There...
There …where the taste of silence is strange and forgotten,
There... where the pastel sky floats and is underfoot,
There...where the streets are shivering in a foggy mood.
They need snow.
There … where the face of Earth is changing the poles,
There … where some kilometers of the rain are endless
There... where the ships kiss the sunset with their sails.
They need wind.
There … in the world of only words, where smiles are like tears,
There … where the flowers bloom in dispassion,
There … where's the world of tired, exhausted passers-by
They need faith.
There … where the winters are so freezing,
There … where're so many wrong stitching.
There... where's only darkness around
They need blaze.
There … where the women send emails to the distant lovers
There … where trying to find the true love they failed.
There... where misgiving the whole life covers
They need happiness.
Is there a country where the sky is always blue?
Is there a place where everyone is always happy and true?
©Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 28th of December,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Related quotes
Shivering And Not Singing
Cold and freezing in low degrees,
Leaving people to turn up their collars.
Mittens, earmuffs and coats of fleece,
Leaving people to turn up their collars.
And breezes seem to hollar...
'Winter's here and will slick the streets.'
Leaving people to turn up their collars.
The snow is deep and boots are needed on feet,
Leaving people to turn up their collars.
And spending more to crank up that heat...
While wrapped in blankets,
And warm bed sheets.
Oh...
Shivering and not singing in their homes.
Shivering are many doing this alone.
Winter's here and will slick the streets.'
Leaving people to turn up their collars.
And spending more to crank up that heat...
While wrapped in blankets and warm bed sheets.
And...
Shivering and not singing in their homes.
Shivering are many doing this alone.
Shivering and not singing in their homes.
Shivering are many doing this alone.
And spending more to crank up that heat...
While wrapped in blankets and warm bed sheets.
And...
Shivering and not singing in their homes.
Shivering are many doing this alone.
Oh...
Shivering and not singing in their homes.
Oh...
Shivering are many doing this alone.
Oh...
Shivering and not singing in their homes.
Oh...
Shivering are many doing this condoned!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Foggy Day
I was a stranger in the city
Out of town were the people I knew
I had that feeling of self-pity
What to do, what to do, what to do
The outlook was decidedly blue
But as I walked through the foggy streets alone
It turned out to be the luckiest day I've known
A foggy day, in London Town
Had me low, had me down
I viewed the morning, with much alarm
British museum, had lost its charm
How long I wondered,
Could this thing last
But the age of miracles, hadn't past
For suddenly, I saw you there
And through foggy London Town,
The sun was shining everywhere
For suddenly, I saw you there
And through foggy London Town,
The sun was shining everywhere
Everywhere
Everywhere
Everywhere
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald, music by George Gershwin, lyrics by Ira Gershwin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Everlasting Snow
Everlasting, the snow is
As the dry crystals
gently twirl and float to the ground
Amid the cracking timbers of winter
A single, beautiful snowflake,
like a crystal tear falling from Heaven,
floats and dances to the ground,
mesmerizingly
....it floats
and floats,
and floats,
....all the way to the ground,
making a dainty footfall in the snow
Like confetti of the gods,
as if someone had recklessly thrown
handfulls of it into the air
We sit and wait,
in heavenly awe,
as it silently descends to the ground,
like shredded chunks of paper
Although it melts and wilts in the warm spring,
The snow will always remain in my mind, everlasting
Godblessamen
poem by Samuel Stuart Pennell
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Surrounded
One foggy day, one foggy night,
no sun, nor moon to give us light.
An opaque mist steals over all,
not see-through, just an eerie sprawl
of candy floss. Such tones of white,
lingering like a odious blight.
One foggy dawn, one foggy chill,
there is no warmth, temperature nil.
It’s closing in, and firmly wrapped,
no sign of lift, one’s feeling trapped
here in our world. Sits, silent, still,
trespassing of its own free will.
One foggy land, one foggy scene,
no view to see where one has been.
Nothing in front, nothing behind,
just a place where one is confined,
surrounded by one vast smokescreen,
clear small oasis in between.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Our Secret Selves
The snow floats down upon us, mingled with rain . . .
It eddies around pale lilac lamps, and falls
Down golden-windowed walls.
We were all born of flesh, in a flare of pain,
We do not remember the red roots whence we rose,
But we know that we rose and walked, that after a while
We shall lie down again.
The snow floats down upon us, we turn, we turn,
Through gorges filled with light we sound and flow . . .
One is struck down and hurt, we crowd about him,
We bear him away, gaze after his listless body;
But whether he lives or dies we do not know.
One of us sings in the street, and we listen to him;
The words ring over us like vague bells of sorrow.
He sings of a house he lived in long ago.
It is strange; this house of dust was the house I lived in;
The house you lived in, the house that all of us know.
