Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy's Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota
Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk,
blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year's horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.
poem by James Arlington Wright
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Red Butterfly
Watch, see, with glee
flitting fast past a tree
Children chase, hear their cry
'Flutter by,
butterfly'
Red as sunset on the beach,
somehow always out of reach
Velvet wings whisper, wry
'Flutter by,
butterfly'
Blood heart, ruby gem
Floats in a secluded glen
So still lands, no leaf awry
'Flutter by,
butterfly'
Flame-wings on bough so green
as in close, they do lean
So still a crimson does it lie
'Flutter by,
butterfly'
Vivid red, in spring the led
Antennae tip on scarlet head
Whirl up to a diamond sky
*butterfly,
flutter, bye'
poem by Kathleen Grigsby
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Little Yellow Butterfly
Oh, liitle yellow butterfly
to this lonely house
please come in
and let your shadow
fill the empty wall
as I watch closely
till I fall asleep.
Oh, little yellow butterfly
to this lonely house
please come in
and change the color of my life
with your tiny yellow wings.
Oh, little yellow butterfly
to this lonely house
please come in
I have prepared flowers for you
so you can stay with me
without being lonely.
Oh, little yellow butterfly
to this lonely house
please come in.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
She Floats
[intro: whale sounds]
Watching puddles gather rain
Theres no better place to lay
Shes as fine as dandelions blowing in the wind
Shes not thinkin' about anything...
She floats
Floats...
Wearing black patent mary janes
She steps out in to the rain
She's as dry as clear blue skies
Swallowing you whole
Got not secrets though I'm told
She floats
Ahhh... ahhh...
She's as fine as dandelions blowing in the wind
Shes not thinkin she's listening
She floats... She floats... Floats...
Floats...
She floats... She floats... Floats...
Floats...
song performed by by Vanessa Carlton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Crow Black Chicken
(laurence wilson)
Well, I went on the mountain
And I gave my horn a blow
Thought I heard some purty gal say
Yonder come my beau
Crow black chicken and crow for a day
Crow black chicken and fly away
Crow black chicken and-a ...
I like chicken pie
Well, the hardest work that ever I done
Is plowin a field of rye
The easiest work that ever I done
Was eatin chicken pie
Chicken crow for midnight
And chicken crow for a day
Along come an owl, lord, have mercy
And stole my chicken away
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
To Angela
1
A lonely destiny in abandoned rooms
A soft insanity gropes on wallpapers.
Beds of geraniums flow by windows,
Daffodils also and more chaste in wasting away
As alabaster which gleams in the garden.
In blue veils India's mornings smile.
Their sweet incense scares away the stranger's worries,
Sleepless night by the pond because of Angela.
His pain rests hidden in an empty mask,
Thoughts which steal away blackly in the darkness.
The thrushes laugh all around from soft throats.
2
The fruits which round red in branches,-
Angela's lips which show her sweetness,
Like nymphs who bend over springs
In restful viewing for long hours,
The green-gold, long hours of the afternoon.
However, sometimes the spirit returns to fight and game.
In golden clouds a battle melee surges
And a hyacinth-like thing floats from mazy cresses.
A demon ponders thunderstorms in the sultriness,
In the grave's shadow of sad cypresses.
Then the first lightning falls from black flues.
3
The June willows' whisper in the evening;
A rain resounds long in flute sounds.
How motionless the birds hang in the gray!
And here Angela's rest in the dim branches;
The poet is this beauty's priest.
His mouth is flowed around by dark coolness.
In the valley fog softy rests poured out.
By the edge of the forest and gloom's shadow
A golden thing floats flowing from his mouth
By the edge of the forest and gloom's shadow.
Night embraces his drunken languishing.
poem by Georg Trakl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Take Me Back
Ive been walking by the river
Ive been walking down by the water
Ive been walking down by the river
Ive been feeling so sad and blue
Ive been thinking, Ive been thinking, Ive been thinking,
Ive been thinking, Ive been thinking, Ive been thinking,
Ah theres so much suffering, and its
Too much confusion, too much, too much confusion in the world
Take me back, take me back, take me back
Take me way back, take me way back, take me way back
Take me way back, take me way back, take me way back
Take me way back, take me way back, ah!
Take me way, way, way, way, way, way, way back, huh!
