En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Seasons of Life- Haibun! ! ! !

I gather dry leaves,
Autumnal hues still alive;
Fresh flowers fade, wilt.

Poppies dance in breeze,
Bright red nodding their head,
On crowded pathway.

Hot winds are blowing,
Stay indoors, sip lemon tea;
Await evening breeze.

Pomegranate-
Arils the shade of garnets,
Jewels, on my plate.

Sun is westward bound,
I gaze from a rock on beach…
Silence, despite crowd.

Slowly, darkness creeps,
Water reflects temple lights
On the banks of Ganges.

Bones ache, lie awake;
Oh, grandfather clock strikes twelve.
Someone snores, next door.

A storm is raging,
Not alone in my misery;
I have some company.

Have a fitful sleep,
Someone nudges my elbow-
Morning smiles, tip toe…

Sun’s rays light up room
Slowly lifts weariness, gloom
Snug, pull up my quilt.

poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Bones ache, sleep evades…
Oh, grandfather clock strikes twelve;
Someone snores next door.
Its same time, but different strokes
One rich but the other broke.

tanka by Mamta Agarwal
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A collage of dry leaves,
autumnal hues still alive;
fresh flowers fade, wilt.

haiku by Mamta Agarwal
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Hello, Night! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

As the twilight hour strikes,
I eagerly await the night.
My heart beat never rises,
Nor am I overcome with fright.

As the darkness slowly creeps,
And nature gives subtle cues to sleep;
For once, I don’t pay heed,
Just tune to my instincts.

For the night is my friend,
For me, it’s a Godsend.
It’s the night alone that keeps
Its appointment with me.

Noiselessly it comes, as I wait
We grin and make eye contact;
Hug, hold and warmly embrace,
I feel The presence of grace.

Darkness, silence and night-
My soul stirs and lights,
I hear the sound of my breath,
And stretch out on bed full length.

At midnight, when grandfather clock
Strikes a dozen times- ding dong, ding dong.
I quietly take a blanket and turn on my side,
Close my eyes, hesitantly… with a playful smile.

poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Inertia Creeps

3d
Recollect me darling raise me to your lips
2 undernourished egos 4 rotating hips
Hold on to me tightly Im a sliding scale
Cant endure then you can inhale
Clearly out of body experience
Interferes and dreams of flying I fit nearly
Surrounds me though I get lonely
Slowly
Moving up slowly
Inertia keeps
Shes moving up slowly
Slowly
Moving up slowly
Interia creeps
Moving up slowly
She comes moving up slowly
She comes moving up slowly
Inertia creeps
Moving up slowly
She comes
Moving up slowly (x2)
In my home no chrome as clear as
See me now with my nearest dearest
Been there when Im over-careering
Room shifting is endearing
Between us is our kitchen
Where she finds my irritants itching
Been here before been here forever
Moving up slowly
Inertia keeps moving up slowly
Inertia creeps moving up slowly
Inertia keeps moving up slowly
She comes
Moving up slowly (x2)
She comes moving up slowly
Inertia creeps moving up slowly
She comes
There be no sound in my eiderdown
Awake I lie in the morning blue
Room is still my antenna in you
Nylon burns the bedspread with 2
Gravity zero see me stall
I bounce off the walls lose my footing and fall
It can be sweet though incomplete though
And the frames will freeze see me on all 4s
Its been a long time
She comes (x2)
Comes
I want to x you, she comes
I want to x you, she comes
I caught your radio waves
I caught your radio waves
With tin cans and string
Say you string me along
Say string me along
Say inertia creeps
Inertia creeps and she comes
Say she comes (x4)

song performed by by Massive Attack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Evening Breeze

Often, I lie solus,
On white sand-banks
Of the large pond
In my ancestral land,
When the evening breeze
Gently touches the divinity,
Hidden somewhere in mortal body:
I feel I cannot normally feel.

Oh! I wish the evening breeze,
Too heavenly and wondrous,
Brought out my grandmother
Sleeping just under,
With whom I used to enjoy the breeze,
On these sands white,
In green days, later became defoliate!
Indeed, it can if it willed.

