En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Egyptian Geese

Copper brown Egyptian geese are in the marsh,
they call from the plumed reeds
and they leave flat tracks in the clay
when they walk past in a small group
and I hear them from far of on the porch
when the pond resound with their voices
just their at the old sunken sloop
where I notice the sun shining on the water,
how they suddenly fly up and spread
as they avoid a dog that is running loose.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Marsh Land

The nearer I come to the wild marsh land
the more I hear red-knobbed coots carolling
where a swarm of tiny weavers twitter,
rocking and balancing on the long reeds,
cheerfully the meandering stream jabbers
while it shines in the bright morning light
next to the big old hanging willow tree,
where a symphony of nature resounds.

Marsh bulrushes rocks plumed in the wind
that blows softly through the bushes of sprouts,
somewhat blinded by the natural beauty
I wander like a child through all the reeds,
drops of water jet when wild ducks fly up,
with rushes suddenly rocking up and down.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Pike

In the brown water,
Thick and silver-sheened in the sunshine,
Liquid and cool in the shade of the reeds,
A pike dozed.
Lost among the shadows of stems
He lay unnoticed.
Suddenly he flicked his tail,
And a green-and-copper brightness
Ran under the water.

Out from under the reeds
Came the olive-green light,
And orange flashed up
Through the sun-thickened water.
So the fish passed across the pool,
Green and copper,
A darkness and a gleam,
And the blurred reflections of the willows on the opposite bank
Received it.

poem by Amy Lowell
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The Bulbul

The bulbul creates its own small rainbows
where happily it splashes in the pond
washing out good its own feathered suit,
while looking great eyed at the small pool
before it goes deeper into the water,
it rolls letting water-drops splash,
pressing down, its feathers, is dripping wet,
when happily it walks up and down, slapping wings
and then sedately starts to drink,
calling dozens of birds nearer;
twittering arrogantly, scuttling past the porch
and its raiment of feathers is shining from the water.
The bulbul creates its own small rainbows,
while looking great eyed at the small pond.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Blueflags

I stopped the car
to let the children down
where the streets end
in the sun
at the marsh edge
and the reeds begin
and there are small houses
facing the reeds
and the blue mist in the distance
with grapevine trellises
with grape clusters
small as strawberries
on the vines
and ditches
running springwater
that continue the gutters
with willows over them.
The reeds begin
like water at a shore
their pointed petals waving
dark green and light.
But blueflags are blossoming
in the reeds
which the children pluck
chattering in the reeds
high over their heads
which they part
with bare arms to appear
with fists of flowers
till in the air
there comes the smell
of calmus
from wet, gummy stalks.

poem by William Carlos Williams
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The Duck Pond

There's a pond at the centre of the village green,
Where ducks, moorhen and coot can be seen.
It's a feature which adds to the character and charm.
When sat by the pond, you feel a real sense of calm.
Pond-skaters and other small insects on the water skate:
The surface tension supporting their miniscule weight.
Waving their heads, the long, lush, green reeds,
Provide partial shelter for a fish as it feeds.
A frog pops its head up and looks around,
Then slips back under the water with a plopping sound.
Darting this way and that, are beautiful blue dragonflies:
Their motion so quick, they're gone in the blink of an eye.
There's sweet gallingale, marsh marigold and watercress,
But, for me, the pretty pink water lilies are by far the best.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Remembrance

As a child I saw the sun
hanging over the marsh,
when it caught the first red rays.

In that marsh land
long-tailed widow-birds
glided deeper into the reeds.

Plover’s pretending
to have broken wings,
tried to entice me away
from their nests.

In life’s marsh
there were enemy soldiers
that was stone-dead,
while I had hidden deeper
into the reeds.

Groups of enemy patrols
cut past following the river,
to find my comrades and I.

Every time that the sun
hanged new over the reeds,
the enemy became less
and the chance to catch us diminished
and mosquitoes swarmed around me.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Blonde curly head

When you run joyous into the garden
the whole world lies open before you
while it's autumn, leaves are stripped from branches
and you look great-eyed at the small lizard
where it hides in a small hole in the wall,
and you notice a pool with big Koi fish
that watches you from beneath the water of the pond
and then you try to touch and feel
with your small hands and the water is cool,
while you catch a small frog
and press that animal against your cheek,
while it feels as if eternity is lingering there
and suddenly it jumps from your wet hands
as a strange wet thing.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Mind Like A Tree

Music :rudolf schenker, peter wolf
Lyrics:klaus meine
Come with me come with me now
Inside the garden
Inside the garden of god
Smell the sand its running through your hands
Its where were from
And where well go in the end
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
My mind is like a tree
And I want you to water me
You gotta spread the
You gotta spread the seed
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Sit in the shadow just smell the grass
Where the past is buried
Where the future grows so fast
My mind is like a tree
And I want you to water me
You gotta spread the
You gotta spread the seed
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
You touch me so
You touch me so deep
I only wish my eyes could see
The way you feel for me
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
My mind is like a tree
And I want you to water me
My mind is like a tree
And I want you to water me
You gotta spread the
You gotta spread the seed
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Hear me calling
Take my hand
Make me see

song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Above The Shed On The Winter Porch

Above the shed, the winter porch
a young wild dove
continually calls its mate
and when the door slides open
I see dots on its breast
and at the pond it quenches its thirst
and I see dots
and I see dots
that shines; when it is frightened it becomes sullen.

