The Boys
Where are they?--the friends of my childhood enchanted--
The clear, laughing eyes looking back in my own,
And the warm, chubby fingers my palms have so wanted,
As when we raced over
Pink pastures of clover,
And mocked the quail's whir and the bumblebee's drone?
Have the breezes of time blown their blossomy faces
Forever adrift down the years that are flown?
Am I never to see them romp back to their places,
Where over the meadow,
In sunshine and shadow,
The meadow-larks trill, and the bumblebees drone?
Where are they? Ah! dim in the dust lies the clover;
The whippoorwill's call has a sorrowful tone,
And the dove's--I have wept at it over and over;--
I want the glad luster
Of youth, and the cluster
Of faces asleep where the bumblebees drone!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
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!
Raspberry Hives
The ancient man
with raspberry hives
on his cheeks
since childhood
will live alone
no longer.
He'll marry, he says,
the first woman who'll have him.
Till now
he has wanted
to die
as he's lived,
alone in his room
with the radio playing,
the water in the bathtub
dripping.
The drone of hours,
however, has become
the drone of years
and the ancient man
with raspberry hives
on his cheeks
since childhood
fears death will convert
his hives into pocks,
take his body
but reject his soul.
For reasons
he can't articulate,
he believes
if he weds
the first woman
who'll have him,
death will have reason,
for the first time,
to do the job right.
poem by Donal Mahoney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Summer Song
The meadow lark’s trill and the brown thrush’s whistle
From morning to evening fill all the sweet air,
And my heart is as light as the down of a thistle –
The world is so bright and the earth is so fair.
There is life in the wood, there is bloom on the meadow;
The air drops with songs that the merry birds sing.
The sunshine has won, in the battle with shadow,
And she’s dressed the glad earth with robes of the spring.
The bee leaves his hive for the field of red clover
And the vale where the daisies bloom white as the snow,
And a mantle of warm yellow sunshine hangs over
The calm little pond, where the pale lillies grow.
In the woodland beyond it, a thousand gay voices
Are singing in chorus some jubilant air.
The bird and the bee and all nature rejoices,
The world is so bright, and the earth is so fair.
I am glad as a child, in this beautiful weather;
I have tossed all my burdens and trials away;
My heart is as light – yes, as light as a feather; -
I am care-free, and careless, and happy to-day.
Can it be there approaches a dark, dreary to-morrow?
Can shadows e’er fall on this beautiful earth?
Ah! To-day is my own! No forebodings of sorrow
Shall darken my skies, or shall dampen my mirth.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Latest Invention
A mother-hen with twelve chicks,
A goat with two baby-goats,
A parrot confined in the cage,
An infant in the cradle with a baby doll,
And an old man and woman
These were all
Twenty one terrorists who were killed
Yesterday by a drone,
Yes; the same drone: the latest invention.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Song Of Long Ago
A song of Long Ago:
Sing it lightly--sing it low--
Sing it softly--like the lisping of the lips we used to know
When our baby-laughter spilled
From the glad hearts ever filled
With music blithe as robin ever trilled!
Let the fragrant summer-breeze,
And the leaves of locust-trees,
And the apple-buds and blossoms, and the wings of honey-bees,
All palpitate with glee,
Till the happy harmony
Brings back each childish joy to you and me.
Let the eyes of fancy turn
Where the tumbled pippins burn
Like embers in the orchard's lap of tangled grass and fern,--
There let the old path wind
In and out and on behind
The cider-press that chuckles as we grind.
Blend in the song the moan
Of the dove that grieves alone,
And the wild whir of the locust, and the bumble's drowsy drone;
And the low of cows that call
Through the pasture-bars when all
The landscape fades away at evenfall.
Then, far away and clear,
Through the dusky atmosphere,
Let the wailing of the kildee be the only sound we hear:
O sad and sweet and low
As the memory may know
Is the glad-pathetic song of Long Ago!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Three Plum Buns
Three plum buns
To eat here at the stile
In the clover meadow,
For we have walked a mile.
One for you, and one for me,
And one left over:
Give it to the boy who shouts
To scare sheep from the clover.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Luck
I sought a four-leaved clover,—
The grass was gemmed with dew,—
I searched the meadow over
To find a four-leaved clover;
I was a lucky rover,—
You sought the charm-grass, too,
And seeking luck and clover
I found it—finding you.
poem by Abbie Farwell Brown from The New England Magazine / Volume 15, Issue 3 (1893)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
The Clover
Some sings of the lily, and daisy, and rose,
And the pansies and pinks that the Summertime
throws
In the green grassy lap of the medder that lays
Blinkin' up at the skyes through the sunshiney days;
But what is the lily and all of the rest
Of the flowers, to a man with a hart in his brest
That was dipped brimmin' full of the honey and dew
Of the sweet clover-blossoms his babyhood knew?