The evening breeze brings
Smell of soap suds,
Which forms on mind-board
The damsel in the nude;
Soon, the breeze brings
Holiest odour
Of frankincense and incense smoulder:
So in the breeze I sin and purge.

Often, I lay tired on sands;
All sweat drops dried in the evening breeze;
All my spirit revived;
And fresh morrow waited.
Evening chants of diverse creeds:
All in breeze united.
Seraphic breeze pats on every head,
Still nobody sees it.

poem by Fabiyas M V
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Youth and Age

Youth and Age

Oh! Such glorious evening!
Is it melted gold
Poured
Across the skies?
Or
Is it from an artist's
Giant Palette
Splashed so bright?

My spirit bounces
At the enchanting reflection
In the shimmering waters;
At the twitter of the birds
From the swinging branches;
At the colourful flowers
Gently swaying in the breeze.

I dance
To the tune of my mind,
With the bells jingling;
It's soulful music ringing,
I am caught in a trance!

I emerge slowly—
Very slowly—
Only to find
Darkness
Having enveloped me!
Groping,
I shiver and shudder!

Alas! Youth has passed away! !
Age has come to stay!
Hark! Is it the bell jingling?
Nay! It is the death-knell tolling!

poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Awakening

A slumberous sense of seclusion
As sleep is drifting from my eyes,
I look upon the translucent shade of the morning dew
While I, moving slowly do arise.

Watching the rain dripping from the eaves
Silhouetted in gold from the rising sun,
My mind gradually awakening
Now a new day has begun.

Through dimly, dancing dawns first light,
With sound of the rains chime,
The horizon still not clear
Just sweet thoughts of a shadowy time.

A light gust of wind gently lifts
The dead and dying leaves
Settling softly upon the ground
As light as the morning breeze.

The suns light a smile of gold
On the landscapes new days light,
Now stand and look at the rainbow
A gorgeous scene for mortal sight..

© 2012 Hazel

poem by Hazel Connelly
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Dream Lover

The flowers outside my window
whose perfume scents the air
with a sweet sensation
as I lay on my bed.
They waft through the window
by a cool summer breeze
as I lay is soft perfusion
while around my light
moths begin to play.
My eyes are heavy
as sweet dreams call,
swirling around my head
while with my dream lover
my heart begins to fall.
The stars embedded in the night sky
like thousands of jewels
resting gently on black velvet.
I begin the dance with my dream lover
while moonbeams play around at our feet
as slowly in the darkness
I am captured by sleep.

6 September 2008

poem by David Harris
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Trees bend in the breeze

Trees bend in the breeze,
the dead branch creaks under the force
that is moving it,
the eyes of the owl zoom in
searching for a prey

the sun fades, gets dimmer and dimmer
while it drops over the horizon
as the darkness creeps, creeps slowly in

and the moon raises silver
white in a star filled night
where a dazzling show
like on a Christmas tree appears
and hangs bright
with little twinkling lights

and the owl hoots, giving to some
its death call, to others a caring presence
and sleep sneaks into bodies, eyes and minds
and on this Christmas day the world is at peace.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Light The Heart

Time pushed me into dark
It closed all the doors
And locked me in cage
For days and months
With no rays of light

I lived in with a hope
In that cage for months
For a light of hand
To reach my darkness
And to pull into light

Days and months passed
In darkness and hope
No light of hand came
To pull me into light
Slowly my hope died

I stopped to look
For light of hand
And started to think
How to light darkness?
How to light darkness?

Finally the light came
In my cage of darkness
Its not light of hand
Its a light of lights
That showed me light

It divvy's any darkness
It unlocks any cage
It lights all the time
It always helps me out
Its a light of my heart

poem by Kranthi Pothineni
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The Death-Bed

He drowsed and was aware of silence heaped
Round him, unshaken as the steadfast walls;
Aqueous like floating rays of amber light,
Soaring and quivering in the wings of sleep.
Silence and safety; and his mortal shore
Lipped by the inward, moonless waves of death.