Help me un.....help me understand
Take me, do you remember the time darlin
When everything made more sense in the world (yeah)
Oh I remember, I remember
When life made more sense
Ah, ah, take me back, take me back, take me back, take me back
Take me back, take me back, take me back, take me back
Take me back (woah) to when the world made more sense
Well theres too much suffering and confusion
And Im walking down by the river
Oh, let me understand religion
Way, way back, way back
When you walked, in a green field, in a green meadow
Down an avenue of trees
On a, on a golden summer
And the sky was blue
And you didnt have no worries, you didnt have no care
You were walking in a green field
In a meadow, through the buttercups, in the summertime
And you looked way out over, way out
Way out over the city and the water
And it feels so good, and it feels so good
And you keep on walking
And the music on the radio, and the music on the radio
Has so much soul, has so much soul
And you listen, in the nightime
While were still and quiet
And you look out on the water
And the big ships, and the big boats
Came on sailing by, by, by, by
And you felt so good, and I felt so good
I felt I wanna blow my harmonica
Take me back, there, take me way back there
Take me back, take me back, take me back
Take me way, way, way back, way back
To when, when I understood
When I understood the light, when I understood the light
In the golden afternoon, in the golden afternoon
In the golden afternoon, in the golden afternoon
In the golden afternoon when we sat and listened to sonny boy blow
In the golden afternoon when
We sat and let sonny boy, blow, blow his harp
Take me back, take me back, take me back
Take me way, way, way, way, way, way, way
Back when i, when I understood, when I understood, yeah
Oh, ah, take me way back, when, when, when, when, when, when
When, when, when, when, when, when, when
I was walking down the
Walking down the street and
It didnt matter
'cause everything felt, everything felt, everything felt
Everything felt, everything felt, everything felt, everything felt
Everything felt, everything felt, everything felt so right, ha
And so good
Everything felt, so right, and so good
Everything felt, so right, and so good
Everything felt, so right, and so good, ah
Everything felt, so right, and so good
Everything felt, so right, and so good, so good
In the eternal now, in the eternal moment
In the eternal now, in the eternal moment
In the eternal now
Everything felt so good, so good, so good, so good, so good
And so right, so right, so right, just
So good, so right, so right, in the eternal
In the eternal moment, in the eternal moment
In the eternal moment, in the eternal moment
When you lived, when you lived
When you lived, in the light
When you lived in the grace
In the grace, in grace
When you lived in the light
In the light, in the grace
And the blessing.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Children In Bloom
Children in bloom cooking in the sun
Waiting for a room of our own
Leave my sister alone
She don't deserve this
She is a flower and I am a flower and
We are all alone
I gotta get out on my own
I gotta get up from this waiting at home
I gotta get out of this sunlight
It's melting my bones
I gotta get up from this slumber and get myself home
All these wasted dreams
Just waiting for the sun to open up my heart to anyone
Bring me some rain
Because I'm dying and I can't get this damn thing closed again
I gotta get out on my own
I gotta get up from this waiting at home
I gotta get out of this sunlight
It's melting my bones
I gotta get up from this slumber and get myself home
Where's the funhouse this year?
The fairground's deserted and the skies don't seem as near
But Nicole's my oldest friend
But the altar is empty and she'll never be a little girl again
I gotta get out on my own
I gotta get up from this waiting at home
I gotta get out of this sunlight
It's melting my bones
I gotta get up from this slumber and get myself home
I can't find my way home
song performed by by Counting Crows from Recovering The Satellites
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Hawk IIII
So I sat up and stared at the place the hawk had been-
rose, shuffled to the window, in fact
the Barrio was still the Barrio, in every respect:
the Projects not going anywhere fast,
the cars still parked along the curb
yellow, black, red and green
the little tree empty of wrens.
'Well', I thought,
present or absent
a hawk makes nothing different.
Difference, the mis-en-scene, the meaning
being the human part, and up to me. The hawk
was just a hawk sitting in a place where you don't normally
expect to see a hawk, that's all.
But I couldn't help thinking of the way
the halk made the neighborhood quite wonderful-
here: a flyway, and gone,
just a desolate, hawkless tract.
poem by Morgan Michaels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Looking Back At The Greens
i too look back at those green things
from the point of view of my
green thumb
a vegetable garden without an aphid on a leaf
a row of roses, lush green leaves
and red blooms
some petals falling due to the
wind
a line of green mint trees along the path
leading to the highway
sounds of motors threatening what green there is
i come back and settle on this patch
of green meadows
and grass and gray shade
my own shadow cast
on the huge gabi leaf.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fade To Black
Sunday matinee
In a one dog town
Youre two seats away
I move two seats down
Wipe the tears from your eyes
The first kiss I stole
I walk you home
The credits roll
Fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
I hear my voice
On the telephone
But Im just running
The same old business
I feel like Im off
Somewhere so alone
Just watching us both
Running the distance
Watching us both
Slowly pull back
Fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
I come home
Clothes all over the place
Youre crying in the corner
Makeup running down your face
Your case is packed
The fight starts
I (? ? ? ? ? ) cursin
Baby is this the scene
Which we been rehearsin
Is this the one
Or have I lost track
Waitin for us
To fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
A face wet with shame
Eyes filled with hurt
I scream out your name
You rip my shirt
A small bungalow
A late afternoon
The sunlight falls
Like a bright veil
A camera pans
An empty room
The picture dissolves
Slowly pulls back
Fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Dear Mr. Butterfly
As I sit in my thought filled anxiety
I caught a glimpse of that wonderful serenity
Weaving through all the greenery, that was drenched in sunlight
I saw a butterfly mid flight.
