Frolicking Grains Of Dust Are Blown Away
Frolicking grains of dust are blown away,
are spreading everywhere,
blown away lies violets
in the marsh and veldt
and all kinds of birds
swish on their wings up and down
when the wind runs past skipping.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Wind Blows Rustling Through The Bush
The wind blows rustling through the bush
and only it and God knows where it is going,
when it disappears and nothing move in the veldt
and when it returns some grains of dust are blown away.
An ibises raises gleaming copper into the sky
while God finds some answers for His earth,
and it chatters while big wings slam against the wind,
as it flies high over a small wooded hillock.
Guinea fowl peck along in the red grass,
after the rain some small bulbs are growing,
some lovely flowers astonish the veldt
but still this world is wounded by man.
The wind blows rustling through the bush
and when it returns some grains of dust are blown away.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Where The Streets Have No Names
I want to run
I want to hide
I want to tear down the walls
That hold me inside
I want to reach out
And touch the flame
Where the streets have no name
I want to feel sunlight on my face
I see the dust cloud disappear
Without a trace
I want to take shelter from the poison rain
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
We're still building
Then burning down love
Burning down love
And when I go there
I go there with you
It's all I can do
The city's aflood
And our love turns to rust
We're beaten and blown by the wind
Trampled in dust
I'll show you a place
High on a desert plain
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
We're still building
Then burning down love
Burning down love
And when I go there
I go there with you
It's all I can do
Our love turns to rust
We're beaten and blown by the wind
Blown by the wind
Oh, and I see love
See our love turn to rust
We're beaten and blown by the wind
Blown by the wind
Oh, when I go there
I go there with you
It's all I can do
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Dandelion
A wisp of wind...swish..
Blown, strewn, flown
Spread and sprout
Blown, strewn, flown
re-spread in re-sprouts
Re-spread but in bowls
Bowlful recipies
Herbal, medicinal
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Witty’s fight against the wind
It has been spoken that Witty, a boy from the village
it has been waggish, he has grieved everybody, it has seemed,
and everybody has envied him.
birds have only pecked from his palm
because they have become inured to him.
A slow wind has breathed over the village
and Witty has been amazed from it,
when the wind intensifies, the wind has blown out his hat.
he has followed vainly his hat with the look
but the hat has disappeared entirely.
The wind has blown then with force
to take houses and palings
and to destroy almost everything.
All the people have run cowardly
Witty has only coped with the wind because he has been a care-crow.
poem by Valentin Gabriel Cristea
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pro Rege Nostro
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice again
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England: --
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease,
Were the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song of your bugles blown, England --
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What Have I Done For You
What have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:-
'Take and break us: we are yours,
'England, my own!
'Life is good, and joy runs high
'Between English earth and sky:
'Death is death; but we shall die
'To the Song on your bugles blown,
'England -
'To the stars on your bugles blown!
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Was Blown Away
(layng martine, jr.)
You drove up in your pickup truck
That hot september day
Not a wisp of wind in the parking lot
But honey I was blown away
And later on that fall at the dixie mall
When I didnt know what to say
I seen hide nor hair of no dynamite
But honey I was blown away
(chorus)
Big sister said youd better watch out
I slammed the door and said
You dont know what youre talikng about
Mama said I sang when the telephone rang
And she called out honey, its ray
Like a piece of dust on a four lane road
Honey I was blown away
Im talikng bout smithereens
Just you in a pair of jeans
Now I know what crazy means
(repeat chorus)
Then on a tuesday night daddy said
Some guys on the porch with a big bouquet
You stood there with your slicked-back hair
And honey I was blown away
And when we slippe out back
Across the railroad track
And you softly touched my face
Well I never did feel a train go by
But honey I was blown away
No I vever did feel a train go by
But honey I was blown away
song performed by by Pam Tillis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Fragments (2)
I see fragments
Of memories
Scattered in the floor
Of our past
I am bound
And my hands are dying
I am muted
By bitterness and pain
I am a broken bone
My heart is maimed
My mind is floating
Like clouds drifting
I see fragments
I see leaves
Blown by the wind
I can do nothing
I see dusts
The wind has come
And everything
Is blown away
I see emptiness
I hear nothing
I am here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Yoga Is As Yoga Does
(words & music by nelson - burch)
Well I can see that you and yoga will never do
Yoga is as yoga does theres no in-between
Your either with it on the ball or youve blown the scene
I can see lookin at you, you just cant get settled
How can I even move, twistin like a pretzel
(yoga is, yoga does)
(theres no in-between)
(your either with it all the way) or youve blown the scene
(or youve blown the scene)
Come on come on, untwist my legs
Pull my arms a lot
How did I get so tied up
In this yoga knot
You tell me just how I can take this yoga serious
When all it ever gives to me is a pain in my posteriors
(yoga is, yoga does)
(theres no in-between)
(your either with it all the way) or youve blown the scene
(or youve blown the scene)
Stand upside down on your head, feet against the wall
A simple yoga exercise done by one and all
Now cross your eyes and hold your breath, look just like a clown
Yogas sure to catch you if you come falling down
(yoga is, yoga does)
(theres no in-between)
(your either with it all the way) or youve blown the scene
(or youve blown the scene)
(yoga is, yoga does)
(theres no in-between)
(your either with it all the way) or youve blown the scene
(or youve blown the scene)
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Lost Ones
Somewhere is music from the linnets' bills,
And thro' the sunny flowers the bee-wings drone,
And white bells of convolvulus on hills
Of quiet May make silent ringing, blown
Hither and thither by the wind of showers,
And somewhere all the wandering birds have flown;
And the brown breath of Autumn chills the flowers.
But where are all the loves of long ago?
