to the river and
galloping away
the maple leaf
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Related quotes
402
snow melts
in the river
a maple leaf
begins its travel
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Oddfellowship in Woodstock
Well tell a tale, it shall be brief
It is of rise of Maple Leaf,
From noble Olive Branch it sprung,
And its good deeds shall yet be sung ;
This Encampment, though in its youth,
Glories in friendship, love, and truth
Of all our lodges yet the chief
May be this youthful Maple Leaf ;
Built of good timber, it doth launch
Well worthy of the Olive Branch,
And though it only is a shoot
We hope that it will take deep root,
And soon be vigorous Maple tree
In Canada so broad and free.
And may its usefulness ne'er cease
Sprung from the Olive Branch of peace,
But comfort brothers in distress,
Widows and orphans it will bless,
And console them in their grief,
Protected by the Maple Leaf.
Poor travellers in the wilderness
They oft do suffer great distress,
But may no pilgrim get rude shock
Sojourning here in Woodstock.
poem by James McIntyre
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Maple Leaf
I watched a maple leaf’s descent to ground.
It’s downward swaying motion, every now
And then a pirouette without a sound
Until it came to rest so gently down.
I asked myself: A life so brief and yet
So beautiful, is life to be defined
By lasting time and taken for granted?
To go around in circles disinclined
To find profundity-Sad existence!
Ah! But the leaf, its purpose foreordained:
To live a measured life, a subsistence
Profound in many ways and unrestrained.
To waste a lengthy life, so incomplete
I’d sooner live my life a maple leaf.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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I Walk A Nameless River
I walk a nameless river
One which collects water from the houses,
The streets and such,
A river of rain that carry small sticks,
Cigarettes butts and, bits of paper
A shadow river that moves pap like rocks
A river trapped in the street cars’ tracks
A river rushing past ants and praying mantises
Against butterflies and worms that comes up and leave
Body tracks in the mud.
A river fed by puddles and cracks; indents in the sidewalks
By downward slanted driveways and situated front yards
By small streams on window glass and streams down sycamore trucks,
Maple, oak and such.
A cleaning river of gutterized rain,
A leaf drooping rain of green things,
River of no name
Too thin to carry twigs
Easily distracted by my foot
Easily stagnated into a nameless pond
When the sky has dried out.
I walk a one street river
A shallow river of clinched fists
A narrow river of butterflies in the nameless sky
A concrete river of feet saturated against the maple rocks
A river of bodies coming up leaving a river of cracks
A river of cigarettes of worms of sycamore trunks, oak
Marble and such.
A thin river of destruction, of gutters and traped tracks
Of sticks collected among themselves like dead praying mantises
In the rush of houses and driveways stacked in the water
Of a small rainy sky.
poem by David E. Patton
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Envy....
the woman
undresses herself
like a river
the man
falls like a leaf
and floats there
and then the river
foams
and the leaf
flows with the
river
and then
the moon fades
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fall to Earth
The stubborn little Maple leaf
held on when all its fellows fled.
They carpeting the ground beneath
a vast lushscape of gold and red.
Leaf held on through wind and rain,
the last survivor of its race.
Leaf held on past Turkey day
maintaining there its pride of place.
Then Leaf grew lonely, I suppose-
Like the summer's final rose.
Leaf envied then the flakes of snow
Who fluttered past to their repose.
Then, just as winter came to call,
Leaf felt a tug and then a snap.
Flying, tumbling on the winds
Fall to Earth. Fade to black.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Galloping Days
Galloping, galloping, galloping horses
Weave thro' our dreaming in burgeoning Spring;
There's sun in our hearts and there's sun on the courses,
And paeans of hope Winter's threnody forces
Over the hill-tops; for joy is a-wing.
Joy is a-wing, and the galloping rhythm
Mingles, alack, with a ruefuller rune,
For winners may rug but the losers run with 'em,
On the galloping, galloping tune.
Galloping, galloping, galloping gladly
Round the white railing and on to the turn,
While keeping in time to it, urgently madly,
Pulses are racing, ecstatic'ly, sadly;
Eyes to the thundering eagerly yearn,
Voice, upraising, are praising, are pleading,
Mid rackets gay jackets flash by and are gone.