I never set eyes on a clover-field now,
Er fool round a stable, er climb in the mow,
But my childhood comes back jest as clear and as plane
As the smell of the clover I'm sniffin' again;
And I wunder away in a bare-footed dream,
Whare I tangle my toes in the blossoms that gleam
With the dew of the dawn of the morning of love
Ere it wept ore the graves that I'm weepin' above.
And so I love clover--it seems like a part
Of the sacerdest sorrows and joys of my hart;
And wharever it blossoms, oh, thare let me bow
And thank the good God as I'm thankin' Him now;
And I pray to Him still fer the stren'th when I die,
To go out in the clover and tell it good-bye,
And lovin'ly nestle my face in its bloom
While my soul slips away on a breth of purfume
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
No Liberty can Bloom where Doomsday Few Enshroud
Drone's no-fly zone sets tone for prompt poetic
Radar tracks furtive raider rarely seen
Only sophisticated systems glean
Near view. Invader unapologetic
Eyes all below, hill, hollow, scan frenetic
Seeks secrets, civil, military, sheen
Now cloaked - gold members' privilege - can screen
One at a time all details. Energetic
Flight-path for Big Brother is planned, magnetic
Lasers home in on aerodrome, demesnes,
Yet few maintain complaints as freedom's scene
ZOne borderline must meet. Heed call prophetic!
No liberty can bloom where doomsday few
Enshroud, cloud basic facts, conceal true view.
Acrostic Sonnet Drone's No-Fly Zone 21 December 2011
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In The Meadow
I asked the silver one on one
Tell me who I am
Lines on your finger says
You wouldnt understand
I asked the silver one on one
Tell me whats the score
Lies on your picture says
You wouldnt need much more
In the meadow
I asked oblivion just for fun
Tell me what to say
Climb up the mountain boy
And look the other way
I asked a million questions
Of the world I want to be
And the signs I remember
Whos the one they got to me
In the meadow,
Looking for life in the world
Everythings fine
In the meadow
Ceilings so high
Life might be listening
So we better take our time
We asked a wonder one on one
Please tell me what to be
Call down the miracles
And save yourself for me
We asked a river one on one
Please tell me what you see
I see forever
And it looks like you and me
In the meadow
Looking for life in the world
Everythings fine
In the meadow
Ceilings so high
Life might be listening
So we better take our time
In the meadow
Looking for life in the world
In the meadow
Everythings fine
In the meadow
Ceilings so high
Life might be listening
So we better take our time
In the meadow
In the meadow
Looking for life
In the meadow
Feeling so fine
In the meadow
Seeming so high
Life might be listening
Life might be listening
So we better take our time
In the meadow
song performed by by Men Without Hats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Buzz That Nonsense to Someone Else
To Drone or not to drone.
I choose not to do it.
Or become captivated by anyone,
Who is running for an office
To represent my interests.
I choose to be excited,
About every aspect of my life.
And if someone elects to monotone in drones,
With pretentions they know what is best for me...
Had better buzz that nonsense to someone else.
I seek to ignite much more than that.
I want the company of those who are happy,
Baggage and issue free.
And surrounding me with an energy,
Like busy worker bees!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
0010 A day, a meadow, a miracle
This is the meadow.
It slopes from bright South
down to the West and North
from the primroses in the southern hedge
down through the violets, sometimes white,
in the western hedge tipping down
to the rabbit warren and
down to the wild garlic
in perpetual shadow in the northern ditch
shouting among the nettles
this is where, each morning in May,
the world is made anew;
there are more wild flowers in this meadow
than you’ll ever see together –
cowslips, oxslips, pink mayflowers,
wild orchids, red scabious,
yellow celandines, clover, cuckoo-pint...
and as the sun curves slowly round,
and the shadow moves aside,
the flowers, saturated with the morning dew,
shine each with a crystal drop
and it’s not until you step among them
and a small cloud of moths and butterflies rise up,
that you see the meadow is so full of life,
sipping its daily bread of dew
and in an hour or so, pollen, honey;
every day this meadow
invites, invents anew
words fresh as dew –
joy, constancy, innocence,
love, freedom, rest,
wonder, praise, and gratitude –
if every day this miracle,
what of tomorrow
and the heart?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Am With Name
I was
Ramona a. stone
I started with no enemies of my own
I was an artiste
In a tunnel
But Ive been having a mid-life crisis
And Ive been dreaming in a sleep
And ape men with metal parts
Ive spat upon deeply felt age
Ive hid my hearts in
And I hate your funny colored english
Well creep togeher you and i
For I know who the small friends are
I am with name, I am with name,
I am ramona a stone
A night filled female
Good timing drone
I am with name
I am with name sleepy now
Your silhouette is so stationary
Youre released but your custody calls
And I want to be free
I am with name, I am with name
I am ramona a stone
She could say twitch & stream
Itll end in chrome
Night of the female good time drone
I am with name I am ramona a stone
She should say: I am with name
I am ramona a stone
I am ramona a stone
A person who loses a name
Feels anxiety descending
Left at the crossroads, between
The centuries a millenium fetish
I am with name, I am with name
I am ramona a stone
I am with name, night fear female
Good timing drone
I am with name
I am ramona a stone
I am ramona a stone
Anxiety descending
Anxiety descending
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The First Noel / When The Meadow Was Bloomin'
(Instrumental)
In April weather
when the meadow was bloomin'
we walk together
to the top of the hill
upon the clover
when the meadow was bloomin'
we dreamed together
just us true lovers will
but summer flies on
far across the horizon
and winter lies on
over the valley and hills
do you remember
when the meadow was bloomin'
in bleak December
do you think of me still
but summer flies on
far across the horizon
and winter lies on
over the valley and hills
do you remember
when the meadow was bloomin'
in bleak December
do you think of me still
do you remember
just as I always will
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Törnfallet
There is a meadow in Sweden
where I lie smitten,
eyes stained with clouds'
white ins and outs.
