Favourite Sounds
Waves crashing against rocks
the rain on windows
birds chirping in the trees
leaves crunching underfoot.
Church bells in the distance
the crackling of a fire
a child's laughter
a loved ones voice.
Treading on snow
the purring of a cat
whistle of the wind
a favourite song.
The sound of silence.
poem by Kevin Halls
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Related quotes
Summer's Here
The crackling of the fire,
The howl of the wind against my window,
The chirping birds in the night sky,
Makes me smile, happily,
But the death of the fire,
The wind just softly blowing,
And the silence of the birds in the night sky,
Makes me sad,
Because, winter is ending and summer is beginning.
poem by Sophie Shaw
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Leaping Fire
Trees jump up behind the orange flames;
flames surges high – oh high.
Crackling is heard;
Flying ashes is seen.
Girl amid the sprinkling heat.
Flames surges high – oh high.
Heat intensifies,
tears swell in eyes…
…the breeze blows the crackling fire amok.
Run cries the wind, run Girl!
Trees murmur,
sirens in the distance are heard.
Circles of circles:
leaping fire –
leaves, branches are swung
carelessly among the fire amok.
Run cries the wind, run Girl!
Leaping, leaping high into the:
echoing distance –
the fire runs in the mind.
Sirens are heard in the distance
race across town, across
the open city lights of:
heavy burdens…
…only in the mind leaping fire
controls the lonely, oh the lonely.
Fire away, fire away of:
heavy burden.
Leaping fire leaves the mind.
Run cries the wind, run Girl!
Running afar –
sirens racing to catch time,
to catch the heavy burden
cast on:
Run, run Girl…
…and leaping fire
Moves of to disturb:
Another helpless mind.
poem by Celine Berghmans
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Morning Time
Wind was blowing through the trees
I could hear the rustling of their leaves
The morning sun sneaking through the clouds
Birds singing morning sounds
For i love this time i say
Morning of a new day
I wonder what the day has in store
In the distance i hear the waves crashing the shore
For it is morning time and all is a buzz
From the depths of the oceans
To the skies above
Good morning morning i always say
My your a beautiful day
Maybe you might rain today
Your still beautiful anyway
The sombre breeze that blows around
The birds singing
As i spread my blanket on the ground
So i lay here looking into the sky
Motionless waiting and watching the world pass me by
A few drops of rain speckle my face
I would not give up being here for any place
Power Of Nature
Let the sunshine fall on you
Let the breeze flow through you
The sound of rain penetrates within you
And the birds sing with you.
The hot sun
The cool breeze
The wet rain
The melodious chirping.
Let the sunshine lead you
Let the breeze make your way
The sound of rain is your voice
The song of birds is your choice.
It’s the magic of nature
That is your signature
Throw away all your fear
You have the power of nature.
poem by Prachi Agrawal
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Silence in my world..
I lay back and close my eyes
As memories of laughter
And countless conversations, fill my head
I hear the wind moving
And the sound of my breathing
I hear the leaves rustling
And the sound of footsteps fading
The laughter is long gone
The only voice I hear is mine
As Silence invades my world
Mercilessly, thoughtlessly
Our song comes to my mind
And I struggle to sing it
But the words don't come to me
As Silence fills my world with emptiness
Deafening it, endlessly.
poem by Gauri Gupta
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Music To My Ears
The merry music of a colourful carousel.
The joyous ringing out of church wedding bells.
A bird singing its heart out, high up in a tree.
The waves crashing down upon the salty sea.
The skin of a snare drum, being played with brushes.
A waterfall - the dramatic way that the water rushes.
The audience's excited chatter prior to a show.
The melodious sound of the bassoon or the oboe.
The call of geese - their loud, trumpeting sound.
A music box, as its pretty ballerina dances around.
I adore some accents: some are really top-notch:
I love listening to the Geordies and to the Scotch.
The jangling bells and cracking sticks of Morris Men.
The loud, hourly chiming of London's iconic Big Ben.
The tinkling of wind-chimes, blowing this way and that.
The rhythmic and resonant purring of a contented cat.
These are among the sounds which I love to hear:
Towards these sounds, my feet are often steered.
These sounds always put a smile upon my face:
Towards these sounds, my two feet will often race.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Winter With a Question
The aging trees will creak and groan
To find themselves ringed by frost in sleep
And snow by the wind already blown
Cast upon snow already deep.
The cold is echoed only by silence all,
And the leaves of Autumn entombed in white
At the place where leaves fall
And passing time, vanish from sight.
Who is it that judges these—
Sends leaves beneath the snow
And trees to shiver alongside trees? —
And where do they go?
poem by Ronny Self
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For Baby
This song appears on seven albums, and was first released on the rocky mountain high, the countryr oads collection and reflections albums, and has also been released on the greatest hits vol 1,
Es, country classics and voice of america albums.