Then the field in the sunlight, retreating, receding,
Goes galloping, galloping, galloping on.
Galloping, galloping, galloping; streaming
Now in green distances, seeming to crawl,
Like miniatures moving, like manikins seeming,
While o'er hedge and hollow a bland sun is beaming
Casting a benison over it all.
They run to the 'Distance.' The horses! The horses!
They gallop! They gallop! They turn for the 'Straight!'
They gallop, the hoses! Who nurses remorse is
A runagate cringer to galloping Fate.
Galloping, galloping, galloping ever,
Tho' cheering is over, they gallop amain;
Tho' fact and fond fancy reluctantly sever,
The round of that ultimate, straining endeavor
Still buffets and bludgeons and beats on the brain.
They gallop - Wake up, man! What profits regaining?
Luck lurks in the offing. On, on with the dance.
Aw, tear up your ticket! The sun is still shining.
The next race is starting. Who foots it with Chance?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Galloping Horses
Oh, this is the week when no rhymster may rhyme
On the joy of the bush or the ills of the time,
Nor pour out his soul in delectable rhythm
Of women and wine and the lure they have with 'em,
Nor pen philosophic if foolish discourses,
Because of the fury of galloping horses.
Galloping, galloping thro' the refrain -
The lure and the lilt of it beat on the brain.
Strive as you may for Arcadian Themes,
The silks and the saddles will weave thro' your dreams.
Surging, and urging the visions aside
For a lyrical lay of equestrian pride,
For the roar of the race and the call of the courses,
And galloping, galloping, galloping horses.
This is the week for the apotheosis
Of Horse in his glory, from tail to proboscis.
That curious quadrupled, proud and aloof,
That holds all the land under thrall of his hoof.
All creeds and conditions, all factions and forces,
All, all must give way to the galloping horses.
Galloping, galloping - sinner and saint
March to the metre, releasing restraint.
If it isn't the Cup it's the Oaks or the Steeple
That wraps in its magic the minds of the people.
Whether they seek it for profit or pleasure,
They all, willy-nilly, must dance to the measure.
The mood of the moment in all men endorses
The glamorous game and the galloping horses
Galloping horses - jockeys and courses
They gallop, we gallop with galloping horses.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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No One Steps Twice On The River Of Life...
it is not the rage of this river.
when i was a child, as mother says,
i keep my finger inside my mouth
sucked by my throat, to keep hunger away
beside the bank of this river
i am the spectator
and the river believes in the magic
of my innocence
it flows always in a distant
affection,
it is not the rage of the river,
it is i, the grown up man who goes swimming
in the river and feel
the joys of its cool waters
always moving on towards
a destination
it is the swimming with a friend
and then
with a lover and then with a wife
and then my silence,
what we do not have we force to forget
it is the bathing in the river
the rinsing and the cleansing of the waters
it is not the rage of this river
and then we become too weak to be in this river
the river moves on and on
towards the deepest sea looking for the
opening
i wait by the bank of this river
many things have been missed
the more important ones
the one that gives the posterity of
my humanity
it is denied of me because of this river
that gives me nothing
all the while i was the leaf that fell off from
the tree
on the side of this river
and i floated because i have nothing to do
because i can do nothing about
the flow of the river
i become the dead leaf that the air
rides upon
tossed and bumped on boulders
till i sink
deep down the river
that i shall pass only once.
time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Wood Road
If I were to walk this way
Hand in hand with Grief,
I should mark that maple-spray
Coming into leaf.
I should note how the old burrs
Rot upon the ground.