And about that meadow
roams my widow
plaiting a clover
wreath for her lover.
I took her in marriage
in a granite parish.
The snow lent her whiteness,
a pine was a witness.
She'd swim in the oval
lake whose opal
mirror, framed by bracken,
felt happy broken.
And at night the stubborn
sun of her auburn
hair shone from my pillow
at post and pillar.
Now in the distance
I hear her descant. She sings "Blue Swallow,"
but I can't follow.
The evening shadow
robs the meadow
of width and color.
It's getting colder.
As I lie dying
here, I'm eyeing
stars.Here's Venus;
no one between us.
poem by Joseph Brodsky
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tornfallet
There is a meadow in Sweden
where I lie smitten,
eyes stained with clouds'
white ins and outs.
And about that meadow
roams my widow
plaiting a clover
wreath for her lover.
I took her in marriage
in a granite parish.
The snow lent her whiteness,
a pine was a witness.
She'd swim in the oval
lake whose opal
mirror, framed by bracken,
felt happy, broken.
And at night the stubborn
sun of her auburn
hair shone from my pillow
at post and pillar.
Now in the distance
I hear her descant.
She sings "Blue Swallow,"
but I can't follow.
The evening shadow
robs the meadow
of width and color.
It's getting colder.
As I lie dying
here, I'm eyeing
stars. Here's Venus;
no one between us.
poem by Joseph Brodsky
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Drones And Riots
Just a Thought (drones and riots)
In Waziristan, a tiny Pakistani town, a drone hit its target.
The collateral damage... several children killed.
This incident happened about the same time as riot struck
London after an armed loser was shot by the police.
A few building were torched and many shops were looted
and trivial items like trainers and TV were stolen.
In Waziristan the drone was dropped by murderous fools
the riot in London was done by the hopelessly inadequate.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I don't Like You
I, my, fly, die, shy, sigh, guy, bye
gone, flown, cone, drone, blown, away
hay, hey, neigh
Cry, my, guy, yigh, goodbye
wait, hate, gate, crate, weight
even some debate
Watch out! or you'll trip over escape
While I poke you with debate
And escalate mole hills
Into mountain ranges
'equate'
poem by Midnights Voice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Growing Old
Little by little the year grows old,
The red leaves drop from the maple boughs;
The sun grows dim, and the winds blow cold,
Down from the distant arctic seas.
Out of the skies the soft light dies,
And the shadows of autumn come creeping over,
And the bee and the bird are no longer heard
In grove or meadow, or field of clover.
Little by little our lives grow old,
Our faces no longer are fair to see;
For gray creeps into the curls of gold,
And the red fades out of the cheeks, ah me!
And the birds that sang till our heart strings rang
With strains of hope, and joy, and pleasure,
Have flown away; and our hearts today
Hear only the weird wind's solemn measure.
Youth and summer, and beauty and bloom,
Droop and die in the autumn weather,
But up from the gloom of the winter's tomb,
They shall rise, in God's good time, together.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Home Away From Home
I walk down the small path
bordered either side by bluebells.
As I walk down the path
which I have done hundreds of times before.
There is a stirring in the trees,
which prompts my memories,
of faces that have come and gone
over the passing years.
Also comes back the laughter
that never seems to subside
and all the jokes
we’ve played on one another.
I smiled as I stopped for a moment
to look around at everything there.
It seems like only yesterday
that I came along here,
but in reality, the years have flown by.
Some faces I remember
will never be coming back to visit,
while the others I might see someday.
Even when the sad day comes
when I can’t come anymore.
I will leave with many photographs
in my memory store.
A few more steps I take
and the town comes into view
along with friendly faces
on the boardwalks there.
There are a few whose names I forget,
but the faces I know so well
in this little town
I call my home away from home.
15 February 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!