I'll walk in the rain by your side
I'll cling to the warmth of your hand
I'll do anything to keep you satisfied
I'll love you more than anybody can
And the wind will whisper your name to me
Little birds will sing along in time
Leaves will bow down when you walk by
And morning bells will chime
I'll be there when you're feelin' down
To kiss away the fears if you cry
I'll share with you all the happiness i've found
A reflection of the love in your eyes
And i'll sing you the songs of the rainbow
A whisper of the joy that is mine
And leaves will bow down when you walk by
And morning bells will chime
I'll walk in the rain by your side
I'll cling to the warmth of your tiny hand
I'll do anything to help you understand
And i'll love you more than anybody can
And the wind will whisper your name to me
Little birds will sing along in time
Leaves will bow down when you walk by
And morning bells will chime
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ten Days Of Rain
(r. stewart, k. savigar, t. brock)
The wind cries on the boardwalk
Oh god, its cold tonight
Somewhere in the city
Someones holding her tight
Hes telling her shes beautiful
Touching her long blond hair
Hes found out all the secrets
We swore wed never share
Oh, it drives me crazy
To think of her with him
Come back, baby
Come back home again
Chorus:
Ten days of rain
Ten days of rain
My heart is filled with pain
Will she ever come back again?
Ten days of rain
She said Im tired of talking
Trying to get it through to you
You never tell me you love me
Thats all I want you to do
I thought we had a future
Something to hold on to
We even talked of children
Something I never do
She loved me like no other
She held me like a child
Come back baby, come back home again
Chorus
The thought of her still haunts me
Her voice is everywhere
Ten days of rain
Ten days of rain
I can hear the freight train whistle
I can hear the church bells toll
But telephone line, when its off the hook
Thats the loneliest sound of em all
In the letter that she wrote me
Before she went away
She said darling, always remember
Love aint a hard word to say
Ten days of rain
Ten days of rain, such pain
Will she ever come back again
I dont know, I dont know
Come back baby, Im so lonely baby
Ten days of rain, ten days of rain
Is it raining all, raining all
Raining all over this world
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Magic of Sound
I’ve heard the soft whisper of wind in the pine trees,
The silvery ripple of brooklets at play;
I’ve heard the low voice of a sweet singing mother
As she sang to her child at the end of the day.
I’ve heard the faint rustle of sails in the sunset
And blue waves caressing the wild, rockbound shore;
The whistle of trains as they cross the green prairie
And mountains re-echo the cataract’s roar.
The notes of the organs in ancient cathedrals,
Where hearts of the faithful are lifted in song;
I’ve heard the gay laughter as children were playing,
The chatter and buzz of a large, happy throng.
The earth has its music for those who will listen;
Its bright variations forever abound.
With all of the wonders that God has bequeathed us,
There’s nothing that thrills like the magic of sound.
poem by Reginald Holmes
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Braving The British Weather
To brave the British weather, most birds don't have a choice,
But even in the worst weather, they raise such a spirited voice.
Cold and rainy weather can leave some of us feeling a little blue,
But, to me, it seems the little birds hold a different kind of view.
When, to us, the weather seems to go so very, horribly wrong,
The little birds continue to sing their sweet and happy song.
When a cloudless, blue sky still seems so very far from sight,
There is one song which will always ring out, so clear and bright.
When you find yourself walking along, upon rain-soaked ground,
From up in the trees, there will always come a heart-lifting sound.
A dull and dismal day can sometimes make us feel a little bit down:
Our hearts feel a little heavy, and our faces wear an unhappy frown.
Birdsong is a beautiful and pure, but powerful, Heaven-sent gift:
Upon hearing such a pleasant song, our hearts will begin to lift.
Even in wet weather, the little birds sing out with such pure joy:
Like the joy a child has, when hugging their favourite soft toy.
Even when we get wet through, our clothes will very soon dry,
So we should try to keep our chin up, and our spirits flying high.
Such joy is contained within the heart of a creature, so very small:
These tiny little birds really do set a shining example to us all.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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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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No Other Voice
There is no other voice I miss as much
When I'm far from my home, your laughter, your touch
There's no music on earth I'd rather hear
No other voice but yours
Your birdsong in the morning
You're the wind in the trees
The lapping of night waves on tropical seas
You're the sound of my heart beat, my breathing, my life
The lullabye rocking our babies to sleep at night
And through the dead of the voices I scream in my head
There is only one voice that sings love songs instead
There is no other sound that speaks straight to my heart
There is no other voice
not even a choice
There is no other voice but yours
song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Chistmas Eve,1938
The snow was gently falling,
the gusts of wind the only sound.
