En.Citatepedia^®.ro

After You Left (Fay Slimm Form)

The day you left the rain poured down almost endless;
many things have changed.
The jasmine, geraniums and irises started blooming
as if they were destined
with pretty flowers opening in the morning mist,
the air soft with lavender
breezed into the room through the open window
but still your shadow
keeps on wandering into my mind, much
as if you are hiding somewhere.
The sun came just as bright as
when you were here, shining with intensity
and each and every day birds sing joyously,
happy to be free.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Forever

The bright blue
folds open through the room’s window
and I see rows of purple morning glories
that shoots in domes up to the wall.

There are purple irises
that keeps butterflies busy
and bees turn around the roses
and I can hear
them passing outside

and the soft sweet smell of jasmine
mixes with lavender
on the fresh morning breeze

and the ginger golden Persian cat
stretches himself out long
on the wall
of the fish pond
where he lies
looking at the world.

Somewhere Sussa
(the big black dog)
talks grumbling with herself
and I hear Flippie
passing carefully
on her small paws
in the corridor

and we are safe
in our fortress
and your hand lies
soft and spoiling over me
and I hear your breathing evenly
and while you sleep next to me
and I could stay forever like this.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All our morning glory days are done

All our morning glory days are done
just like the flowers
that you made me rip out
from where they grew
towering under the sun.

The garden is empty
and stripped of the violet flowers
that grew everywhere
and I am no longer there

and wonder if the geraniums,
irises, marigolds, white lilies,
red roses and lavender
are still being watered

or is every thing in your life
just fading away
into death
with the falling leaves
of this autumn?

poem by Gert Strydom
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Coming Of Happy Tomorrows

COMING OF HAPPY TOMORRWS

Dark clouds decorated by silver lining
Floating across gray skies promising
For all those struggling in shadows
About the coming of happy tomorrows

Colors of the splayed sunlight
In the pouring rain shining bright
For all those wondering at the rainbow
About the comings of happy tomorrows

Barks of the bare oak tree
Showing signs of spirit in free
In the wings of flying sparrows
About the comings of happy tomorrows

Smiles of the blooming flowers of spring
Stirring up emotions making bees sing
For all those hiding in burrows
About the comings of happy tomorrows

Gurgles of the streams in flow
Keeping its ripples as wind blows
Calling out for those in bellows
About the comings of happy tomorrows

Glow of sparks underneath the ashes
Shining like stars making a wish
For those deep in the wallow
About the comings of happy tomorrows

poem by Mittur Ramprasad
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Three prayers during spring

I. I did not expect this early spring

I did not expect that after this severe winter
that destroyed flowers, grass and plants
that this early
without even rain falling, showering down
spring would come in all this glory

with trees blossoming in bright white and pink colours
plants flowering
unfurling and to be again really living.

I did not expect these blessings,
in life’s early winter
that even though I am constrained,
my career is falling to pieces
and not by my own making
my words, my verses
are coming to their own

and this has brought me
to see that God is truly great
that even the seasons of life
is in His hand.

II. My buds are form Your hand

I thank you Lord that you by grace are blessing me
causing my slender flowers to grow,
that you let my words pour down like rain

hanging flooding over in bell like strings
in internodes, joints of roses
in a pure white colouring which catches the eye

that by love you delegate me as the one
who is worth to blossom in your shade.
I thank you Lord that you by grace are blessing me

not like others of my kind, but hanging
with odourless buds opening
in internodes, joints of roses

in strings upon strings
and although some people want to prune me of blunt,
that you let my words pour down like rain

although people hit in nails
ridicule, hold my words, my verses in parody
with odourless buds opening

my abilities are formed on your grindstone,
although my stems are struggling against a stormy wind.
I thank you Lord that you by grace are blessing me

folding your strong hand over me,
although they are thinking of flowers like roses, irises, geraniums
ridicule, hold my words, my verses in parody

you are sending my verses out to all places
and I thank you that they are flowing from your hand,
that you let my words pour down like rain

that your light shines like diamonds in every drop,
that you are causing my cups to burst open
although they are thinking of flowers like roses, irises, geraniums

which brings forth fragrant odours, but I am
tempered by you to glow with an own beauty.
I thank you Lord that you by grace are blessing me
that you let my words pour down like rain

ingenuous, pure and fresh
flooding over in bell like strings
that you are causing my cups to burst open
in a pure white colouring which catches the eye.

l’Envoi
III. In your shade and care I am blossoming

I thank you Lord
that you by grace are blessing me
causing my slender flowers to grow
flooding over in bell like strings
in internodes, joints of roses

not peach, purple or pink
like others of my kind
but in a pure white colouring
with odourless buds opening

and some ridicule, hold my words,
my verses of rhyme and free form in parody
but my flowering is from your hand

and I can understand that they are thinking
of flowers like roses, irises, geraniums
which are tempered against the elements
bringing forth fragrant odours
that perfumes the air
but in your shade and care I am blossoming.

