En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Fog Creeps In The Rubber Forest

and build a hill moments
on the corner
limp body in silence
is it not a time capturing the clouds?
marching into one sentence shrubs
rising in the morning on empty cans
are untouched since yesterday
the twisted bamboo baskets
silent on just one word
shrubs swaying
want to do?
does it build the wind gallery here?
the wind will soon collapse
between the sidelines of the tree
and flew my spirit

poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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The Cities Of White Men

Those men build many houses:
They dig the earth, and they build;
They cut down the trees, and they build;
They work always - building.

From the elevation of the mountainside
I behold the clouds:
The clouds build many beautiful houses in the sky:
They build, and they tear down;
They build, and they dissolve. . . .

The cities of white men,
They are not beautiful like the cloud cities;
They are not vast, like the cloud cities. . . .

A wind-swept teepee
Is all the house I own. . .

poem by Anonymous Americas
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No more school

No more school

No more school no sitting
It is the time to play
Let’s go to the river bank
And make doll with clay.

Keep all the books away
Let’s go to the field
With grass and shrubs
A beautiful hut we build.

From the top of the tree
Let’s count cloud
Getting rid of exam worry
Let’s sing aloud.

poem by Binoy Barman
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Real Strength (Octelle Form)

Bamboo tree, you are resilient
With the wind, so truly patient
Bending back with every blow
Swaying freely, strength to show
Although fierce may be the storm
It can never break your form
Bamboo tree, you are resilient
With the wind, so truly patient!

Cynthia Buhain Baello
11.22.12

**Octelle - poetry form of 8 lines
aa-bb-cc-aa rhyme scheme, 88-77-77-88 syllable
pattern, and uses personification & symbolism.
The first 2 lines are repeated as the last 2 lines.

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Reeds

They grow so tall
like solemn reeds,
swaying in the morning sun,
and rustle when the wind blows,
only when the wind blows.

Like revelers with the saddest songs
the wind tells them to sing along,
but to and fro with tame resolve
they move, and grow, and life goes on,
softly in the morning sun.

When the wind has come and gone,
and silence is the evening song,
they'll be at rest, but shiver some,
gently in the falling sun.

poem by by unknown author
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What We Have

A body, a brain, a mind,
and the gift of choice.
All the human senses,
a language, a voice.

A conscience to guide us
in deciding right or wrong.
Feelings to stir emotions,
be them short or long.

A soul to comfort your body,
a spirit to inspire and create,
which also gives you hope
when your life is in a state.

Doors to open
when opportunity knocks.
Someone who can listen
when marooned upon life's rocks.

Balmy summer days,
autumn's palette of colour.
Nature's new growth in spring,
fresh winters to discover.

Blue skies and clouds,
rainbows and showers.
Wind, snow, and sunshine,
trees, plants, shrubs, and flowers.

poem by Orlando Belo
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One Day Nearer Spring

The weather cold this morning it is only two degrees
And a thick fog through the woodland, I can hardly see the trees
And the wildborn birds are silent there is scarcely any breeze
It's a day for woolly jumper though not cold enough to freeze.

For Winter in Victoria the weather seems quite dry
And the mornings foggy and quite cold allowing for July
And the fog doesn't lift till mid morning and the sun shines through the gray
And you see the grayness of your breath on a chilly Winter
day.

But only yesterday I saw male blackbird searching for a nesting site
On the ivy along galvanize fence in mid afternoon sunlight
And from there he flew to camellia tree as he pondered on where best
Might be the safest place for him and his mate to build their year's first nest.

The last leaves off of deciduous tree lay scattered on the ground
And in the grayness of the dawn the silence is profound,
The ghost like trees shrouded in gray and the birds refuse to sing
But every Winter day that dawns is one day nearer Spring.

poem by Francis Duggan
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A Poem Of Syntax

A poet and his bird, his dog, his cat and his tree
A poet and the bird in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree
A poet and his dog in the tree and the wind and the cloud
The bird in the tree, the dog in the tree, the cat in the tree,
The bird in the tree, the dog on the tree, the cat under the tree,
The bird on the tree, the bird in a tree, a bird in a tree, a bird in the tree,
And the wind and the cloud and the poet and his dog and his cat and the tree

The dog chases the cat the cat chases the bird
And they all arrive in that tree
Where the poet is sitting under that tree
The poet takes the dog and the cat was envious
And the bird looks at them in silence
The silence looks at the poet in the eye
Of the cat and the bird flies away
The poet and the dog is the poem of friendship
The cat and the dog is the poem of the endless natural quarrels
And the bird that flies away against the cat and the dog and the poet and the tree
And flies against the wind that the bird is now fighting
And the clouds that seem so blue and blue