The branches of the trees were white,
Snow drifted on the ground.
The couple walking through the snow
wore layers of warm clothes.
Their cheeks, half frozen from the cold,
the only skin exposed.
How good it felt to step inside
And close the wind away.
Soon the kettle made a cheery sound-
Hot chocolate on its way..
In the corner stood a Christmas tree
The best they could afford
Dressed with tinsel and with ornaments
to celebrate the Lord.
Theirs was not the largest house
Nor the newest on the block
They tried hard to live sensible
by staying out of hock.
Last Christmas had been difficult
Jobs had been hard to find.
The husband worked at two or three
Taking what he could part time.
This Christmas looked much better.
They were comfortable and warm
They listened on the radio
To a sweet Tenor’s Christmas song
In the distance they heard church bells chime
As Midnight mass was sung
And the babe, there in the manger,
was revealed to old and young.
Her husband held her in his arms
as she opened up his gift.
He thought she rather liked it
By her warm and loving kiss.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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a Poem Of Silence
Silence is a beautiful thing.
no other sound is as great as silence.
Silence is the sound of nothing,
but it is still a sound.
even if a sound is great and amazing,
nothing can top the blissfulness of silence.
not the sound of wind on grass,
not the sound of laughter,
nothing is as beautiful as silence.
silence is a sound, but it is so much
better than any other sound.
What created such a far-off winner?
I love silence, silence is the best.
Never there will be a time that there
will be
a greater sound
than silence.
poem by Llew N. Rmail
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Abstraction Fo The Word Chirp....
i hear birds chirping
early morning
on those trees
clouds arrive, light
spreads,
green becomes too green
in the fields of
life,
i hear birds chirping
sweet to my ear
i give it priority
abstract. delet morning
move out clouds from the picture
double click green fields
focus on life
delet birds
add volume to chirping
it is all chirping now
just chirping
chirping chirping
the essence of chirp.
i have abstracted it from
everything else.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Georgian Nina
Aquarian passion from the sea,
a joy to hold was thee,
you filled my heart with love and
laughter, since unknown to me.
You graced my life on moonlit nights,
with whispered words of love,
as angels danced upon the trees,
a choir sang above.
I long to hear your georgian voice,
in ecstasy once more,
as waves of passion from the sea,
come crashing to the shore.
If natures trees will shed their leaves,
in Douglaston this fall,
Then we will meet and love again
at Aphrodites ball.
poem by Joseph Coyle
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Orpheus
WHEN Orpheus with his wind-swift fingers
Ripples the strings that gleam like rain,
The wheeling birds fly up and sing,
Hither, thither echoing;
There is a crackling of dry twigs,
A sweeping of leaves along the ground,
Fawny faces and dumb eyes
Peer through the fluttering screens
That mask ferocious teeth and claws
Now tranquil.
As the music sighs up the hill-side,
The young ones hear,
Come skipping, ambling, rolling down,
Their soft ears flapping as they run,
Their fleecy coats catching in the thickets,
Till they lie, listening, round his feet.
Unseen for centuries,
Fabulous creatures creep out of their caves,
The unicorn
Prances down from his bed of leaves,
His milk-white muzzle still stained green
With the munching, crunching of mountain-herbs.
The griffin, usually so fierce,
Now tame and amiable again,
Has covered the white bones in his secret cavern
With a rustling pall of dank dead leaves,
While the salamander, true lover of art,
Flickers, and creeps out of the flame;
Gently now, and away he goes,
Kindles his proud and blazing track
Across the forest,
Lies listening,
Cools his fever in the flowing waters of the lute.
.......................
But when the housewife returns,
Carrying her basket,
She will not understand.
She misses nothing,
Hears nothing.
She will only see
That the fire is dead,
The grate cold.
.......................
But the child upstairs,
Alone, in the empty cottage,
Heard a strange wind, like music,
In the forest,
Saw something creep out of the fire.
poem by Sir Osbert Sitwell
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Early Morning Symphony
silence is a
blank sheet of paper
the notes come from
the birds
this early morning
i hear the most beautiful
song, a choir of birds
chirping, winds gently
blowing, hushes from
leaves, drums from my
footsteps, beatings of
my heart
whistles from my soul.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Certain Preference On Early Mornings...
sometimes forgive me
but i do not like to hear bird chirping by my window
on early mornings for honestly i prefer
the silent sounds of the wind
from the sea,
and so when i hear those chirping birds
perching on the tree
those still feeding their fledgelings
i exercise that right of having to close my
glass windows
preferring once again
the privacy of my room and the exclusion of the
outside world
by the curtains and then i begin to sip my coffee
reading a poem
listening to the words seeping like rain to the
hair of my own soul.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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