[Reference: The blossoming by Tatamkhulu Afrika, Vier gebede gedurende die jaargety in die Boland (Four prayers during the yearly seasons in the Boland.) by N.P. van Wyk Louw.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Its Morning

Its morning
Sun rising
Moon hiding
Birds chirping
Flowers blooming
Eyes opening
Many waking
Many sleeping
Dew on the leaves
Evaporating
Bees humming
Church bell ringing
Silence going
Noise increasing
Life keeps moving
Like ever before
Night or morning
Same story again

poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Window

If you have a window,
In your little dark room,
Four walls can't bind you,
The ray of the sun,
Will jostle, willingly,
To enter into your tiny world.
The sky will peep into,
To get you away from the shadow.
A singing bird will sing,
Beside it, to tinge your,
Mind with the melody.....
Air will pass thru it,
Bearing the fragrance of
The first blooming rose.
The window will show you,
The road to the unknown...
The horizon where, the
Earth and the sky embrace,
Each other, calling you,
To be out, out there,
To make the stars guide,
The sky, your philosopher,
And the sun, your friend.
If you have a window,
Keep it open and it will,
Give you the address of,
The unknown, unexplored paths.

poem by Nilakshi Das
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I Am Not Afraid Anymore In The Dark

yes, there is nothing to fear in darkness
nothing
is there anyway, nothing to feel in this emptiness emptying itself
like evaporating water into vapor
in space like a bag of dust spreading like feathers
in openness

you feel empty you feel the void wriggling inside your
guts
your mind floating so lightly like a dream in your sleep
like a mist
of the mountain
like a mist
of the green fields early morning
like a mist
floating in an open sea where a man paddles his life on his small wooden sail

be excited as i am excited about you
tipsy
in spirits of the red wine
and feeling so light so empty like a ray of light like a smoke rising from
a cigar
filling the room filling your chest

be excited as i am excited about you
emptying
like a window opening to the skies to see some shooting stars like eyes
gazing to an open ricefield
emptying wondering to so much wisdom now rushing back to you
like a door opening
for an incoming guest
like a crevice of your wall letting in a ray of light telling you
that morning with the sun
is coming

oh be excited as i am excited about you as i watch dawn turning into
day
oh, i am so happy seeing the void expanding

how much can you really hold on the next step after so much void?
oh i am so excited!

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Searching For Love

(10/13/11)

Two more loving hearts have joined the ranks
Two more loving hearts giving thanks
Although it has taken some time
We have left our loneliness behind.
Every time we looked around
Loneliness would drag us down.

Now all we see is happiness every day
And no one will take that away.
The most beautiful thing in this world
More beautiful than diamonds and pearls.
Is love given to us from up above.

Love can make the darkest day turn bright
And all its beauties become in plain sight.
Things that you had never noticed before
Like an orange sky surrounded by blue
And the morning sun peeping through.

Clouds of white drifting by
While the birds are flying high
The sound of the birds chirping in the trees
All these beauties are for free.

The autumn leaves of red and gold
Such a beautiful sight to behold.
A smile from a stranger
That you once saw full of anger.

The nightly scents of flowers in bloom
That once were hidden in the darkness of the moon.
The smell of jasmine and lavender in the air
Wiping away all troubles and cares.
These are just some of the things that you find
When you leave that lonely road behind.
Search for love - no matter what it takes
Otherwise it’ll be too late.

poem by Louis Rams
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Morning’s Glory

Dawn breaks the stranglehold
of a sleepy dusky night.
The sun peers above the eastern horizon
as morning begins to break into full glory.
Flowers open their petals wide
to allow the warmth inside;
birds leave their roosts
to wander the sky.
The morning’s glory soars
on delicate golden wings
as the early birds begin to sing.
Morning’s glory looks down on all
awakening with sleepy eyes,
preparing them to go
through a brand new day
that starts with the morning’s glory
and the sun shining bright.

