Piazza Liberta
[Piazza Liberta]
Trieste. Of my February foggy white dense
a student, to expect this term to finish
You kept me in your spiritual shrine's sense
first year in the University, time to diminish.
I am waiting! Even if I knew you 'll never be
of my exclusion in this fog's heart wedges
My margin of this February will write, maybe
of your beloved one, the waves of souls edges.
(I made an acquaintance with sailors
of a cargo-boat, they tell me stories
about terrible typhoons, wild sharks
of Indian Ocean, routes upon maps.)
In three months I learned the language well
And every night, February's visitor you were
Ideally solitaire of my life's kind dream
keeping me company, a light that will never beam.
February, fog, people walk in Piazza Liberta
a trattoria, company of students, of you I think
I am writing this letter; you, of my words trace,
inside the fog, are calling me, with an embrace.
-
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Related quotes
February Has Returned To Normal
After a week of summer sun
February returned to normal.
Grey skies to the horizon
and a light falling rain.
It is the February
that we all know so well,
and the sunshine
while it lasted
was an unexpected bonus to us all.
15 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Second Sunday...
february is fickle
one gets inside a room, closes the door,
and spreads the mat and
turns off the light, but february does not
sleep, it boasts of love
till dawn,
there is an exit door at the left side
of the room
covered by a waterfall and
the sound of
birds mating, you know, calls, like that,
somehow, february is fun,
funny, makes the hearts of lonely people beat again,
dances under the moon,
begins to love again the rain at midnight
plucking rusty guitar strings
and kissing moonbeams
passionate as the
night blanketing the tall trees
erect to the
cold.
i like february, but i have none
for now.
the second sunday may prove
myself wrong,
she is coming, literally.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Valentine Comp Poem 2
The heart shaped card with pretty words
Be my Valentine, my dear
Is there because the poor old man
Knows if the old lady doesn’t get one
She’ll box his blinkin’ ears
9 February 1992
Author’s Note:
This little poem was read out on radio between 10 February and 13 February and won a box of heart shaped chocolates for my lady fair.
poem by David Harris
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A
“Christmas In February”
I know it’s not Christmas time,
But my wish is to now have it anyway.
So I can hear the laughter of my little ones,
Opening their gifts on my February Christmas Day.
Wonderful scents of Christmas ham with gravy and biscuits,
Along with my mother’s spicy peach cobbler recipe.
All this is what I wish to have this February,
I pray for all those most precious of past Christmas’s memories.
Children are now all grown up,
They’ve gone on their ways.
Don’t write or call of visit me much,
I never wanted them to exclude me in such a way.
For my heart still remembers their childhood days,
But now they’re all grown and in their own world it seems.
And left me with just my memories of Christmas past,
And stuck with only my old timer kind of wishful dreams.
poem by Linda Winchell
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Christmas In February
“Christmas In February”
I know it’s not Christmas time,
But my wish is to now have it anyway.
So I can hear the laughter of my little ones,
Opening their gifts on my February Christmas Day.
Wonderful scents of Christmas ham with gravy and biscuits,
Along with my mother’s spicy peach cobbler recipe.
All this is what I wish to have this February,
I pray for all those most precious of past Christmas’s memories.
Children are now all grown up,
They’ve gone on their ways.
Don’t write or call of visit me much,
I never wanted them to exclude me in such a way.
For my heart still remembers their childhood days,
But now they’re all grown and in their own world it seems.
And left me with just my memories of Christmas past,
And stuck with only my old timer kind of wishful dreams.
poem by Linda Winchell
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Hooray February!
I love February
because it’s a brewery
of chilly winter
and sunny warmth.
I love February
because it isn’t a cocky first;
but only a modest next
like how I always prefer
taking a second row chair.
Likewise my car, hello,
is not a Uno, but an Alto!
I love February
because it’s the baby
of the promising January.
And with that promise
February bears March
with all its vernal vibrancy.
I love water, aqua:
It’s the spring of life.
I love February
because I am an Aquarian.
I love February
because the holy water eponymous
purifies me and makes me vigorous
a la
Februa
the great Roman festival.
I love February
because it’s doughty,
has the will to survive:
From a long monthless limbo
to the twelfth place
then to the second
in the calendar -
it was a saga of freedom fight
in the hoary history of time.
I love February
because it’s a month of lovely violets
of diverse hues and scents galore
and
of amethysts that keep you sober.
I love February
because it’s the one month
that determines the leap
or otherwise of a year
shortie it is though.
They malign February as ‘hollow’ and ominous.
Don’t fib, I reply, it is ‘full’ and luminous:
I work for twenty eight
and get paid for thirty one.
Then isn’t it ‘full’?
No triskaidekaphobe,
I love the thirteenth
for it symbolises
the eternal crusade
against superstition
and discrimination.
God loves it too
for He has made the date
a rendezvous
of countless events
no less happy than any other.
I love Feb thirteenth
because I came into this world
on that unique date.
For me it’s always the first.
In their nineties and seventies
still going strong
on me shower my parents
a golden pot of blessings full.
