizing
retreat to them, your memories, and you'll be eaten alive
by the shifting times, the wind
the external force causing constant change
but like a house, built on stone
my love for you will never fall
never bend, no never break
the wind will never move that house
so let the wind have its way
blow me away, blow you away
one thing remains, oh it will never change

poem by Dov Doviak
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Calm of the Sea

the whole day
the coconut leaves rustle
and punctuate
our tete a tete
allowing us to savour
the fineness of the tropics
the warm wind
titilates our senses
in way only humans
could know
the whole day
by the beach
the waves roar
leaping against the pier
a little sampan
bobs up and down
the sound of a
young couple on love bed
an enclosed
insect circling
a case looking for
the crevice of freedom
the sea crushes on and on
in the waves
i seek a calm
my worries trail its sound
emptied as the bubbles
burst into nothing
the sea of desires
that tugs at my heart
i submerge in the vast morass of water
left on the sand
pensive footsteps
lead me to my thoughts of Buddha
his walk to enlightenment
away from the ceaseless
waves of wants
that pound against
the human heart day after day
in these footsteps
i find zen
a calm in the frenzy of waves and wind
nirvana
where the sea
remains so serene
it reflects the peace
of all around

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Voice

Too soon a voice calls out to us
and we hear it sorrowfully.
The words we hear we have heard before.
They echo eternity.

The voice sings praises to our soul
and soothes our troubled mind.
And as we reckon with what's to come
we feel a voice so kind.

We cross the space from here to there
and leave mortality.
Even though our mind has been troubled
we'll miss the sky and sea.

For what we've experienced while on earth
no matter bad or good.
will leave with us as memories
that follow us as they should.

The voice we hear is so familiar
that we recognize at last
it's the voice from everyone we've been
that defines all of our past.

So when the voice calls out with love
cast aside all fear.
Remember your loves. Remember your life
and all that you held dear.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Behold the beautiful wooden box

Behold the beautiful wooden box
Within it, is a faded suicide note
Underneath, lies a knife
Your blood remains on the blade forever
But did you really mean to leave it there
Did you really mean to leave me alone
I've cried over you for so long
Now it's time to meet once more
I set my suicide note with yours
And I take the knife in my hand
I can still hear your voice, like a haunting mellody
Did you really mean to leave me
I slice through the veins in my wrist
Then I set the knife back in the box
And leave it in the hollow tree
As I lie on your grave and cry one last time
I have become so weak
I can hardly breathe now
Then I hear your soft voice
Telling me it's okay to close my eyes now
I whisper to you I'm sorry I waited so long
As I close my eyes to your deadly kiss
Now we're together again
And this time nothing shall ever part us

Behold the beautiful wooden box
Within it, are two faded suicied notes
Underneath, lie two halves of two broken hearts
Which death has stiched together
To make our love whole again

poem by Echo Burke
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Picture Poem #212 (From, This is my Wasteland)

Morning fresh
with sound of rustle wind

at the treetops
blowing sunset leaves

tomorrow's
a hunter of dream

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Hustle and Bustle

There’s all this
Hustle and Bustle
And things that should rustle
All the feathers on my back
But thoughts of you and me
Living together by the beach
Keeps me sound
Keeps my feathers down
And
When this happens
Or that doesn’t
I know you’ll be something extra
My bakers dozen
So stay with me till we live on the beach
And don’t ever leave
Because without you
There’s no me
Don’t ever leave
Because without you there’s no me.

poem by Daniel Cook
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Wind, Light, Leaves and Men

wind
leaves
they dance
with each other
they carress too
you hear the sound
of their love making
each time they meet
light joins in
to enrich the dance
and become one entity - laugh
louder than the sea
leaves - they are the dream of
wind and light comes true
wind, light, leaves
whenever they gather
men, animals join in their fun
take away one
and the world cries to an end

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Magic of Sound

I’ve heard the soft whisper of wind in the pine trees,
The silvery ripple of brooklets at play;
I’ve heard the low voice of a sweet singing mother
As she sang to her child at the end of the day.

I’ve heard the faint rustle of sails in the sunset
And blue waves caressing the wild, rockbound shore;
The whistle of trains as they cross the green prairie
And mountains re-echo the cataract’s roar.

The notes of the organs in ancient cathedrals,
Where hearts of the faithful are lifted in song;
I’ve heard the gay laughter as children were playing,
The chatter and buzz of a large, happy throng.