Above the shed, the winter porch
the oak tree rustles
and then my mother coughs badly from croup
where sometimes she sits and dream
as the sunshine flames up hot
and I watch her caringly
as the sunshine flames up
as the sunshine flames up
as if a field fire runs past.

Above the shed, the winter porch
a swarm of swallows peck,
sometimes doves land in a group,
and at times I hear my mother sneezing
while I am caught with a kind of hope,
but I know that time is running out
while I am caught,
while I am caught
and my life at times feels sold out.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Swan ~ A Villanelle

Floating upon the crystal pond
She kept wearing her diamond crown
While the other white swan was gone

Never doubting their fierce loving bond
As the leaves went from reddish to brown
Floating upon the crystal pond

Her blue eyes searching far beyond
Couldn't see that he'd recently drowned
While the other white swan was gone

So curling, becoming withdrawn
When ten suns in the sky settled down
Floating upon the crystal pond

She talked to the geese that were blond
And asked where he was with a frown
While the other white swan was gone

They cared not and didn't respond
In the reeds was a kings golden crown
Floating upon the crystal pond
While the other white swan was gone

poem by Sara Fielder
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When the wind started blowing in the afternoon

When the wind started blowing in the afternoon,
some African red-knobbed coots rose in a screaming row,
while the sun hanged over the water red like fire

and the twilight only lasted moments
while they flew past with slapping wings,
when the wind started blowing in the afternoon,

I felt a light breeze blowing against my cheek,
there was serenity and peace that came to me
while the sun hanged over the water red like fire,

there was a kind of bliss in nature
when dappled Egyptian goose also tried to avoid me,
when the wind started blowing in the afternoon,

I was caught by the sheer beauty,
I heard the call of birds cutting through the reeds,
while the sun hanged over the water red like fire

while the sky was darker and no more azure,
while ducks glide magically through the water,
when the wind started blowing in the afternoon,
the sun hanged over the water red like fire.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Africa child

You stay in one
of a group of shacks
on the other side
of the cleared borderline
where bleating goats
are eating
leaves from the thorn bushes.

You run inquisitive past
some pecking chickens
and your large brown and white eyes
are watching me,
when I take the LMG with the other hand
and get some hot water
out of a green water bottle.

Your hands are dirty caked with mud
and you wear a dirty white t-shirt
and tattered torn pants,
but there’s a smile
that spread past your ears
when I give an energy bar
and a dogbiscuit to you.

You push a car built from wire
along my boot tracts
and talk in your own language
as far as we go
and there’s wonder
in your big eyes,
when I take the catapult from you
and shoot the bird
which you are aiming at for some time,
with one shot
out of the sky.

You bring the bird to me
and I indicate
that you must take it
and you are still happier
and just before
I leave with my troops,
you pick up a stick
and point at the bush
before you draw your finger
across your throat.

I still hear your childish laughter
and see you disappear in the distance,
while we walk with another route
circling around those bushes.

Later another military patrol
detonated some landmines there
and there where no child,
to walk with them
and it was only
another forsaken native village.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Walk On Water

(ian hunter/mcnasty)
(transcribed by justin purington)
Little flame tormented soul
Tried to get lost in all that rock and roll
Came crashing through here like some hurricane
Too much too soon for you little flame
[chorus]
You cant walk on water
You cant walk on water, dont try
Like a lamb to the slaughter
Oh! but for the grace of God go i
Little flame caught that savage sound
He liked to turn it upside down
Well I think I know what you were talking about
Im just so sorry that your flame went out
Fun with no conscience, tracks with no tears
The rich get richer and the devils got no fears
Sounds his call, political lies
There aint no virtue without sacrifice
You cant walk on water
You cant walk on water
You cant walk on water
You cant walk on water
You cant walk on water
You cant walk on water
You cant walk on
[repeat and fade]

song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Walk A Nameless River

I walk a nameless river
One which collects water from the houses,
The streets and such,
A river of rain that carry small sticks,
Cigarettes butts and, bits of paper
A shadow river that moves pap like rocks
A river trapped in the street cars’ tracks
A river rushing past ants and praying mantises
Against butterflies and worms that comes up and leave
Body tracks in the mud.
A river fed by puddles and cracks; indents in the sidewalks
By downward slanted driveways and situated front yards
By small streams on window glass and streams down sycamore trucks,
Maple, oak and such.
A cleaning river of gutterized rain,
A leaf drooping rain of green things,
River of no name
Too thin to carry twigs
Easily distracted by my foot
Easily stagnated into a nameless pond
When the sky has dried out.
I walk a one street river
A shallow river of clinched fists
A narrow river of butterflies in the nameless sky
A concrete river of feet saturated against the maple rocks
A river of bodies coming up leaving a river of cracks
A river of cigarettes of worms of sycamore trunks, oak
Marble and such.
A thin river of destruction, of gutters and traped tracks
Of sticks collected among themselves like dead praying mantises
In the rush of houses and driveways stacked in the water
Of a small rainy sky.

