Related quotes: Curled up he lays in...

For my Persian cat in autumn

Curled up he lays in the last bit of summer sun
that falls in the autumn,
he sometimes scale the chestnut tree
of which the stripped branches
grabs at the dull blue sky
to stretch himself out on the roof of the garage,
where he continually licks at his ginger coat

and when unexpectedly a thunderstorm arises
he lies on the porch curled up in a bundle,
looking at the falling drops
until a bolt of lightning falls on the paving in front of him,
where he looks startled at the bang
and with big golden eyes
that almost draws close does call.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Mowing the Lawn

The chestnut tree is now stripped bare
and all of the golden leaves have been raked,
bagged in black sacks.

The last summer sun
hangs white hot in the autumn air
while the lawnmower growls willingly.

There’s sand and grass
coming into my nose and the weed-eater
cuts away the jungle.

I see the two cats
climbing down a evergreen tree
from the roof of the garage

and there are ripe yellow tomatoes
on stems in long rows
and a few figs swelling out
hanging on branches
and I cut tufts of grass
at the back of the prickly pears.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The summer is slowly going

The summer is slowly going
with the dark grey sky
that switches between being cool and hot
and it rains almost every day.

Autumn leaves are falling golden
at the chestnut-tree
next to the garage
and bunch together
as if it’s trying to cover the grass
drawing a golden cloak over it

and I can almost not keep ahead
with mowing the lawn
and raking up leaves
and wonder if a person
can pack troubles
also like this in black bags,

but I miss you so much
and my life is just as empty
as the tree
that stands almost stripped
and nothing can take the longing away.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Pioneer Dwelling

Against the wall a lantern is burning
and the wick is turned high
making it flame brightly
and the thatched roof farmhouse

is cosy on this cold winter night,
the big old family bible is folded close,
there’s a fire of hardwood in the fireplace
burning red hot

and the dim half-light
draws shadows over the rows of portraits
hanging in the passage
and some of the drops

of the rain shower that suddenly falls
(unusual for this time of year)
hiss on the coals
while a lightning bolt falls blue-white on the outside

and there’s tranquillity
that you only find on a farm
while the frog choir sings outside
and the night is getting darker and darker.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Tree (a Repost)

the tree

when the big tree falls
hit by lightning
roared by thunder

when the big tree finally falls
and i am there
the big sound
of a giant old tree
falling finally to the ground

the arrogance
that used to be

of that big old tree
we all look up
it is so high
and we do not
climb it anyhow

we fear
and
perhaps we too pay respect
for its grandeur

and today this big tree falls
hit by lightning and roared by thunder

the universe claps upon the
fall of arrogance and pride
and a tree's belief about
its hugeness and
strength

now this tree falls
and i am here watching it

you are not here
you are in some foreign country

how can i tell you
that this tree has fallen
and there is nothing to fear anymore?

when a tree falls and you are not there
your logic tells
there is no tree
there is no tree of such strength and posture
there is no tree like that

that can ever fall
all because a lightning hit it
and all because the thunder roared

without you.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Tree

when the big tree falls
hit by lightning
roared by thunder

when the big tree finally falls
and i was there
a big sound
of a giant old tree
falling finally to the ground

the arrogance
that used to be

by that big old tree
we all looked upon
it was so high
and we did not
climb it anyhow

for fear
and
perhaps respect for its grandeur

and today this big tree falls
hit by lightning and roared by thunder

the universe claps upon the
fall of arrogance and pride
and a tree's belief about
its hugeness and
strength

now this tree falls
and i am here watching it

you are not here
you are in some foreign country

how can i tell you

that this tree has fallen

and there is nothing to fear anymore?

when a tree falls and you are not there
your logic tells

there is no tree
there is no tree of such strength and posture
there is no tree like that

that can ever fall
all because a lightning hits it
and all because the thunder roared

without you.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

44

when the big tree falls
hit by lightning
roared by thunder

when the big tree finally falls
and i was there
a big sound
of a giant old tree
falling finally to the ground

the arrogance
that used to be

by that big old tree
we all looked upon
it was so high
and we did not
climb it anyhow

for fear
and
perhaps respect for its grandeur

and today this big tree falls
hit by lightning and roared by thunder

the universe claps upon the
fall of arrogance and pride
and a tree's belief about
its hugeness and
strength

now this tree falls
and i am here watching it

you are not here
you are in some foreign country

how can i tell you

that this tree has fallen

and there is nothing to fear anymore?

when a tree falls and you are not there
your logic tells

there is no tree
there is no tree of such strength and posture
there is no tree like that

that can ever fall
all because a lightning hits it
and all because the thunder roared

without you.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The tree

When the big tree falls
Hit by lightning
Roared by thunder

When the big tree finally falls
And I was there
A big sound
Of a giant old tree
Falling finally to the ground

The arrogance
That used to be

By that big old tree
We all looked upon
It was so high
And we did not
Climb it anyhow

For fear
And
Perhaps respect for its grandeur

And today this big tree falls
Hit by lightning and roared by thunder

The universe claps upon the
Fall of arrogance and pride
And a tree's belief about
Its hugeness and
Strength

Now this tree falls
And I am here watching it

You are not here
You are in some foreign country

How can I tell you

That this tree has fallen

And there is nothing to fear anymore?

When a tree falls and you are not there
Your logic tells

There is no tree
There is no tree of such strength and posture
There is no tree like that

That can ever fall
All because a lightning hits it
And all because the thunder roared

Without you.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I sit in the shade under the chestnut-tree

I sit in the shade
under the chestnut-tree
with the golden ginger cat on my lap
who pushes his front paws
around my hands

bending them to hold on to me
with nails just touching me
and his golden eyes
looks lovingly up into mine
while he licks me
with a pink grating tongue
and I am again without you.

I read a poem in Ted Hughes’s
“Birthday Letters”
telling about how
he met his wife
and the hours of my birthday
now passes very slowly
after I had to say goodbye
to you again

and the sky is blue
and now cloudless
as if the sun
is specially shining for me today
and I do not know
what to do
to get you back again
and my spirit is tired
and it’s a hell of a thing
to be alone once more.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Only On This Day...

For: J.L.

It was a cool, July, and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.

And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.

I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive? Snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?

An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn...Autumn...
Autumn, for this I know.

What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July for
Autumn is abound.

Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or has the sparrows lost their way?

Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.

Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.

Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.

poem by Joe Fazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Days Like This...Remind Me Of You