Long live Februarians!
Long live humanitarians!
[Feb 11,2009: : Hyderabad - 500 056]
poem by AtreyaSarma Uppaluri
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This Fabruary
This February took me to the frosts,
Experienced me by heavy snowstorms,
Wanted to know how much my love costs.
But…I was laughing boldly.
Happiness can't live lonely.
I warmed myself by this verity.
This February tried to cool my heart,
It wanted us to live forever apart.
But…it forgot: March will be a start.
It tried to ice-bound my feelings,
To reveal my longings and likings
Drawing its beautiful paintings.
It tried to show me the ring,
It cried: Forget the spring!
I am the only one! Your king!
It showed me the pictures of the past,
It wanted to say: Love do not last!
All events finish so fast!
I thought: Dear February, you are strange!
The spring will take its revenge!
The whole world will be changed!
You can frighten me, you cold month!
But I will always dance, having a chance!
In Spain under the rain and even in France.
At last this February took Mersey on me.
Tomorrow it promised to let me free.
It was also tired showing minus degree.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 14th of February,2012
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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February Girl
Her leaves can not crumble
But the earth is telling her to tremble
She can not listen
And will not hear
The sickness is keeping her still
February girl
Winter comes and goes
She wonders will it kill
Flowers grow
She prays for the sun to show
That February girl
Winter is here and she hates the snow
Chilled to the bone
Oh how she hates the snow
Put on your winter coat
She wishes to be a oak and not a willow
Oh February girl
Winter will soon go.
poem by Cassanndra King
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A Sunny Day In February
I stood by my car and looked down
at the still waters of the small lake below.
Several anglers with their rods cast
sat on small chairs along the lake bank.
Sheep grazed in a field
with not a care in the world,
on a sunny day in February.
The blue sky seemed
to stretch forever everywhere.
Peace drifted across everything
that was there
on this sunny day in February
at the farm I go to.
9 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Fishing Time
Hands in pockets
Pants tucked neatly in his boots
He stood looking at the river
Brown cap with earflaps down
Keeping the cold at bay
This sunny February morning
Longing by the river
His eyes measured the banks
Dreaming of fishing time
February 20,1997
poem by Marjorie DeBol DeFazio
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February
February’s time is short,
But it’s my first resort.
Filled with chocolates, flowers and cheer,
It’s my favorite month of the year.
I love how each day shines
As they spread forth with valentines.
It’s a month dedicated to love
In this world of push and shove.
So stop and think of what really counts,
Like people and times that are small amounts,
But give your life meaning like February...
Fill your days with love so make them merry.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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February
February,
a short, dull month
always over
before its begun.
It is the middle child,
mostly ignored,
never spoilt
or fussed over
or the ghost train
we see
from the platform
where we wait.
It chugs through
real slow
but nonetheless
we miss its name.
February is my sister,
how I feel
when ignored in queues
these days,
overlooked
for younger models
with smooth faces
and golden tans.
Feburary is a firework
made damp by
the mists
in winter.
It fails to ignite
every year
but is always
close to pay day.
poem by Ruth Walters
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It Is Me
He sat in his own world
writing down the stories
that came to his mind.
He never watched time,
for him there
was no time.
He wrote stories of love,
of mystery and suspense.
He wrote of everything
that popped into his head.
He was not a lonely person
as his characters kept him company.
He wrote things
for every writing sphere,
but there was one thing
he could not write
which may come as a surprise
to everyone.
He could not write a letter
no matter how hard he tried.
His mind went completely blank
whenever he tried.
Yet he could write
just about everything else.
He could write songs,
he could write stories at will.
He could write poems
on everything,
but writing a letter
was something he could not do.
Now all who read this
might take it as a joke,
but it is very true
every word I have spoke,
and how would I know that.
The answer is simple it is me.
19 April 2008
poem by David Harris
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Another February
It's a non month
that takes me from winter
to early spring.
It sneaks in,
like a mousey spinster,
barren and lonely,
mostly ignored
and then hurries
back to whence it came.
It is the worst month,
dark and dismal,
neither here nor there,
never thought about,
except for its rain.
February, poor February,
its only redemption
is it is swift
and goes quickly on its way.
poem by Ruth Walters
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It’s February And Romance Is In The Air
It’s February and romance is in the air.
Shops are filled with things to give your lady fair.
Heart shaped items to express I love you
for both men and women to confess their love is true.
Someone somewhere is making a big fat profit out of this
and certainly isn’t me.
Florist jack their prices up just for Valentines Day.
In Fact, everyone does the same,
because they know only too well
people are going to buy them of pay the consequence,
and consequence could be nasty.
Therefore, if you see someone
with a rolling pin implanted in their head,
or a frying pan with a big dent in it
you will know someone has forgotten
and paid the consequence.
12 February 2007
poem by David Harris
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Is that spring going to come?