No worries, No care, just flying through the air
Just seeming at peace like now my thoughts seem to be,
Oh why, oh why can’t that butterfly be me?
He’s so beautiful, so gracious and free.
Free form the troubles and stresses that life seems to be
Oh dear Mr. Butterfly,
Can you teach me a thing or two?
About how not to worry, be peaceful and true.
Because right at the moment there’s nothing I want more,
Then to close that old door.
Now you see Mr. Butterfly
That I’m in a bit of a rut,
Oh with how much I want to there’s always that but.
That but that always seems to linger about,
It makes me want to scream and shout!
No matter how much I try to defend,
I always seem to make it offend,
But you know what?
I don’t give a stuff!
Yet…there it is again, that but,
That has put me into this rut.
Oh Mr. Butterfly
What can I do? !
It won’t be too long,
But I wont be too soon,
Until all of those worries and stresses are back
And they’ll come hit me with one big SMACK!
Oh what will be next?
They’ll lock me in chains?
Treat me like and animal hidden behind a cage?
NO!
It won’t be that easy to push me back into the scenery.
If you think I won’t fight,
Then you’ve got another thing coming
And I suggest that you should start running,
Because I wont back down!
NO WAY!
NO HOW!
Oh wait Mr. Butterfly
Now wont you come back?
I wanted to thank you for stopping my night turn to black.
Yet even though the sky has gotten darker,
It seems my thoughts have become much lighter.
Thank you Mr. Butterfly
You’re a really good listener,
You’ve made me feel a whole lot blisser.
Now as I head back inside I will say,
Goodbye Mr. Butterfly
One last time.
poem by Jessica Lowe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ode to a Butterfly
Butterfly, oh butterfly, why do you hide in the shadows?
Spread wide your wings, let your heart sing
And come dance with me in the meadow
Butterfly, oh butterfly, why do you fear?
You'll never stray, I'll lead the way
Just follow the path, I'll be near
Butterfly, oh butterfly, have you no hope?
Drink of the sun, our life's just begun
Thro time's hills and valleys we'll lope
Butterfly, oh butterfly, dare you to dream?
On our hearts we depend, shall we follow the wind
And consign to the fates grander scheme?
poem by Sheri Hockman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Old Liberators
Of all the people in the mornings at the mall,
It's the old liberators I like best,
Those veterans of the Bulge, Anzio, or Monte Cassino
I see lost in Automotive or back in Home Repair,
Bored among the paints and power tools.
Or the really old ones, the ones who are going fast,
Who keep dozing off in the little orchards
Of shade under the distant skylights.
All around, from one bright rack to another,
Their wives stride big as generals,
Their handbags bulging like ripe fruit.
They are almost all gone now,
And with them they are taking the flak
And fire storms, the names of the old bombing runs.
Each day a little more of their memory goes out,
Darkens the way a house darkens,
Its rooms quietly filling with evening,
Until nothing but the wind lifts the lace curtains,
The wind bearing through the empty rooms
The rich far off scent of gardens
Where just now, this morning,
Light is falling on the wild philodendrons.
poem by Robert Hedin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Grandpa Orange Garden
From my grandpa Orange Garden
You can saw green orange leaf
all over the place
it fruits had started ripening
He frequently late going home
My grandma hit “Kentongan ”)
For going home soonly
But my grandpa workinghard
Forgotten to eat and drink, and going home
When he going home he saw the roof falling down
And black cloud seen in the sky
Quickly my grandfather took the ladder
Up to the roof and care the roof
For bettering their room
The rain fall from the sky
My grandpa walking down from teh roof
sleppy, and never wake up again
my grandma cried till morning
forgotten the orange fruit harvest
she embrace her husband slept strectched on the ground
in the meeting room
where children and grandchildren are gathering
to day you couldn’t seen the green leaf orange
the fresh orange leave the smeel in my reminiscences
the garden leave high and dry
no grandpa touch down at
the leafs through,
it stalks to let dryness
dryness and to wither
the dush fly everywhere
the house and garden is empty
only ghosts dwell in that house
I still remember
I fomerly run there
Among the orange stem trees
Under the orange leaf shady
His Only one message:
Don’t pick those oranges before ripe
Jakarta,6/29/2005
poem by Prasetya Utama
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fern Hill
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and
cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was
air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the
nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking
warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would
take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
poem by Dylan Thomas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Hollow Nature Of Being
WALL I:
inside an empty room lies an empty box
and in that box is a four walled inside room within-
on each of the four walls is a mirror reflecting
the deep desertion of the next
and distant within each wall is another
echoing & spiraling back into infinite repetition
with nothing or no one except the physical entities
bearing back upon each other.