And coiling slowly about him, and laughing at him,
And throwing him pennies, we bear away
A mournful echo of other times and places,
And follow a dream . . . a dream that will not stay.
Down long broad flights of lamplit stairs we flow;
Noisy, in scattered waves, crowding and shouting;
In broken slow cascades.
The gardens extend before us . . . We spread out swiftly;
Trees are above us, and darkness. The canyon fades . . .
And we recall, with a gleaming stab of sadness,
Vaguely and incoherently, some dream
Of a world we came from, a world of sun-blue hills . . .
A black wood whispers around us, green eyes gleam;
Someone cries in the forest, and someone kills.
We flow to the east, to the white-lined shivering sea;
We reach to the west, where the whirling sun went down;
We close our eyes to music in bright cafees.
We diverge from clamorous streets to streets that are silent.
We loaf where the wind-spilled fountain plays.
And, growing tired, we turn aside at last,
Remember our secret selves, seek out our towers,
Lay weary hands on the banisters, and climb;
Climbing, each, to his little four-square dream
Of love or lust or beauty or death or crime.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House Of Dust: Part 01: 05: The snow floats down upon us, mingled with rain
The snow floats down upon us, mingled with rain . . .
It eddies around pale lilac lamps, and falls
Down golden-windowed walls.
We were all born of flesh, in a flare of pain,
We do not remember the red roots whence we rose,
But we know that we rose and walked, that after a while
We shall lie down again.
The snow floats down upon us, we turn, we turn,
Through gorges filled with light we sound and flow . . .
One is struck down and hurt, we crowd about him,
We bear him away, gaze after his listless body;
But whether he lives or dies we do not know.
One of us sings in the street, and we listen to him;
The words ring over us like vague bells of sorrow.
He sings of a house he lived in long ago.
It is strange; this house of dust was the house I lived in;
The house you lived in, the house that all of us know.
And coiling slowly about him, and laughing at him,
And throwing him pennies, we bear away
A mournful echo of other times and places,
And follow a dream . . . a dream that will not stay.
Down long broad flights of lamplit stairs we flow;
Noisy, in scattered waves, crowding and shouting;
In broken slow cascades.
The gardens extend before us . . . We spread out swiftly;
Trees are above us, and darkness. The canyon fades . . .
And we recall, with a gleaming stab of sadness,
Vaguely and incoherently, some dream
Of a world we came from, a world of sun-blue hills . . .
A black wood whispers around us, green eyes gleam;
Someone cries in the forest, and someone kills.
We flow to the east, to the white-lined shivering sea;
We reach to the west, where the whirling sun went down;
We close our eyes to music in bright cafes.
We diverge from clamorous streets to streets that are silent.
We loaf where the wind-spilled fountain plays.
And, growing tired, we turn aside at last,
Remember our secret selves, seek out our towers,
Lay weary hands on the banisters, and climb;
Climbing, each, to his little four-square dream
Of love or lust or beauty or death or crime.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Autumn In My Mind
i guess the color must be
pastel
pastel yellow and the feeling
must be humid
or if not it is something soft
and yet dry
and the only motion
like what candice describes
in her poem
must always be the
falling and
falling
and falling
and falling
and
touching the ground
with so much silence
except the
murmur of the
wind
always passing by
and not
really remembering
anything
between us
but i always remember
yes, always,
the pulsating pain
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Foggy Dew
A splendid place is London, with golden store,
For them that have the heart and hope and youth galore;
But mournful are its streets to me, I tell you true,
For I'm longing sore for Ireland in the foggy dew.
The sun he shines all day here, so fierce and fine,
With never a wisp of mist at all to dim his shine;
The sun he shines all day here from skies of blue:
He hides his face in Ireland in the foggy dew.
The maids go out to milking in the pastures gray,
The sky is green and golden at dawn of the day;
And in the deep-drenched meadows the hay lies new,
And the corn is turning yellow in the foggy dew.
Mavrone ! if I might feel now the dew on my face,
And the wind from the mountains in that remembered place,
I'd give the wealth of London, if mine it were to do,
And I'd travel home to Ireland and the foggy dew.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Take Our Snow Please
As out the window,
I look, more snow today,
have only one thing to say,
take our snow please.
Six week-ends straight,
snow, snow every where,
have only one thing to say,
take our snow please, today.
So much snow, so much cold,
snow in the streets, snow in the yard,
snow on the car, snow on my shoe,
have only one thing to say,
take our snow please, we don't know what to do.
Winter, oh winter please end,
all of this snow, we don't really want it,
snow falling, flakes dropping
have only one thing to say,
take our snow please, don't delay.
For What Use Is Time
when the mouth has forgotten
the shape of a smile on the lips
when the tongue has forgotten
the sweet taste of love
when the body has buried the
memories of desire on the
graveyards of boring routines
when everything in us is nothing
but the rush the haste in meaningless
daily buses and bustling streets
for what use is time & space with us?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ode On Snow
Snowstorms!