Yes, though Grief should know me hers
While the world goes round,
It could not if truth be said
This was lost on me:
A rock-maple showing red,
Burrs beneath a tree.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Ontario
Beautiful place with five great lakes
Colored Maple leaves and snow flakes
Cold Winters, autumn days with shower
Breath taking Niagara and tall CN tower
Blossomy Spring and lots of flower show
Friendly Santa and Christmas in snow
Mining Forestry Farming Fishing
Job for everyone, all who are wishing
Monday to Friday we work no rest
Weekends reserve for friends and guests
Apple Grapes Maple syrup and Beef
Tasty wine over a game of Maple Leaf
The Sound of dry leaves extend Halloween
Kawarthas, Thousand Islands - what a beautiful scene
Agawa Canyons, French River, big shopping malls
QEW, Marine land & Kakabaka falls
Bears Deer and Moose on the road
Millions of immigrants and biggest Airport
Longest street, country's capital and skydome
This is Ontario - our beautiful home
poem by Deepak Manchanda
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Popular Scrips
If today
one is a galloping horse
to give you a fortune
tomorrow
the same may stand panting dead as an ass
as one sees a galloping scrip
we tend to feel
'ah i should have owned some of it'
strangely though
if you already own the scrip that is galloping
it is time for you to disown it
similarly strange it is
when tomorrow the same stands dead as an ass
you go all out to buy and own it
this aspect of the horse and the ass
in a popular scrip
the galloping and panting
of the popular scrips
keeps the market vibrant
poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
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inching caterpillar
on a maple leaf -
a monarch butterfly
haiku by Marijo Pinero (2008)
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Tranquility
always
tranquil, a maple leaf
floating on a
still pond
mirror of a white cloud
a ripple vanished.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Welcome to the Prince of Wales
Lines written when the Prince of Wales
was about embarking for Canada, May, 1860.
In his long voyage o'er the sea,
To where doth grow the maple tree,
May he be blest with pleasant gales-
The coming man, the Prince of Wales.
The Maple grows but in good soil,
Where nature doth reward for toil.
The farmer, splitting his fence rails,
He welcome bids the Prince of Wales.
In the woods the axe is ringing,
And the yeoman merry singing ;
The song resounds o'er hills and dales -
Our future king, the Prince of Wales.
'Round the brow of our future chief
We'll weave a wreath of maple leaf,
For o'er broad Canada prevails
Kind feelings to the Prince of Wales.
When in this land the Prince arrives
May he have many pleasant drives,
And on our lakes have merry sails-
Great king of princes, Prince of Wales.
poem by James McIntyre
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It is too late for a galloping horse to stop at a clip; it is useless for a sinking boat to be mended in the middle of a river.
Leaves (thread)
under the dogwood
leaves cover
a cat’s grave
early spring
one leaf still dangles
from the tree
palmistry
dew drops on a leaf
pick a vein
widow’s diary
pressed rose petal
the last leaf
with the rain drops
leaves flutter to the ground
fall showers
fallen leaves
circusing in the grass
merry-go-wind
October shower
leaves in the gutter
disembark
leaves changing colors
across the landscape
season's chameleons
morning rain
under maple leaves
tap my shoulder
leaves ripple
with melodies
cicadas song
These were published online by Sketchbook. See September/October “leaves” Haiku thread:
poem by Ben Gieske
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The Consolation....
when a leaf falls down
lands on the the face of the river
that flows finally to
the arms of the sea
what is really the consolation?
the leaf has kissed
the lips of the water
and those who say that
a kiss is not sweet is
altogether wrong...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Where Is The River?
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or somewhere else
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or hidden under the ground
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or safe inside the cave
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or still far away
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or up above the cloud
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or out of our reach
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or trickling on the rock
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or gathering in the pool
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or down over the cliff
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or just sight of illusion
Where is the river?
Is it here
Running in your eyes
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or sudden flood in the road
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Galloping Horse
Watching, in sarrow as you gallop away
in your mighty white horse to the endless shimmering sea
I can only watch so long, before breaking down to face away-
mourning the day i went wrong.
In hoping and knowing that youll return
i leave without saying a word
But i turn too soon and forever lost-you become-
in human and in thought
Now i carry such a burden as to have you-
gone from my life, my soul, and my mind
but still in hoping, and knowing that you will not return,
i wait by the sea-searching for a galloping horse
And in dreams i imagine your smile once more,
by the galloping horse
And in visions i see you, returning-
by the galloping horse.
poem by Afrodita Alkline
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