Late Afternoon
Late afternoon
the wind trembles through the branches,
the twittering of birds die down
every insect, beetle,
worm, bee and snail
suddenly finds a resting place
before the night comes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Everywhere in the garden flowers grow in bright colours
Everywhere in the garden flowers grow in bright colours
and in this small paradise the last winter wind blows,
when the air is filled with the smell of jasmine and gardenia
and with each other we are without talking somewhat familiar
when the other world of work and worries is reduced,
when we hear doves sing their songs of love,
when the sun like a red ball returns to its resting place,
when sparrows watch us from tree branches
and the evening star and the darkness comes suddenly
but still we are smitten with each other,
with something intimate in each moment
when the moon hangs red brown
and the I find in you a resting place for my heart,
some joy and happiness in a world full of pain and sorrow.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The winter is coming
The cat tells me
that its time for its food
and outside bees
still fly past in a swarm
and I realise that it’s late afternoon,
that the shadows are drawing long lines,
the wind rustles through the tree branches
and it’s already almost cold
as the winter is coming.
Still there’s something in the late autumn
that catches me
where here and there leaves
hang like dots on tree branches,
that the sun sometimes still gives hot rays
as if it does not really want
the cold to come
and the grass is still green
like in the summer.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I had to forsake the world of my childhood
The cat tells me
that its time for its food
and outside bees
still fly past in a swarm
and I realise that it’s late afternoon,
that the shadows are drawing long lines,
the wind rustles through the tree branches
and it’s already almost cold
as the winter is coming.
Still there’s something in the late autumn
that catches me
where here and there leaves
hang like dots on tree branches,
that the sun sometimes still gives hot rays
as if it does not really want
the cold to come
and the grass is still green
like in the summer.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Story About Guilt and Pity...
there are two kinds of people in this world. You know it. The swindler and the swindled. The one who felt swindled and the one who never admits that he swindled.They are brothers.
a man of high rank, feeling guilty about his rise to the skies, the lonely eagle
that eats monkeys for lunch and dinner and shares it to no one.
descends to the plains
walk on the grass and degrades
its being to be with
the simplest creature, the worm and the snail,
thinking that these two deserve
to be raised from their
lowly, damp, slow
and dark state,
only to be infected by the
virus of the worm
the bacteria of the snail
and these lowly creatures
claim the triumph over the eagle
who in its fancy to be
belittled
finds his ultimate death...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Lion and the Insect
The Lion lazily lies on the grass,
Purveying his kingdom of gold flowers
As they sway in the wind, but kingdoms pass
And so too does sunlight with the hours.
The Lion grips the land with a well-placed paw.
The Earth trembles slightly beneath his claws.
The Insect unfolds its transparent wings
To swim through thick, sweaty savannah air.
It floats in the soupy mirage heat brings,
Transfixed on flying from the lambent glare
Of the open sky's harsh, cloudless splendor.
The hungry Insect mustn't surrender.
The Lion fears the Insect and hides among
The gold flowers. He's unafraid to rest.
While he worries that, if his paw were stung,
He could lose control of his clenched int'rests,
Like a coward, the Lion waits all night
Until the Insect dies a parasite.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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When the sun languished slowly in the late afternoon
When the sun languished slowly in the late afternoon
I held you in an embrace,
while the moon did cling bright white to the heaven,
winking stars appeared in the night
and sweet we were blissful together
when you trusted me, with your body, spirit and soul.
When the sun languished slowly in the late afternoon
I held you in an embrace,
suddenly the evening star did disappear
while I held your hand in mine,
saw the glance in the depths of your eyes
and all the misunderstandings and pain were gone,
when the sun languished slowly in the late afternoon.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Fun Together
slow but sure
but if i fall
i rise again
and begin
anew
slow but sure
like a snail
like a worm
inching my way
to my
destination
i am not in hurry
side by side
with another worm
another snail
oh we're just
having fun
together
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When Tree Branches Rub Against The Roof
When tree branches rub against the roof
the small bulbul runs past
during the afternoon hour
to the pool where it dives and rolls,
stretches out wings and shoot them out straight,
walking boldly up and down
stretches out wings,
stretches out wings
as he walks to and thro.
When tree branches rub against the roof
a light breeze blows,
while the sun burns hot as fire
and the neighbouring child calls
when the afternoon comes with its peace,
with thoughts from the past
when the afternoon comes,
when the afternoon comes
and sometimes I forget the present.