9 December 2009

poem by David Harris
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Beautiful Morning

What a beautiful morning
The best in life is free

What a beautiful morning
Believe me

What a mystery
Though the world's on fire
Yesterday's hard words is still in my head
I feel no despair
No regrets or sorrows
Cause this new day
Makes me dance on air

What a golden day

What a beautiful morning in my life
The best in life is free
I give it all away
And I wonder what more is to come
And this beautiful morning changed my mind
Believe me when I say
The shadows fading out

As the day grows bright
We are turning pages
And we write new chapters of our life
Some are strong and long
Others weak with sorrows
Keep the focus on the rising sun

What a golden day

What a beautiful morning in my life
The best in life is free
I give it all away
And I wonder what more is to come
And this beautiful morning changed my mind
Believe me when I say
Shadows fading out

Believe me - crows will always fly
Believe me - they are only birds
You have to
You have to let go and you will see things in a different light

What a beautiful morning
What a beautiful morning
Believe me

What a beautiful
What a beautiful morning...

Believe me

song performed by by Ace Of Base from Da Capo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0050 Morning rain in early autumn

Today the soft rain is
not falling, rather blessing,
as gentle as mercy,
making the air
more airy, if that can be,
nature’s air conditioning let’s crudely say,
and the geraniums blessing, in their turn,
the front door to my heart’s home, are, manifestly,
exhibiting pleasure.

It’s almost a century since the Indian, Professor Bose –
mark the day with unpicked flowers –
was drummed out of the Royal Society, no less,
for demonstrating to his satisfaction
and the delight of non-members
that plants had nerves, felt pain, revulsion…

and it’s pretty obvious that the
subtly-named Venus Fly Trap
has very effective, non-rust, non-gymnasium
vegetable muscles

while Hinduism, I read yesterday,
completes the picture – plants
feel pleasure as well as pain
and show it

so from today, no idle chat over the garden fence
like ‘the geraniums are perking up…’
it’s ‘the flowers are pleased today! '
and stuff the raised eyebrow…

I, who normally treat gardening as
a spectator sport, now in the light of
this clearer knowledge, dead-headed,
yesterday, the geraniums which looked like
the week after the week before,
a serious hangover after a burst of private
garden show, and today I look at them
tenderly – on this day of soft rain.

And, I feel dead-headed too; maybe today
a poem is flowering gently close by
the heart’s open door; and the geraniums
are – if not, anthropomorphically, pleased –
showing pleasure, in the measure
that Creation permits them to; and I
am pleased; for them; for it; to say the least.

I’ll leave that door open
on this day of soft and gentle mercy.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Linda And Friends' Hampton Beach Gardens

Crimson,
Sun yellow,
Fairy rose pink,
Blue, Paris lavender
And soft white -
Colors are afloat!
Some rippling flowers
At Hampton Beach
Bloom in roadside island gardens
And in their own rowboats.
The flowers
And more blossoms, too,
Welcome sandy feet, sea gulls,
And sailing butterflies alike.
The beach blossoms
Hold pure sunshine,
Delighting all ages,
From the very old
To little tykes.
How the bright petals shine
During a magical day
By the seashore
In the summery sun!
It is fun to see the beach gardens' treasures
Blooming
Around magnificent Happy Hampton!
Once the spots where the pretty flowers
Now catch the sunbeams
Were just plain dirt
Or bare, hard concrete.
Today the shimmery flowers,
Bringing joyful tidings,
Have our families and friends
To greet.

poem by Gayle Sweeney
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The Tiki Tiki Tiki Room

All the birds sing words and the flowers croon in the Tiki, Tiki, Tiki, Tiki,
Tiki Room. Welcome to our tropical hideaway you lucky people you. If we weren't
in the show starting right away we'd be in the audience too.
In the Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Room
In the Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Room
All the birds sing words and the flowers croon
In the Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Room
The bird of paradise is an elegant bird. It likes to be seen and it loves to be
heard. Most little birdies will fly away but the Tiki Room birds are here every
day.
In the Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Room
In the Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Room
All the birds sing words and the flowers croon
In the Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Room
Our show is delightful we hope you'll agree. We hope that it fills you with
pleasure and glee. Because if we don't make you feel like that, we're gonna
wind up on a lady's hat
In the Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Room
In the Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Room All
the birds sing words and the flowers croon
In the Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Tiki Room

song performed by by Hilary Duff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flowers

(orbison/dees)
When I was a boy I ran among the flowers
Looking left and right at the bright array
I played through the spring, whiled away the hours
Lingered with the flowers every day
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
When the summer ends and the storms of life are over
When the winter comes and the petals fall away
They may write it on my stone, he was just a roller
But he stopped to pick some flowers along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, picked some flowers, along the way

song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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September's Brought The Spring

The golden whistler whistles on the gray gum tree
And lyrebird in good mood for mimicry
And magpie piping in the morning gray
And currawong tell rain not far away.