Someone was holding water to his mouth.
He swallowed, unresisting; moaned and dropped
Through crimson gloom to darkness; and forgot
The opiate throb and ache that was his wound.
Water—calm, sliding green above the weir.
Water—a sky-lit alley for his boat,
Bird- voiced, and bordered with reflected flowers
And shaken hues of summer; drifting down,
He dipped contented oars, and sighed, and slept.

Night, with a gust of wind, was in the ward,
Blowing the curtain to a glimmering curve.
Night. He was blind; he could not see the stars
Glinting among the wraiths of wandering cloud;
Queer blots of colour, purple, scarlet, green,
Flickered and faded in his drowning eyes.

Rain—he could hear it rustling through the dark;
Fragrance and passionless music woven as one;
Warm rain on drooping roses; pattering showers
That soak the woods; not the harsh rain that sweeps
Behind the thunder, but a trickling peace,
Gently and slowly washing life away.

He stirred, shifting his body; then the pain
Leapt like a prowling beast, and gripped and tore
His groping dreams with grinding claws and fangs.
But someone was beside him; soon he lay
Shuddering because that evil thing had passed.
And death, who'd stepped toward him, paused and stared.

Light many lamps and gather round his bed.
Lend him your eyes, warm blood, and will to live.
Speak to him; rouse him; you may save him yet.
He's young; he hated War; how should he die
When cruel old campaigners win safe through?

But death replied: 'I choose him.' So he went,
And there was silence in the summer night;
Silence and safety; and the veils of sleep.
Then, far away, the thudding of the guns.

poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Standing on The Beach

Standing On The Beach

We are standing on the beach
Watching the sunset slowly go down
With this slow blowing breeze
and waves rolling across our feet

With you standing so ever close
You in front and me just behind
With our hands so ever inter twined

With your hair blowing in my face
It smelling so ever saccharine
I loosen one hand reach up
And pull your hair aside

Then I lean my head so ever slightly
Towards your sweet smell neck
Then I begin to lightly kiss it
from top to bottom

I can notice the chill bumps
Across your exposed skin
You moan so ever slightly
As to give your approval

You softly curse my head
As to want me to continue
This so ever lightly kissing of the neck

poem by Scott Austin
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Through A Transparent Tear...

a night of drumming rain
woke up into an unusually
fresh winter morning
of drizzle and tickling breeze
laced by lazy chillness
the languid nerves of the night
looked for some stirring to
help them out of a tempting bed...

a breeze brushing past the sea
a breeze traversing across
the imposing dolphin's nose
a breeze caressing the leaves
buds and flowers even in earthen
pots laden heavy absorbing
the live long passion of the clouds
a breeze filling all that it touched
on the little bit of earth around me
a breeze pervading my little sky
caused me come alive...

how is it possible, i wondered
insulated as i was from the
animate and the inanimate
on the otherside with equal vogour

i looked around my accustomed
emptiness in wonder
trying to find the source

need i tell you
the source revealed itself
as your breath on me?

the heart that came alive
on this winter morning
of drizzle and breeze
shed a tear of longing
even while my body
smiled...

12nov2009
08.05hrs

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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I Bought You A Rose

the problem is
the grandfather clock
in the adjacent room
it chimes
on the hour
every hour
through the night
it keeps me awake
through the night
the night in which
i think of you
because
i hold the rose
in my hand
through the night
the rose that i bought you
in the afternoon
the rose that you did not want
in the evening
the evening when i took you out
and you said
you did not want the rose
you wanted it to be over between us
you said it was no use
a rose was no use
a rose could not
bring us together
a rose could not
keep us together
a rose by any other name
is still just a rose
you said
i should keep my rose
you said
you said it when i offered you the rose
you said it again
when the evening was over
when we left each other
and so i took it home
the rose that i bought you
i thought of you
on my way home
with the rose
i thought of how it had been
between us
i thought of how it might have been
between us
i tried to forget
how it had been
between us
i tried to forget
how it might have been
between us
but the rose reminded me
how it was
between us
i took the rose with me
when i got into bed
when i tried to sleep
it had been deep red
but it seemed to me
now it was not so deep red
as it had been before
each time i woke
i looked at the rose
each time it seemed
not so deep red
as it had been before
each time it seemed
a little more faded
a little more dry
a little less red
a little less fresh
each time
its scent also
had been beautiful
like you were beautiful
its scent also seemed to me
a little more faded
a little less fresh
a little less beautiful
a little less able
to evoke you
a little less able
to keep you
to keep your memory
alive
alive in the night
even when i turned on the light
to look again
at the rose
to inhale again
the perfume of the rose
i saw it fading
i saw you fading
i saw your beauty fading
through the night
and i saw that you were right
about the rose
that a rose is just a rose
that a rose could not
bring us together
that a rose could not
keep us together
that a rose by any other name
is still just a rose
that you by any other name
are still just a rose
fading through the night
i cannot keep you
for i cannot keep you
from fading through the night
like this rose i bought you
like any rose
like anything i ever bought you

