Circle
A rain hawk circles in the dawn.
The dawn uncovers the trees;
the trees lead to a forest.
The forest sinks into the damp earth;
the damp earth waters the stones.
Stones are under a rain hawk -
a rain hawk circles in the dawn
a rain hawk circles in the dawn.
poem by Leslie Philibert
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Related quotes
Rain... Rain... Rain...!
Rain on tinned roof
Rain on concrete
Rain soaking into sands
Rain on soft earth
Rain on metal road
Rain on windscreen
Rain falling into the sea
Rain in the river
Rain on flowers
Rain on leaves
Rain under trees
Rain on hills
Rain on my skin…
Each with its own unique raga
Reverberates across the sky
On to the earth…
05aug2010
10.30hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Sexuality # 2
total awareness....
i taste your lips
in every dropp of rain
that falls....
i can feel your eyes
searching the darkness...
i hear your
cum cries in the
scree of the hawk....
i feel your clutching
in the wind against
my face....
i reach your depths
digging in the
rain damp earth...
i fill your cup
of longing with
the brandied sweat
of the soul...
i feel your nearness,
can taste you in
every breath i take....
there is no light
beyond your candle!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Rain Rain Rain
Rain, Rain, Rain, come again and again,
In the winter, in the summer and in spring,
Come with joy, fall with happiness and go with sorrow,
Rain, Rain, Rain come again and again.
Rain, Rain, Rain come to relive earth's pain,
Rain, Rain, Rain come to make nature happy,
Rain, Rain, Rain come to make livings happy,
Rain, Rain, Rain come again and again.
Rain, Rain, Rain don't go away,
Rain, Rain, Rain i hope you will stay,
Rain, Rain, Rain come again and again.
poem by Vikram Pratap Singh
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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
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Rain oh Rain
Rain oh Rain
When will thy come to wash my pain?
Rain oh Rain
I have been in tears all day
Rain oh Rain
Please do not go far away
Rain oh Rain
Release thy fresh water upon me
Rain oh Rain
Melt the ice and make me chill
Rain oh Rain
Wet the earth and make it plant bloom
Rain oh Rain
Let thy freshness embrace the earth
Rain oh Rain
Make me happy and filled with joy
Rain oh Rain
For thy presence i wait.
poem by Peace Okhomina
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Life-death border
Raining raining and raining
Everywhere there is forest
There is mountain and rain and rain
Forest is full of trees
Mountains and mountains full of
Stones trees and stones stones
Here is a stream here there is water
And it is the border we must cross
Lion and lion tiger and tiger
Here there is a river come and
Come till completion of over
Over of time age birth death
Come my dear friend we are all
Here to make merry to get pleasure
And to cross life death border.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The Forest Inside
once i went inside the forest
it was like a cave of trees
the labyrinths are many
islands and slits of lights
drizzles of rain from up high
it is gray world
cold, damp, and very silent
as though
it is the first day of the earth
and i were the first man
created.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Just Writting About Wolfs
days get colder nights get longer..wind howls a lonely howl
deep in the night a lone wolf howls do his howls fall on def ears
as he sits high upon a cliff looking down upon the woods he calls home
he wonders in the shadows a loner but never really alone
we has the wind the earth and the air that goes threw him
it like an old friend to him the darkness the shadows
the wolf wonders alone in mind and thoughts
whats he thinking of
we may never know know....
but hawk circles above does he hear the howl as the wolf says hello in the nights sky to hawk
flying so live so free
the wolf is the path finder the teacher they finder of the way
the hawk hears the howl and carries the message up to the sky
what the message, , , , , you may as for each its difffenrt each its own sound even one of silance
the wolf knows all is well in the world tonght
dont know why i wrote this one or whats its meaning is just kinda came to me as i sat here watching the football game
hope you all enjoyed
greyicewolf
.
poem by Jeff Greyicewolf
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Hawk And Buckle
Where is the landlord of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of Master Straddler this hot summer weather?
He's along in the tap-room with broad cheeks a-chuckle,
And ten bold companions all drinking together.
Where is the daughter of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of Mistress Jenny this hot summer weather?
She sits in the parlour with smell of honeysuckle,
Trimming her bonnet with red ostrich feather.
Where is the ostler of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of Willy Jakeman this hot summer weather?
He is rubbing his eyes with a slow and lazy knuckle
As he wakes from his nap on a bank of fresh heather.
Where is the page boy of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of our young Charlie this hot summer weather?
He is bobbing for tiddlers in a little trickle-truckle,
With his line and his hook and his breeches of leather.
Where is the grey goat of old Hawk and Buckle,
And what of pretty Nanny this hot summer weather?
She stays not contented with little or with muckle,
Straining for daisies at the end of her tether.
For this is our motto at old Hawk and Buckle,
We cling to it close and we sing all together,
'Every man for himself at our old Hawk and Buckle,
And devil take the hindmost this hot summer weather.'
poem by Robert Graves
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The Black Hawk War of the Artists
WRITTEN FOR LORADO TAFT'S STATUE OF BLACK HAWK AT OREGON, ILLINOIS
To be given in the manner of the Indian Oration and the Indian War-Cry.
Hawk of the Rocks,
Yours is our cause to-day.
Watching your foes
Here in our war array,
Young men we stand,
Wolves of the West at bay.
Power, power for war
Comes from these trees divine;
Power from the boughs,
Boughs where the dew-beads shine,
Power from the cones
Yea, from the breath of the pine!
Power to restore
All that the white hand mars.