O little twilight ship blown up the tide,
Where are the faces laughing in the glow
Of morning years, the lost ones scattered wide
Give me your hand, O brother, let us go
Crying about the dark for those who died.
poem by Francis Ledwidge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
England, My England
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:--
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mail'd hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There 's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Death-Parting
LEAVES and rain and the days of the year,
(Water-willow and wellaway,)
All these fall, and my soul gives ear,
And she is hence who once was here.
(With a wind blown night and day.)
Ah! but now, for a secret sign,
(The willow's wan and the water white,)
In the held breath of the day's decline
Her very face seemed pressed to mine.
(With a wind blown day and night.)
O love, of my death my life is fain;
(The willows wave on the water-way,)
Your cheek and mine are cold in the rain,
But warm they'll be when we meet again.
(With a wind blown night and day.)
Mists are heaved and cover the sky;
(The willows wail in the waning light,)
O loose your lips, leave space for a sigh,—
They seal my soul, I cannot die.
(With a wind blown day and night.)
Leaves and rain and the days of the year,
(Water-willow and wellaway,)
All still fall, and I still give ear,
And she is hence, and I am here.
(With a wind blown night and day.)
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.
quote by e.e. cummings
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
New dawn.
The glory of old legends
Lies buried in the past
The roadside remains unseen
Where dark shadows stay cast.
As the icy winds of fate
Howl sharp throughout the land
Memories are blown away
Like golden grains of sand.
But the farmer carefully
Sows seeds in the new dawn
For the light of tomorrow
Is where new hope is born.
poem by J.A McManus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The grand cortège of glory and youth is gone
The grand cortège of glory and youth is gone
flaunt standards, and the flood of brazen tone:
I alone linger, a regretful guest,
here where the hostelry has crumbled down,
emptied of warmth and life, and the little town
lies cold and ruin'd, all its bravery done,
wind-blown, wind-blown, where not even dust may rest.
No cymbal-clash warms the chill air: the way
lies stretch'd beneath a slanting afternoon,
the which no piled pyres of the slaughter'd sun,
no silver sheen of eve shall follow: Day,
ta'en at the throat and choked, in the huge slum
o' the common world, shall fall across the coast,
yellow and bloodless, not a wound to boast.
But if this bare-blown waste refuse me home
and if the skies wither my vesper-flight,
'twere well to creep, or ever livid night
wrap the disquiet earth in horror, back
where the old church stands on our morning's track,
and in the iron-entrellis'd choir, among
rust tombs and blazons, where an isle of light
is bosom'd in the friendly gloom, devise
proud anthems in a long forgotten tongue:
so cozening youth's despair o'er joy that dies.
poem by Christopher John Brennan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sand Storm
We make our way along Bournemouth prom,
To a favourite pub of ours, for a lazy late lunch.
But long before we ever make it that far along,
Our mouths fill with sand, on which we crunch.
The sand from the beach is being blown by the wind.
We watch it as we walk along the almost endless prom.
Despite having to battle through the gusting gale,
It’s quite a novelty to see the sand being blown along.
The fine granules form ever moving designs.
Many an interesting pattern the sand makes.
As it’s perpetually blown this way and that,
It twists and turns and twirls, just like snakes.
The sand has collected in patches here and there,
And some of them really are pretty deep.
Rather than walking along the tarmac prom,
We could almost be walking along the actual beach!
As I walk through the large patches of sand,
The granules collect in both of my shoes.
But I walk through patch after patch en route:
I don’t mind, as, me, it does quite amuse.
The wind whips the sand up into a frenzy.
It’s in my mouth, my eyes and in my hair.
Sand is being blown all over the place.
In fact, it seems to be almost everywhere!
I happen to place my hand on the back of my neck,
And I can feel sand there, just below my head.
The next morning, when I get up and look,
There are grains of sand near the foot of my bed!
It was really nice to have a small reminder
Of our very enjoyable, but tiring, day out.
I do so love going down to Bournemouth.
We’ll be back there soon without a doubt!
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spring In War-Time
Now the sprinkled blackthorn snow
Lies along the lover’s lane
Where last year we used to go-
Where we shall not go again.
In the hedge the buds are new,
By our wood the violets peer-
Just like last year’s violets too,
But they have no scent this year.
Every bird has heart to sing
Of its nest, warmed by its breast;
We had heart to sing last spring,
But we never built our nest.
Presently red roses blown
Will make all the garden gay..
Not yet have the daisies grown
On your clay.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Between My Horse's Wings (Expanded)
Is this real, or is this fantasy?
The wind rushing forcefully
Through my long dark hair
The feel of the cool air
Beneath the horse’s wings
Is this real, or is this fantasy
The muscles work powerfully
To drive us into the night
The stars wink like little lights
Above the horse’s wings
Is this real, or is this fantasy?
As I ride over the ocean and sea
My muscles tense as I hold
My skin red from the windy cold
Flowing past the horse’s wings
Is this real, or is this fantasy?
I revel in this dangerous ecstasy
A silvery mane blows in my face
Blown back, by the wind we race
Born on by the horse’s wings
Is this real, or is this fantasy?
As we fly through the air swiftly
My face is lifted toward the sky
Arms outstretched, wind rushing by
The beating of the horse’s wings
Is this real, or is this fantasy?
Faster and faster, we seem to fly
The wind tugging at my body
As I look to the heavenly bodies
Shining on the horse’s wings
Is this real, or is this fantasy?
My horse flies gracefully
Over the fields and streams
Are these things only my dreams?
Sitting between the horse’s wings
Blown Away
Blown away
Blown away
Baby I'm gonna aft blow you away
I'm blown [15]
You make me feel like a stranger in my own house
You got me running around just like a scared mouse
You were always saying that I was your destiny
Then pretty baby why aren't you here next to me
You made all of my dreams
And fantasies come alive
song performed by by Ronan Keating from Destination
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!