Piles of snow!
Soft, crystalline white snowflakes!
Feathered rain!
Powder snow!
Falling snow!
Up to the kneecaps snow!
Snow stuck on sidewalks and streets!
Snowballs!
Snowmen!
Snowdrift!
Sledding on soft snow!
Crunching snow!
Snow cones!
poem by M.L. Squier
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Foggy Day
Foggy day in the street
Of its wandering play
Giving shadows on concrete
As they grow long their way
Thru the moments of twist
That the streets are now in
And gray morning has kissed
With a diffusional spin
Every hour in its gray
As the evening passes thru
And kids in streets play
For each opportunity new
When feelings are in laughter
In every moments awake
And what there comes after
In their giving and take
Foggy day in the city
Like a haze of the grays
So much playful and witty
That is now in its haze
Sideway kids there talking
Youth of hope and a smile
Brussels playground walking
For its enduring while
Foggy day in the street
Of its wandering play
Giving shadows on concrete
As they grow long their way
Whisper dark soon there
With its nocturnal sleep
As darkness is everywhere
In their dreams to keep
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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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
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Listening Back
There are no comrade roses at my window,
No green things in the lane;
Upon the roof no sibilant soft patter-
The lullaby of rain;
Without is silence, and within is silence,
Till silence grows a pain.
Within is silence, and without is silence,
The snow is on the sill,
In snow the window wreath’d instead of roses,
And snow is very still....
I wonder is it singing in the grasses,
The rain, on Russian Hill?
poem by Ina D. Coolbrith
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I'm In The Mood Again
Hail to the taxis
They go where I go
Farewell the newspapers that know more than I know
Flung under a street-lamp still burning at dawn
I'm in the mood again
I walk the damp streets rather than slumber
Along the fine windows of shameless and plunder
But none of their riches could ever compare
I'm in the mood again
I don't know what's come over me
But it's nothing that I'm doing wrong
You took the breath right out of me
Now you'll find it in the early hours
In a lover's song
I lay my head down on fine linens and satin
Away from the mad-hatters who live in Manhattan
The Empire State Building illuminating the sky
I'm in the mood, I'm in the mood, I'm in the mood again.
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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And The Snow Fell
I remember big soft wet flakes
falling on the tracks all the way
streets filling with that wet snow
the trolley I was riding plowing
through fields of city snow
like a big red bulldozer
I remember clear as day
sitting with Ma at the table
in the kitchen looking out
at the snow falling
Ma and I sat there
streets and rooftops
disappearing in the falling snow
that covered all
and the snow fell along the Rhine
in Germany
and in the dark woods of the Ardennes
we sat there and watched
as the fields and woods in France
filled with gently falling snow
and my Pa lying dead
somewhere in France
and snow fell softly
all the way
across Europe
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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Lakescape
After the rain wets the ground,
a damp, naked silence,
floats in air
on the wrong side of the moon.
A strange mist, like a post coital whiff
envelops you savagely.
The testa breaks.
A forest heaves beneath your nails.
History moves through the layers
of family. You become a forgotten saint,
an archaic reminder of half-solid
truth. Green mirrors reflect a fading sun.
Wasps are climbing on a presence,
for a kill. A lake drifts in the yes
to stun the departure. You breathe
death dreaming a blue flower.
poem by Satish Verma
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Black Hooves, White Snow
black hooves, white snow
candlewax dripping,
water from a rusted spicket.
brass doorknobs,
forbidden rooms,
where spider webs cover
forgotten books.
and the chant of the ancients
rolls like thunder!
strike the bell, mountains quiver!
somewhere the gods of old
walk deserted streets,
while the shepherd kings
raise their flutes and play.
and the old mad monk
walks into the hills,
never to be seen,
or heard again.
black hooves, white snow
the taste of blood,
the smell of need.
bows drawn tight,
the archers wait
for the sun to rise
in a blackened sky.
the wheel turns
in the desert sand
(nothing ever stays the same)
water wears down stone
until it finds it's way.
while trees fall in
a desolate forest,
and the hawk flies alone
down through the gorge.
black hooves, white snow
till we find our way!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hope Floats
Even as things go downhill
And life becomes hell
Hope floats
Even as the world deserts you
And friends are few
Hope floats
Even as the only thing you have
Is a loneliness that is scary
Hope floats
Even as all seems lost and
Time remains a few grains of sand
Hope floats
Even as life seems beyond complaint
And strains of joy become faint
Hope floats
There may be nothing else to do
Than survive
And yet…as the self becomes distant
From the soul
There’s a voice that says
Hope floats...
poem by Akshaya Shah
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