The earth has its music for those who will listen;
Its bright variations forever abound.
With all of the wonders that God has bequeathed us,
There’s nothing that thrills like the magic of sound.

poem by Reginald Holmes
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As You Look Deep Into The Mirror

the mirror is the echo of the sound you make
inside yourself,
the voice that you utter when nobody watches you
when all of them left to their homes
and you are left alone
talking to yourself, the voice comes out
from your heart
speaking your name, your dreams
you hear the voice that you cannot see
calling you
and so you stand before the mirror
and try once more
to see the face of that voice
fair and square
it tells you who you really are
softer inside
hard on the outside
the exoskeleton that you have been making
breaks down
like flakes of mud drying
the warmth in your eyes is still there
the affection you want to give
the love you want to spread

they are all there
in your eyes
but you cannot help it
seeing something ugly

you have not spoken
the voice hides in the silence
walled by your teeth
your tongue swollen

this discomfort of not saying
anything as everyone you love

leaves the door still opening
to the cold outside

the wind hunting for some stars

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wandering

Neither
beginning
or end
the journey
walks with
familiar boots
that smell of fields
winter and summer skies
the rustle of autumn leaves

they turn up
sitting beside
me
as the slipping sun dips
over warm oceans
while the unfamiliar
blows
across in the wind

riding
through colour
spices, saffron, cumin
on windowless buses
jostling
over pot holes
they rest.

poem by Diana Rosser
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Living Leaves

The leaves seem to take on a life of their own,
As, along the ground, they’re bounced and blown.
They run rings around my rapidly pacing feet;
Pulsating, moving, as if dancing to a musical beat.

Along the ground, the leaves skip and skitter,
As they’re blown around by the wind so bitter.
Each other, they sometimes appear to chase,
As they run around, with such a great haste.

With me, the leaves seem to be playing a game,
But they are very boisterous, and not at all tame.
Devoid of moisture, they’re as light as a feather,
And are lifted effortlessly, in this windy weather.

Some of them take flight through the air like kites;
Often soaring up to the most remarkable heights.
They zoom all around: so much higher than me;
Seemingly thrilled that, at last, they’re finally free.

Endless energy, the leaves seem to have acquired:
If we ran around like that, we would soon be tired.
The long dead leaves, all brown, with edges curled,
Are whipped up by the wind, and tirelessly whirled.

The leaves perform such a merry little dance;
Up into the air, they now do leap and prance.
To each other, they seem to whisper and rustle,
As, along the streets, they now hustle and bustle.

Following their freedom, they seem keen to explore.
They’re totally undiscouraged by the wind so raw.
More and more leaves excitedly come out to play
As. along the road, I carry onwards, on my way.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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How I love your Voice

How I love to hear you speak and call my name
The way your lips, tongue, and mouth forms letters and words
Those sensual overtones that utter sweet sounds that resonate in my ears
How I love to hear you speak

Your articulation brings forth joy and laughter to my soul
Your words are like music set to a melody sang by angels
It is like the birds summoning me to paradise
Your subtle amplitude drives me while at ever utterance

I beg you to continue speaking to me for I have never heard a sweeter tone
Your audible vibrations are like a musical instrument playing lullabies to my soul
Your voice reminds me of being a child being rocked to sleep
Speak to me in those warm tones of elegance that only you possess

How I love to here your voice in all its magnitude
It comforts me on my lonely days of inner reflection
It brings me hope for a greater day
When I hear you regulate the tones I am in a trance

I am captivated by every sentence you speak
I listen to your words intently at its rhythm
It warms me on a cold day and cools me off in the heat
How I love just to hear you speak to me

I would give it all away just to hear your words
Such satisfying sounds swings me back and forth in a dizzy dance
I lose my footing every time you speak
It is not just your words but the beauty within that captivates me so

I save all your messages to hear plaid over and over again
They are melodious songs that bring forth the light of a new day
They are enchanting as you are in life
No words spoken could explain the grace and charm of your voice

Each time you speak I have died a thousand times
With each word I am sent heaven bound
Your voice takes me places only imagined in dreams
Paradise once lost is found in your voice

Let it be known that there is no other like you
I am compelled to a higher ground
Your expressions are like the wind in my sails that sets me free
I cannot place no other above you

Your voice is all I ever need to hear in life
Your ability to speak brings shivers up and down my spine
It has the greatest influence over my body
If I should ever fall and stricken deaf, your voice would remain reverberating in my heart
It would be the last sounds I would want to hear
Your name would be the last sound spoken from my lips

Your voice, how I love it so

poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Feuilles D'Automne

Gather the leaves from the forest
And blow them over the world,
The wind of winter follows
The wind of autumn furled.

Only the beech tree cherishes
A leaf or two for ruth,
Their stems too tough for the tempest,
Like thoughts of love and of youth.

You may sit by the fire and ponder
While darkness veils the pane,
And fear that your memories are rushing away
In the wind and the rain.

But you'll find them in the quiet
When the clouds race with the moon,
Making the tender silver sound
Of a beech in the month of June.