I love the hills of Sherbrooke in the Spring
When wattles bloom and all the free birds sing
The voice of yellow tailed black cockatoo
And spotted dove utter his mating coo.

The rhododendrons flushed with bright pink flowers
And the trees look greener after cool spring showers
September brings with it rich greenery
And nest building birds prepare for family.

Were I a bard born with the gift of rhyme
I'd write a song for Sherbrooke in Springtime
And I'd sing my song that some might wish to hear
Of Sherbrooke in September of the year.

The yellow robin singing in the wind and rain
And the sky turn bright and the sun shine out again
And in Sherbrooke woods the wild and free birds sing
And September's come and brought with it the Spring.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The blossoming

I thank you Lord
that you by grace blessed me
to let my slender flowers grow
flooding over in bell like strings
in internodes, joints of roses

not peach, purple or pink
like others of my kind
but in a pure white colouring
with odourless buds opening

and some ridicule, hold my words,
my verses of rhyme and free form in parody
but my flowering is from your hand

and I can understand that they are thinking
of flowers like roses, irises, geraniums
which are tempered against the elements
bringing forth fragrant odours
that perfumes the air
but in your shade and care I am blossoming.

[Reference: The blossoming by Tatamkhulu Afrika.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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The only picture that I see

This morning I am waiting
on the light
to start the day
and thinking about something
to say to you
by electronic mail.

I am looking in and out
and seeing things in myself
as if I exist out of my body

and outside the two dogs
are walking up and down
the lawn
as if inspecting new flowers
blooming in the early morning
and they are sniffing
at geraniums and morning glories
which are growing wild.

The two cats are stretching out
on the bark of the fallen tree
ripping their nails into it
and trying to catch
the first rays of the sun

and still my life is empty
while you are away from me
and that’s the only picture that I see.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Positivity

you say what you want to say
your diamonds are drops of rain
your smile is ypur credit card
and your currency is your love

and the morning is for you
and the air is free
and the birds sing for you
and your positivity

watch out

so you play where you want to play
on the main streets where the creeps all pray
and you can feel like you're in dynasty
and you can be what you want to be

and the morning is for you
and the air is free
and the birds sing for you
and your positivity

and the car crash for you
and the sunshine is free
and the sirens call you

yes the morning is for you
yes the air is free
and yes the world spins for you
and your positivity

positivity

song performed by by Suede
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On this day of Spring Original by Rabindranath Tagore

So many flowers bloom
On this day of Spring
So many flutes are played
So many birds sing
On this day of Spring
On this day of Spring

My friend's heart is as soft
As a little flower
Whose negligence makes it
So terribly suffer
Why do you come to her
And try to make her laugh
The one who used to come
Now doesn't care enough

So many flowers bloom
On this day of Spring
So many flutes are played
So many birds sing
On this day of Spring
On this day of Spring

God please keep the happy
People always happy
And let the Spring season
Of joy pass by smoothly
God don't let the happy
People see her in tears
Since they overlook her
And want to live in cheers

So many flowers bloom
On this day of Spring
So many flutes are played
So many birds sing
On this day of Spring
On this day of Spring

poem by Asif Andalib
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Armenian Folk-Song--The Partridge

As beats the sun from mountain crest,
With 'pretty, pretty',
Cometh the partridge from her nest;
The flowers threw kisses sweet to her
(For all the flowers that bloomed knew her);
Yet hasteneth she to mine and me--
Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!

And when I hear the partridge cry
So pretty, pretty,
Upon the house-top, breakfast I;
She comes a-chirping far and wide,
And swinging from the mountain side--
I see and hear the dainty dear!
Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!

Thy nest's inlaid with posies rare.
And pretty, pretty
Bloom violet, rose, and lily there;
The place is full of balmy dew
(The tears of flowers in love with you!)
And one and all impassioned call;
'O pretty, pretty--
O dear little partridge!'

Thy feathers they are soft and sleek--
So pretty, pretty!
Long is thy neck and small thy breast;
The color of thy plumage far
More bright than rainbow colors are!
Sweeter than dove is she I love--
My pretty, pretty--
My dear little partridge!

When comes the partridge from the tree,
So pretty, pretty!
And sings her little hymn to me,
Why, all the world is cheered thereby--
The heart leaps up into the eye,
And echo then gives back again
Our 'Pretty, pretty,'
Our 'Dear little partridge!'

Admitting the most blest of all
And pretty, pretty,
The birds come with thee at thy call;
In flocks they come and round they play,
And this is what they seem to say--
They say and sing, each feathered thing;
'Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!'

poem by Eugene Field
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