When tree branches rub against the roof
birds peck around everywhere
while moments are lingering
as leaves blow to the ground,
and I think of God as if He is here,
while the shades bring a kind of tranquillity
and I think of God
and I think of God
and find some deeper meaning to life.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Early Spring (Rondel Prime)
The early spring brings new flowers again
while twittering birds fly past in a flock,
at the sight of humans cry in amok,
hide in their nests in the seeping cold rain,
while on the road daily joggers do train,
timing themselves with the far off clock.
The early spring brings new flowers again
while twittering birds fly past in a flock,
some on the ground peck and cry out in pain,
others flutter above ships in the dock
while the big waves does them up and down rock
while the spray, rust and salt marks does decks stain.
The early spring brings new flowers again
while twittering birds fly past in a flock.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Forgiven
I found a little beetle; so that Beetle was his name,
And I called him Alexander and he answered just the same.
I put him in a match-box, and I kept him all the day ...
And Nanny let my beetle out -
Yes, Nanny let my beetle out -
She went and let my beetle out -
And Beetle ran away.
She said she didn't mean it, and I never said she did,
She said she wanted matches and she just took off the lid,
She said that she was sorry, but it's difficult to catch
An excited sort of beetle you've mistaken for a match.
She said that she was sorry, and I really mustn't mind,
As there's lots and lots of beetles which she's certain we could find,
If we looked about the garden for the holes where beetles hid -
And we'd get another match-box and write BEETLE on the lid.
We went to all the places which a beetle might be near,
And we made the sort of noises which a beetle likes to hear,
And I saw a kind of something, and I gave a sort of shout:
'A beetle-house and Alexander Beetle coming out!'
It was Alexander Beetle I'm as certain as can be,
And he had a sort of look as if he thought it must be Me,
And he had a sort of look as if he thought he ought to say:
'I'm very very sorry that I tried to run away.'
And Nanny's very sorry too for you-know-what-she-did,
And she's writing ALEXANDER very blackly on the lid,
So Nan and Me are friends, because it's difficult to catch
An excited Alexander you've mistaken for a match.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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At Dusk The Old Zinc Roof Creaks
At dusk the old zinc roof creaks
like Dad’s Chev with its fins
or the big old branch of the blue-gum tree
and when it gets dark mother calls me in,
Dad is reading the sentences of an essay
where he is marking composition books,
at times works late into the night
and there’s jasmine on the wind,
when the neighbour suddenly drives off
and he finds some time for me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Snail Shell
Sir hand
Or is it maam
I fell out of my right place again
And you
Considered me
And now Im where a snail has to be
I want to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
I want to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
Was it something you would do for anybody?
Was it what youd only do for me?
I need to know because you see
I want to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
Friend
Look what you gave
And how can you ever be repaid?
How may I give you a hand
From the position at your feet where I stand?
So let me thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
Id like to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
Was it something you would do for anybody?
Was it what youd only do for me?
I need to know because you see
I want to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
Snail shell
Thank you
Snail shell
Thank you
Ah
Ah
Ah
Was it something you would do for anybody?
Was it what youd only do for me?
Or was it something where you acted when you saw the need
And knew that there would be a way the act could be repaid
And so it may, but for today
I want to thank you for putting me back in my snail shell
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Have you ever been out for a late autumn walk in the closing part of the afternoon, and suddenly looked up to realize that the leaves have practically all gone And the sun has set and the day gone before you knew it - and with that a cold wind blows across the landscape That's retirement.
quote by Stephen Butler Leacock
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Autumn That Suddenly Gambol Recklessly
The autumn that suddenly gambol recklessly
drawing bright lines, made me think of you
but we were worlds apart
when the stars were shining late in the night.
Still I had dreamt about you,
that you like spring
come young and pretty to me,
while the wind was blowing through your hair,
whispering words of love through the reeds
and a whole squadron of birds were singing along
and that night wasn’t dark anymore,
your eyes went to the depths of my soul.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Why are you so troubled? [Ce te legeni?]
– "Why are you so troubled, forest?
There's no wind and there's no rain
Yet your branches are in pain".
– "Yes, I'm troubled, you know why?
'Cause my life is passing by
Days are shrinking, nights are growing
And my leaves are quickly falling.