poem by David E. Patton
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Eastbrook

Though his racing days are over
on the marsh he'll gently graze
where he'll spend his last remaining years
sharing all his days
with herons, skylarks, ducks and geese
from a racing life to utter peace

Small children come and feed him hay
and Suzy grooms him every day
a soft brown horse with gentle eyes
resting underneath the skies
that follow the marsh down to the sea
retirement, peace, tranquility

poem by Gill Moore
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5 a.m. Port of Pulawan

the port of pulawan
is insomniac,
it is the meaning of its name,
it does not sleep,
people here, even the children have
deep sunken eyes
like an old deep
well,

when you call a name,
it echoes deep down there and it comes back
to you after
a while, telling you

'there is no water here! '

when you arrive here,
you call a name, and it is the same answer,
like what their eyes
are saying,

in fact, shouting,
you hear it well,

a friend of yours with long hair
disembarked immediately

the sound of arrival faded with the smoke of the
ship,

he is met by your student who flunked the bar this year,
the first time that you notice
that this guy is limping,

she carried a bag full of clothes,
dirty ones from the hospital
her mother has cancer of the lymph nodes
and at terminal stage

she has her only daughter
who drops her samsung tablet on the floor of the boat
nothing is broken,

they invite you for a ride in their old
black car,
you shake your head, you want to wait
somebody is coming,

the one you doubt you love says that she is coming to fetch you.

you want to go back to your way.
The sun shines. The sea is very calm.

The children are now wearing their deep sunken eyes.
Deep dry wells,
running out of water.

Pretty much like
you.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What's in a Group Name

Why are fish uneducated
When they frequently go to school
If shoal we call a group of fish,
Sometimes there's no fish in a shoal
Starfish, silverfish, cuttlefish
Under what grouping shall they fall

A group of apes shrewdness we call
But they're not shrewd, no, not at all

How to measusre a leopards' leap
Is it by dozen or by feet?

There's one thing common in between
The tiny legumes and the whales
The little legumes can make a pod
The leviathans also can

A group of bears can make a sloth
But many sloths can't make a bear

Herons and bitterns make a siege
Though enemy they do not have

A group of cattle is called a herd
A herd of swan, crane and curlew?
A funny thing, but that I've heard

Not only geese can make a skein
But also thread, silk, wool and yarn
A skein of thread up in the air
Is still a skein, no matter where
A skein of geese high up above
Becomes a gaggle when they land

Why do Platipi make a pile
When they can't even make a fire
Or whenever they make a pile
On top each other do not climb

A group of wildfowl I starved
With or without food they are plump

They said the choughs made chatterings
But I did not hear anything

The rooks are birds so wonderful
They make buildings without a tool
But the name rook is a misnomer
Gambler nor cheats, they are neither

Snipes in a walk that I have seen
Were not on foot but in the air

poem by Pacific Hernandez
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Some Silence Hanged Wordless Between Us

Next to a silver river, a clear stream
you were dreaming against a willow,
with a small smile, silent and satisfied
as if something great happened in the past
when your bright eyes suddenly caught mine,
words hang silently between us.

In your eyes light sparkled like stars,
a leave fell and glided away
when suddenly a plover called from the marsh
with others answering from far away
when your bright eyes suddenly caught mine,
words hang silently between us.

Where the water flows endlessly
you got quickly to your feet,
your glance went deep into my soul
and we could not evade our feelings,
when your bright eyes suddenly caught mine,
words hang silently between us.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Water so Deep and Profound

Water so sinuous and devious,
And as mystifying as you.
Water is always hiding its true self,
Never in one form.
Water can be the shimmer,
Reflecting off the light of the pond,
Making the pond seem magnificent.
Water can be the rushing sound,
As it escapes the secretive pond,
And runes down into the vast ocean,
Seeking adventure and unfound dreams.
Water can be the feeling of calmness,
As it sits there, overlooking the pond,
With wonder and seeing how it made it what it is.
Water so supple and wondrous,
The pond is born from the water.
Water so deep and profound,
Just like you,
The pond so incomplete without water,
Just like your family.

poem by Music Galore
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Daughters Of The Sea

Patrick simmons
Autumn breeze blowin to the east
Shift of breeze upon a sea of peace
Hear them call, cant you hear them sing
Hear them call, how their voices ring
Dizzy dancin, golden ladies
Misty eyes that cannot fool
Silver shoreline waves come crashin
To the end of all of you
Like a spider weavin silken nets
Fingers move, swaying silhouettes
Hear them call, cant you hear them sing
Hear them call, how their voices ring
Spinning, turning, moonlit madness
round the fire burnin bright
I can see it risin higher
Lightin up the starry night
Hear them call, cant you hear them sing
Hear them call, how their voices ring
Hear them call, cant you hear them sing
Hear them call, how their voices ring

song performed by by Doobie Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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