The bird that actually flies away
Is actually me
I was not the poet with the dog

I am not the tree I am not the wind I am not the cloud I am not the poet there who had a dog as friend and I was not the quarrelsome thing from the blue and out of the blue

I am the bird with wings and I always fly away to places
Against the wind to places where I can be as always be the bird with wings in silence

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Duty Promise

i will build a glory before i die
i will tell my heart not to deny
i will build my faith to the sky
i will tell the soul what to defy
i will build my sentence with no lie
i will tell my mind to fly
after all when i die
i will live in the mansions of the sky
this was said by the most high
'the good shall live with me when they die'

poem by Kemurl Fofanah
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Thunder breaks Silence
as rain blankets the green fields
Earth drinks the bounty
the Bamboo bends with the wind
...swaying, but it does not break.

tanka by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Awe gust

The wind whirls
And stirs the dust
Leaving the grass with nothing to anchor

It is the august wind
That blows so viciously
After the winter’s chill
Has tormented the frail shrubs

It blows dust in my face
As if to spite me
For I can do nothing to stop it

But somewhere in me
I smile in defiance
Because I know
That the next season is spring

But unlike the august wind
I have no one to spite
I curse and praise nature at the same time
For the august wind
And the life that buds in spring

Through these episodes
I get exposed
As one with no might
I take whatever she throws
Even if I do not like it
I’m just grateful
That she doesn’t only frown
But smiles at times

poem by Matete Motsoaledi
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Bricks

When we were young,
we build our bricks
as solid as we can.
As one may crumble
we build another to replace,
and so it goes on,
until we are too old and tired
to build bricks anymore.
Then when they crumble,
our lives turn to dust,
ready to be blown away,
by the first strong wind,
to pass our way.

poem by David Harris
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Lo And Behold

Lonely by day
Empty and cold
Only to say
Lo and behold
Deep in the night
Down in my dreams
Glorious sight
This soul has seen
There's a well on the hill
You just can't kill for Jesus
There's a well on the hill
Let it be
I don't build no heathen temples
Where the Lord has done laid his hand
There's a well on the hill
Let it be
Everyone's talking 'bout the gospel story
Some shall sink and some shall rise
Everyone's talking 'bout the train to glory
Long, long time 'til it gets here to you, baby
There's a well on the hill
You just can't kill for Jesus
There's a well on the hill
Let it be
I don't build no heathen temples
Where the Lord has done laid a hand
There's a well on the hill
Let it be

song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Build A Fire (lenny Dee Remix)

Pulled up to rest, let the engine cool awhile.
Open the beans, gather wood for the fire.
I hum this tune, to all the girls I've known.
Should I care, about the chances I've blown?
Build a fire, they're gonna build a fire
Build a fire, they're gonna build a fire
They're gonna build a fire
They're gonna build a fire
When daylight breaks, I'll be down that road.
Rockman 'an me, with a lighter load.
We'll stop fo r lunch, in some taco bar.
Lee Marvin on the jukebox, 'Wanderin Star'.
Build a fire, they're gonna build a fire
Build a fire, they're gonna build a fire

song performed by by KLF
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Leaves Turning Grey

Like a carcass lays, an ancient tree,
he tried to pray, through celestial seas,
but his spirit flew just like a bee.
Everyday he gazed at crying clouds,
the wind through his branches was so loud.
He looked for listening ears
as he stood in a sea of tears.

O tree, do you still wade?
Why have you lost your will to change?
O tree, leaves turning grey,
your roots have lost their range.

But how can one ask for help,
when you're not helping yourself?
And so this tree founded on sand,
with the wind tumbled to land.
He's an arboreal fool,
in a world that pulls
his heart and blood apart.

O tree, you've lost your blood,
your dead branches lay in the mud.
O tree, leaves turning grey,
your roots in such ground won't stay.

poem by Soren Valentine
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A Lonely Fallen Leaf

One fine morning
In the season of fall
The leaf pick up made its early round
And the trash was just picked
Sun was shining
The sky was blue
And the wind blew in occasional spurts…
The empty trash bin lay on its side
Rocking and rocking with every blow of the wind.

A lonely dry leaf flew by and landed on the ground
Inching forward and backward as the wind blew,
And the empty trash bin kept on rocking.

The world seemed to be in a dynamic equilibrium
With motion of all its elements synchronized.

I watched with curiosity
If the lonely leaf would be trapped in the bin
And make its way to the landfill mound!

With a final gust of wind
The leaf flew past the bin and away
The wind stopped and the bin lay still
And the leaf, I hope, will find a safe place and degrade
And contribute its share to the ecological parade.

poem by Tirupathi Chandrupatla
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The Wind Is My Pillow©

The wind is my pillow upon which I lay my head,
The clouds are the down upon which I make my bed,
Together we all float in an undisturbed slumber,
Where all of the worldly woes we can disencumber.