For you cannot rob the memory
Of the leaves it loves the best;
The wind of time may harry them,
It rushes away with the rest.

poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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A Poem About Emptiness

there is word that is written
and it does not stop there as a word
it becomes a syllable
it wriggles and duplicates itself like
a viral infection
(sadly, for this may be the cause of death
and suffering)
and having translated itself into
a multiplicand
it threatens you with bifocal words
acquiring a scent and sound
a siren's call
the sound of the broken shell losing its voice
(not the wind, do not intrigue the wind
with this
for it's free and indifferent
to its independence)
speak about the sea and the waves that
it is giving
all for free and a show of hellos and goodbyes
of to and fro
of come and go
(this may make sense now)
it is a journey never ending
pretending to finish it on the shore
but no
it simply reaches there and leave a mark
of the blankness of the sand
wet and dries again
the laps of the land
which also makes a gimmick of its own
mimicking the sea
it throws the sands back to it
kisses it too
and then goes back to its still state
staring but not really minding what is too ordinary
to behold
this union and separation
this thing that happens all the time
seemingly
there is no joy in this
not even sorrow
just a repetition of what must happen
and what shall happen all over again
it is never ending
a circle
much like a hole
this emptiness that God only fills.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Silence in my world..

I lay back and close my eyes
As memories of laughter
And countless conversations, fill my head
I hear the wind moving
And the sound of my breathing
I hear the leaves rustling
And the sound of footsteps fading

The laughter is long gone
The only voice I hear is mine
As Silence invades my world
Mercilessly, thoughtlessly
Our song comes to my mind
And I struggle to sing it
But the words don't come to me
As Silence fills my world with emptiness
Deafening it, endlessly.

poem by Gauri Gupta
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Fast thoughts

Siren
Rumble of traffic
Rustle of wind
Singing of birds
Noise of the tv
Cracking and creaking of conservatory
Own soft breathing
Tapping of pen
Rattle of paper
Thoughts

What will this time bring?
What is the phone rings?
Why can't I rid of this hung-over feeling?
What are they doing
And what is he thinking?
Should I feel guilty for sitting and sinking?
Should I be working?
For test that are lurking
What should I wear for work when I'm flirting?
Should I be flirting?
Working my shirt
And being their shine when I know that they hurt?

The sight of my phone
The look of my nails
The book in the background
The newspaper tails

The siren inside
The rumble of words
The rustle of fear
The screaming of thoughts
The need to be free
The cracking and tapping of anxiety
Own soft breathing
Tapping of pen
Rustle of paper
Thoughts

Feeling unhealthy
Fearing the stealthy
Working right now
To one day be wealthy
Making a million
Or giving up bread
The siren of nothing
So loud in my head

Should I get up
And make myself stand?
Make use of this book
This pen in my hand?

Instead I will sit
For a minute of two
And be glad that one day
I'll have nothing to do.

poem by Peggy Pollock
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The Autumn Wind

I.

HUSH, moaning autumn wind! be still, be still!
Thy grieving voice forbiddeth hearts to rest;
We hear thee sweeping down the lonely hill,
And mournful thoughts crowd o'er the human breast.
Why wilt thou haunt us, with thy voice unkind,
Sadd'ning the earth? Hush, moaning autumn wind!
II.

Toss not the branching trees so wildly high,
Filling the forest with thy dreary sound:
Without thy aid the hues of summer die,
And the sear leaves fall scatter'd to the ground.
Thou dost but hasten, needlessly unkind,
The winter's task, thou moaning autumn wind!
III.

Sweep not thro' Ocean's caves with hollow roar,
Driving our fair ships to some rock-bound strand!
While the vex'd sea foams wrathful to the shore,
The seaman's wife looks shuddering from the land,
And widow'd hearts for many a year shall find
Death in thy voice, thou moaning autumn wind!
IV.

Round our calm dwellings, when our hearths are gay,
Roam not, oh howling spirit of Despair!
As tho' thou wert a creature seeking prey,
And where the land look'd richest, found it there.
We have enough of memories unkind
Without thy voice, thou moaning autumn wind!
V.

Thee the sad mourner lists, and turns to weep,
In the blank silence of her lonely home;
The sick man hears, and starts from broken sleep,
And the night-wanderer sighs--compell'd to roam;
While the poor shiver, for their huts unkind
Bar thee not out, thou searching autumn wind!
VI.

Back to the barren hill and lonely glen!
Here let the wandering of thy echoes cease;
Sadly thou soundest to the hearts of men,--
Hush thy wild voice, and let the earth have peace;
Or, if no chain thy restless will can bind,
Sweep thro' the desert, moaning autumn wind!

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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