Wind is blowing from the bay
Chasing singing birds away
Wind is blowing without fear
Summer's gone, winter is here.
How could I avoid to bow
When the birds are leaving now!
Over branches, in the sky
Swallow flocks are flying high
And I'm watching them go by
Knowing that my hope will die.
And are passing all the day
Darkening the airy way,
And like seconds they are flying
With their wings the wind defying.
In their wake, I remain numb
Whitered and a little dumb
Only with my own desire
Which is burning me like fire!"
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Afternoon Tea
Tea time wont be the same without my donna
At night I lie awake and dream of donna
I think about that small cafe
Thats where we used to meet each day
And then we used to sit a while
And drink our afternoon tea
Ill take afternoon tea (afternoon tea)
If you take it with me (afternoon tea)
You take as long as you like
cause I like you, girl
I take sugar with tea (afternoon tea)
You take milk if you please (afternoon tea)
Like you talking to me
Because you ease my mind
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
Tea time still aint the same without my donna
At night I lie awake and dream of donna
I went to our cafe one day
They said that donna walked away
Youd think at least she might have stayed
To drink her afternoon tea
Ill take afternoon tea (afternoon tea)
If you take it with me (afternoon tea)
You take as long as you like
cause I like you, girl
I take afternoon tea (afternoon tea)
Every day of the week (afternoon tea)
Please come along if you like
Because I like you, girl
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba (afternoon tea)
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Six legs... but who can see them? .....[SHORT; Nature observations; Humor]or]bservation; Humor]
As I read an article about how we humans age,
I suddenly spied a comma crawling slowly ‘cross the page.
I knew it couldn't be a comma, but it WAS so small
that if it were much smaller, I'd NOT see it at all.
I'm sure it was an insect or some related critter.
I wonder if, on that page, it did leave some insect litter.
I tried to pick out the legs it'd have if an insect it truly were,
but my eyes, not being microscopes, could only see a moving blur.
poem by Bri Edwards
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The Triantiwontigongolope
There's a very funny insect that you do not often spy,
And it isn't quite a spider, and it isn't quite a fly;
It is something like a beetle, and a little like a bee,
But nothing like a wooly grub that climbs upon a tree.
Its name is quite a hard one, but you'll learn it soon, I hope.
So try:
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope.
It lives on weeds and wattle-gum, and has a funny face;
Its appetite is hearty, and its manners a disgrace.
When first you come upon it, it will give you quite a scare,
But when you look for it again, you find it isn't there.
And unless you call it softly it will stay away and mope.
So try:
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope.
It trembles if you tickle it or tread upon its toes;
It is not an early riser, but it has a snubbish nose.
If you snear at it, or scold it, it will scuttle off in shame,
But it purrs and purrs quite proudly if you call it by its name,
And offer it some sandwiches of sealing-wax and soap.
So try:
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope .
But of course you haven't seen it; and I truthfully confess
That I haven't seen it either, and I don't know its address.
For there isn't such an insect, though there really might have been
If the trees and grass were purple, and the sky was bottle green.
It's just a little joke of mine, which you'll forgive, I hope.
Oh, try!
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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When the sun goes down late in the afternoon (anaphora poem)
When late in the afternoon the sun hangs just above the trees and hillocks,
I think that you must experience the colours of the clouds yourself
I think that it would be pretty in a landscape painting,
I think that this dusk brings a silence, that it’s lonely without you,
I think that you are late, are maybe still working, or have got some other plans
I think that the gathering clouds will catch you with rain,
I think that the doves tomorrow evening will also be in love and coo like this,
I think that the jasmine and lavender tomorrow evening will also fill the air.
I think I will dream of branches that hit from the wind on the roof,
I think that maybe tomorrow I will see you for the last time.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Dream
Once a dream did weave a shade
O’er my Angel-guarded bed,
That an emmet lost its way
Where on grass methought I lay.
Troubled, 'wilder'd, and forlorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangled spray,
All heart-broke I heard her say:
‘O, my children! do they cry?
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look abroad to see:
Now return and weep for me.’
Pitying, I dropp'd a tear;
But I saw a glow-worm near,
Who replied: ‘What wailing wight
Calls the watchman of the night?
‘I am set to light the ground,
While the beetle goes his round:
Follow now the beetle’s hum;
Little wanderer, hie thee home.’
poem by William Blake from Songs of Innocence (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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