The wind is my pillow when the day is done,
When the warmth has finished and the night's begun,
And the down around me I can enfold,
Admitting me again to that reassurance untold.

The wind is my pillow gently pushing me wide and far,
The chill of the night is blanketed by the stars,
And on we drift through a sleep of silent peace,
And once again we the chaos can release.

The wind is my pillow never knowing where I'll be,
With my eyes closed I wait to see what I will see,
Continuing to coast in a docile state of desire,
Unscathed and untouched by that which would conspire.

The wind is my pillow upon which I lay my head,
On the clouds of down I make my bed,
Pushing me gently to here and there,
Reposing once more to that place dreams will share.

poem by Joanna E. King
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The Piper On The Hills

A CHILD'S SONG
There sits a piper on the hill
Who pipes the livelong day,
And when he pipes both loud and shrill,
The frightened people say
‘The wind, the wind is blowing up,
'Tis rising to a gale.’
The women hurry to the shore
To watch some distant sail.
The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind,
Is blowing to a gale.
But when he pipes all sweet and low,
The piper on the hill,
I hear the merry women go
With laughter, loud and shrill
‘The wind, the wind is coming south,
'Twill blow a gentle day.’
They gather on the meadow-land,
To toss the yellow hay.
The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind,
Is blowing south to-day.

And in the morn, when winter comes,
To keep the piper warm,
The little Angels shake their wings
To make a feather storm
‘The snow, the snow has come at last!’
The happy children call,
And ‘ring around’ they dance in glee,
And watch the snowflakes fall.
The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind,
Has spread a snowy pall.
But when at night the piper plays,
I have not any fear,
Because God's windows open wide
The pretty tune to hear;
And when each crowding spirit looks,
From its star window-pane,
A watching mother may behold
Her little child again.
The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind,
May blow her home again.

poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
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Epiphany

Outside the surge of the wind, the wind in the trees,
The rush of leaves, and the sighing in the pine-needles,
Outside the sound of the sea-shore, distant, remembered,
The waves breaking on the gray rocks, and the evening approaching,
The restlessness, and the interminable noise.

Silence in the room, and solitude,
A sense of spaces, remoteness and nearness, and the soul's awareness,

Desolate is the hearts desire
And the loving knows no end,
When the morning in the clouds breaks across the sky,
And the forests sway and bend.

Outside the wind, the wind in the trees,
And the sighing in the tree-tops.

Noises from the town, heedless, unthinking, indistinct,
Recurring, fading,
And silence in the room, and solitude,
The shadowy dimness, the darkness of evening,
A pause in time, and the soul's awareness.

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Lo & Behold

Lonely by day
Empty and cold
Only to say
Lo and behold
Deep in the night
Down in my dreams
Glorious sight
This soul has seen
Theres a well on the hill
You just cant kill for jesus
Theres a well on the hill
Let it be
I dont build no heathen temples
Where the lord has done laid his hand
Theres a well on the hill
Let it be
Everyones talking bout the gospel story
Some shall sink and some shall rise
Everyones talking bout the train to glory
Long, long time til it gets here to you, baby
Theres a well on the hill
You just cant kill for jesus
Theres a well on the hill
Let it be
I dont build no heathen temples
Where the lord has done laid a hand
Theres a well on the hill
Let it be

song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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28 Wind Poems

Wind chimes play not on time... but when the Spirit moves.

The South Wind has for the evening donned jasmine scent*
*
The wind weaves many white caps so quickly for the blue sea
*
Mother Wind moves the water rocker
to and fro on the stormy sound's deeps. On the boatcradle by lapping
waves she is softly lulled to sleep.
*
Will, your winded wings will win.
*
Clouds' whitewaterweave covered the sky.. and yet
everywhere there was a patch of blue.. it was a different
hue... here aqua.. there cerulean... or teal or indigo
*
The east wind blowing westward marries the falling rain
turning her attention elsewhere
*
Crosswinds quilt the Connecticut River ever so slightly
but stil the waters flow to the sea.
*
As gauzy veils lie on the shoulders of the slender, as avalanche
clouds pour through tall firs, as morning mist
rolls through ship masts, do monsoon clouds flow
over the peaks of the Himalayas
*
Froggie croaks on his rock dais encircled by dizzy daisies
throughout summer days. The wind makes them wave in applause.
*
The wind has blown away the cloud cover..
and he pond's reflection from grey to blue clover
*
Spirit Wind when talking with wind chimes
strikes not on the hour nor at the 'right' time

================================= ===

poem by Saiom Shriver
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