WALL II:
an empty room in an empty house
the house itself has no physical attributes because it
was built in a barren field-
there are no animals, no trees,
no beings of any kind
roaming around the house whose image cannot be
imagined,
at best, know that this house in fact
“housed” the room in question,
as any house might any room.
WALL III:
such a barren field stretches to all four corners
carrying itself out beyond the periphery
curling back in on the other side,
and walking in any direction will bring one back to the
beginning-
the barren field that reveals the empty house that
encapsulates the empty room is the most integral point of
reference within the endless flat plain of grass.
WALL IV:
endless flat plains of grass flowing out in all directions covering
the circumference of the area around the empty house residing in
the middle of the plain wherein
the inside of the empty house holds the
empty room & in the
room,
the four mirrored walls reveal only the replication of the
others,
spiraling into infinite repetition-
there is no feeling
no sound
no communication of any kind
woven with the thread of human fiber.
poem by Andrew Delapruch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Couple Of Chicken Religious Meal
The couple of chicken religious meal
On the ruwatan of my mother
Offering to me
8. Couple Of Chicken Religious Meal
I left the hen one at my grandma house
and bring the cock going home
after arrive at home
that cock
I bring everywhere
aver meet the another one
keep fighting with my cock and win
sometime meet with the cockfighter
neighbour, who have gerobak repair house
where they iron for
and teakwood for
in the center field
they fight my cock and theirs
the winner is always my cock
Their face look very regretful
And they offering to bought my cock
I avoid
And tomorrow eveing, when I went home from school
I found my cock foot
He stay and asleep in my house corner
My cockfoot had injury was harpooned
I care with garlic, not yet recover
I care with peniciclin, not
a week after that cock dead
I cry for the whole day
I don’t understand adult will won theirself
they dont understand, that is not just a cock
But a cock for religious meal in the ruwatan of my mother
My grandma gift
poem by Prasetya Utama
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Request
The sun that you stole
Was mine.
The house that you threw into darkness,
Was mine.
The sunshine that smiles in your home, is mine.
My life is bleak without it,
The odor of my grief is heavy on it,
It was mine yesterday and is mine today.
It is I, bereft of light, who am its father.
It is my fire that is embedded in its limbs.
The smell of my sun is in it,
The sun that was stolen from me in broad daylight.
But you cannot be blamed for this theft.
The sun has been stolen in every era.
An afternoon has always died,
Weeping for the sun.
I, lightless, beamless, have a request,
I, a faithless father, stand at your door.
Let me place a sun upon your forehead,
And beg you for my sunlight.
I, who died long ago, beg you to bestow this on me.
Never utter my name again in the sunlight.
If ever some ray asks a question, remain silent,
Or call me a ‘black sun' and let it go.
This is the request of a father of sunlight.
From this day, on my sunshine is dead to me
Along with the sun it is yours now,
Wherever it smiles, is the home if its father.
The sun that you stole
Was mine.
The house that you threw into darkness,
Was mine.
[Translated from 'Arjoi' by Suman Kashyap]
poem by Shiv Kumar Batalvi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Night Before The Mowing
ALL shimmering in the morning shine
And diamonded with dew,
And quivering in the scented wind
That thrills its green heart through,--
The little field, the smiling field,
With all its flowers a-blowing,
How happy looks the golden field
The day before the mowing!
All still 'neath the departing light,
Twilight, though void of stars,
Save where, low westering, Venus hides
From the red eye of Mars;
How quiet lies the silent field
With all its beauties glowing;
Just stirring,--like a child asleep,--
The night before the mowing.
Sharp steel, inevitable hand,
Cut keen, cut kind! Our field
We know full well must be laid low
Before its wealth it yield:
Labor and mirth and plenty blest
Its blameless death bestowing:
And yet we weep, and yet we weep,
The night before the mowing.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
How Long Is Short Time
How long or short is Time?
Got up early sat on a chair not reading or watching TV,
time has been running too fast lately into the sand
of a desert that doesn’t bloom; must slow time down
to a trickle. After breakfast I went for a walk and took
no interest in what I saw, back in my chair looking at
the clock, yes the forenoon was endless and I was
hungry, and finally lunch. In the afternoon I went for
another walk, didn’t buy a paper I only get engrossed
in what I read and time flies. Back home I sat in my chair
watched a dipteral circle around, fell asleep and when
I awoke it was seven in the evening, time I had saved
that day had been wasted by me snoozing in a chair.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!