When March was sleeping, two other
Gentlemen began rather
A heated argument. The 1st
Was April, the 2nd, of course,
Was May. So, April and May
Were both crying that the main
Month of spring was… Guess which one, but
Although March was in the hut
(Number 2, there’re four huts all
In all) , you should choose April or
May. April said, “It’s my time when
Snow-drops begin to bloom, and
Everyone can feel spring’s come.”
“Ha-ha! ” laughed May and added, “Some
Snowstorm, and no one can
See your tiny snow-drops. When
I rule nature, all the trees are
In blossom and bushes too! ”
“But
Unless I melted snow, they
Couldn’t blossom, my brother May, ”
April objected.
“Unless I…
Wow! You can melt snow, guy!
So, it isn’t the sun that
Does it! ” mocked May.
“I can laugh at
Your conceit, May. For example, March thinks
You and June are as like as two peas, ”
April said.
“ I don’t care, ”
May replied, “A brown bear
Sleeps less than this sleepyhead! ”
“Are
You about my best friend March? ”
Somebody cried outside, and
February came in. “Well, when
Is he gonna wake up? ” he said.
“Answer one question, and we’ll let
You wake him up, ” April and May
Stopped February on his way
To March’s bed, “Which of us is
The main spring month? Feb, tell us, please! ”
“What a question! No doubt,
It’s March. Until he gets out
With me, spring won’t begin, and
Winter will continue more than
Ninety days. But I’m not gonna
Work any longer. I wanna
Enjoy my holiday. Now
Let me wake him. Oh! How
Long I’ve been waiting for it! ” cried
February, but at the sight
Of their faces he laughed, “What’s
Happened? Ha-ha! You think it was
A bad idea to ask me,
Don’t you? ”
“We’ll never agree
With you! ! ! First of all March is your
Friend! ” April waxed indignant.
“First? ”
February smiled, “And what else?
Time’s flying! ”
“Nobody says
You and March differ too much! ”
It was May, “And… And there is such
A thing as politeness, if you
Talk with a host! ”
“If I should
Forget about March because
He’s sleeping, I can’t. Well, I’ve lost
My patience! If you wanna be
The main, you can be, but let me
Wake March as it isn’t a leap
Year now! My time’s up! Keep
On arguing but without
Us as we’re getting out! ”
February caught his sleepy friend,
Then said, “Bye-bye! ” and out he went.
poem by Konstantin Ananin
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My Life
My life has grown ever so long
Over the evergreen to red clay and desert sands
From The Pacific and Puget Sound to Pecos River dry
Covering nearly half of God's great land;
Today, i move in smaller circles...
I am in fine company with the Blue Jay and Wren
Touched and kissed by the Butterfly and Bee...
And fragranced by a Pink Rose, now and then;
Smiling all the while in such brillant light
This Texas sun-simply glows...
But never shall i ever forget the gentle rains that fell
That helped Washingtons evergreen to grow;
And when that day has finally come
That i know life for me is all but done...
I will kiss the Dawn-and embrace the Sunset long
Caress the Night-walk into The Light-as the Creator and i become one!
February 10,2012
By, Theodora Onken
poem by Theodora Onken
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February 19, 1942, is the year in which Executive Order 9066 was signed, and this was the order that called for the exclusion and internment of all Japanese Americans living on the west coast during World War II.
quote by Xavier Becerra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fire In The Belly
Call of the wildest, its got the best of you
Fire in my heart, fire in my belly too
Got a heart and a mind and a fire inside
And Im crazy about you
You, you on your high flying cloud
You, you when youre laughing out loud
You, you with your hidden surprise
You
Stoke up my engine, bring me my driving wheel
Once I get started youll see just how I feel
And Im crazy about you
And Im crazy about you
And Im crazy about you
You, you on your high flying cloud
You, you when youre laughing out loud
You, you with your hidden surprise
You
Gotta get through january
Gotta get through february
Gotta get through january
Gotta get through february
Gotta get through january
Gotta get through february
Gotta get through january
Spring in my heart, fire in my belly too
I come apart, I dont know just what to do
Got a heart and a mind and a fire inside
And Im crazy about you
You, you on your high flying cloud
You, you with the laugh in your eyes
You, you with your hidden surprise
You
Gotta get through january
Gotta get through february
Gotta get through january
Gotta get through february
Gotta get through january
Gotta get through february
Gotta get through january
Spring in my heart, fire in my belly too
I come apart, I dont know just what to do
Got a heart and a mind and a fire inside
And Im crazy about you
You, you on your high flying cloud
You, you with the laugh in your eyes
You, you with your hidden surprise
You
Talkin bout you
Talkin bout you
Talkin bout you
Talkin bout you
Talkin bout you
Talkin bout you (talkin bout you)
Talkin bout you (fire in the belly too)
Talkin bout you (talkin bout you)
Talkin bout you (talkin bout you)
Talkin bout you (talkin bout you)
Talkin bout you (talkin bout you)
Talkin bout you (talkin bout you)
Talkin bout you
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rani Sonata
Rani
It is the last day of
January
February will be here on
Monday
People are saying that spring will be here
In 3 months
poem by Aldo Kraas
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