See the dead east
Crushed with the iron cars—
Chimneys black
Blinding the sun and stars!
Hawk of the pines,
Hawk of the plain-winds fleet,
You shall be king
There in the iron street,
Factory and forge
Trodden beneath your feet.
There will proud trees
Grow as they grow by streams.
There will proud thoughts
Walk as in warrior dreams.
There will proud deeds
Bloom as when battle gleams!
Warriors of Art,
We will hold council there,
Hewing in stone
Things to the trapper fair,
Painting the gray
Veils that the spring moons wear,
This our revenge,
This one tremendous change:
Making new towns,
Lit with a star-fire strange,
Wild as the dawn
Gilding the bison-range.
All the young men
Chanting your cause that day,
Red-men, new-made
Out of the Saxon clay,
Strong and redeemed,
Bold in your war-array!
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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You Are A Human Being
You don’t float because
Your father is a carpenter
He floats well in water because
His father is a duck
On the other hand, he flies
Well in air, not because his
Father is a vulture, it is obvious
He looks like a hawk and acts like a hawk
It is obvious,
He is a hawk himself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fear of Death
I saw the hawk soar over the trees
and knew that down below
was a tiny innocent creature
moving much too slow.
Not aware of the talons
he searched the ground for his meal.
He spent his final moments
and most likely would not feel
remorse for what would be
food for the hawk, death for he.
And so he did not wrestle with fear.
That's only for we mortals
Who hold on to the life that's here.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Hawk Pride
My Hawk Pride
Will Never Die
For as long as I Live
It will forever Fly
For I am not an Eagle
I am not a bird
I am a Hwak
That lead's a Herd
I am the Hawk
That walk's The Sky
This Pride Will Never Die
poem by Damien Smith
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The Last Garden
Finding a rusty nail in the half-black earth,
becoming scared for my hands
(swelled with secret rivers) ,
morning breath shortens, my arms
hang deadened at my sides, as
a hawk circles in the dark white sky,
watching my changing into earth and wood,
prepared to be angelic, watching over
the final digging, at least at the moment,
for this time.
poem by Leslie Philibert
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The sparrow flying behind the hawk thinks the hawk is fleeing.
My Sneaking Tears
How heavy fell the rain that day
From burdened clouds of mournful grey.
The torrent forced them stay their height -
Composure swayed by onerous might.
My skin wrung wet with icy chill
As mud embraced that sodden hill;
But mind of mine had elsewhere gone -
'Twas clouds abandoned I was on.
The driving drops advanced their gears
To camouflage my sneaking tears -
Whence now did swell such floods of pain
To see me melt into this rain…
On equal bearing now were we:
This rain, myself, in harmony.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
Rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
Rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
Rain rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Rain Rain
Trees are
Treated
To the earth...
Earth was
Suffering
From water...
Sea water was
Keep quite...
Daily
Trees are singing
Rain rain
Come again...
But people
are hunted
The trees
Rain not come
Day by day...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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21
There will be rain here
We normally run for shelter
Who wants to be wet in the rain
And look like a helpless chick in the drain?
There will be rain
And we will be seeking shades under the trees
And run towards waiting sheds where the rain
Cannot harm our sensibilities,
There will be rain and more rains to come
In our lives, and we always run for secure
Shelters, and we always have umbrellas,
And raincoats, and closed cars, we hide to places
Where The rain cannot harm us,
But today, there is rain, and I will take
Another action, I will not run for shelter,
Or take shades in trees, or be in waiting sheds,
I will not even open my car, get into it and close it,
I am not afraid of rain now; I have no fears getting wet
And look like a helpless chick, I will run in the
Middle of the rain, I will play in the rain, I will
Be with the rain throughout its pouring,
I will be wet, and it will rain and rain,
Let it rain and rain and rain
You will not see, my tears falling, tears hiding in the rain.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There will be rain
There will be rain here
We normally run for shelter
Who wants to be wet in the rain
And look like a helpless chick in the drain?
There will be rain
And we will be seeking shades under the trees
And run towards waiting sheds where the rain
Cannot harm our sensibilities,
There will be rain and more rains to come
In our lives, and we always run for secure
Shelters, and we always have umbrellas,
And raincoats, and closed cars, we hide to places
Where The rain cannot harm us,
But today, there is rain, and I will take
Another action, I will not run for shelter,
Or take shades in trees, or be in waiting sheds,
I will not even open my car, get into it and close it,
I am not afraid of rain now; I have no fears getting wet
And look like a helpless chick, I will run in the
Middle of the rain, I will play in the rain, I will
Be with the rain throughout its pouring,
I will be wet, and it will rain and rain,
Let it rain and rain and rain
You will not see, my tears falling, tears hiding in the rain.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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February Rain
To be the mud, the bog, the mire;
To soak the bones in February –
Eons from the autumn shower–
Even from a summer berry!
Sparrows chirp a desperate call,
Darting questions at the cows –
Oblivious to the dousing squall, they
Churn the sludge with pastern ploughs.
The crying air was lost in rhythm:
Drums incessant in the drops;
Not a chance for rainbow prism –
Even if the hammering stops!
Metallic chills entrap machines –
Tractors hushed within the shed.
Inside the house, a full cuisine
To bless with mead – and little said!
But out across the tiring field,
A sodden fox is hunting down
His prey of sorts – but nil of yield;
Perhaps he’ll starve; perhaps he’ll drown.
Still the clouds are hammering,
Hammering home their dreary aim –
A chatterbox in constant yammering,
Drenching all to make a claim.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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