the problem is
the grandfather clock
in the adjacent room
it chimes
on the hour
every hour
through the night

poem by Rory Hudson
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Water!--Oh! Water For Me

Oh! water for me-bright water for me!
And wine for the tremulous debauchee!
It cooleth the brow, it cooleth the brain,
It maketh the faint one strong again;
It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea:
All freshness, like infant purity.

Oh water for me, bright water, for me!
Give wine, give wine to the debauchee!
Fill to the brim! fill, fill to the brim!
Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim:
For my hand is steady, my eye is true,
For I, like the flowers, drink nothing but dew.
Oh! water, bright water's a mine of wealth,
And the ores it yieldeth are vigour and health.
So water, pure water for me, for me!
And wine for the tremulous debauchee!

When over the hills, like a gladsome bride,
Morning walks forth in her beauty's pride,
And leading a band of laughing hours,
Brushes the dew from the nodding flowers,
Oh! cheerily then my voice is heard,
Mingling with that of the soaring bird,
Who flingeth abroad his matins loud,
As he freshens his wing in the cold grey cloud.

But when evening has quitted her sheltering yew,
Drowsily flying, and weaving anew,
Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea,
How gently, oh Sleep, fall thy poppies on me!
For water I drink, pure, cold and bright,
And my dreams are of heaven the live long night.
So, hurrah for thee, water, hurrah, hurrah!
Thou art silver and gold, thou art ribbon and star,
Hurrah for bright water! hurrah! hurrah!

poem by John Pierpont
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My Childhood's Home

I HAVE tasted each varied pleasure,
And drunk of the cup of delight;
I have danced to the gayest measure
In the halls of dazzling light.
I have dwelt in a blaze of splendour,
And stood in the courts of kings;
I have snatched at each toy that could render
More rapid the flight of Time's wings.
But vainly I've sought for joy or peace,
In that life of light and shade;
And I turn with a sigh to my own dear home-
The home where my childhood played!

When jewels are sparkling round me,
And dazzling with their rays,
I weep for the ties that bound me
In life's first early days.
I sigh for one of the sunny hours
Ere day was turned to-night;
For one of my nosegays of fresh wild flowers,
Instead of those jewels bright.
I weep when I gaze on the scentless buds
Which never can bloom or fade;
And I turn with a sigh to those gay green fields-
The home where my childhood played.

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Alone On A Stormy Night

flashes of lightning
roaring thunder
heavy rains and
flooded highways

the street lights are off.
there is total darkness
the strong straight light of the car
guides me towards home.

i park the car beside the
the house. I get out and
open the front door.
winds blowing stronger
the veranda is drenched
the gutter with leaves
overflows with water.

i open the door of my room.
undress myself and wipe my body.
i am dry. Silent. Uncomplaining.

i am finally alone.
I decided not to argue. Not to think.
Relax. Sleep. Dream.
Too much reason, too many arguments
When what i need is only this pillow
This blanket,

A window closed. A safe house.
A glass of water perhaps. But later.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Summer Is Here

I hear the sounds of children at play,
as the sun has turned
the black clouds of rain away.
Summer is here
and laughter fills the air,
flowers fill the gardens
with colour everywhere.
After a hard days work
you feel free,
some will sit the evening out
eyes glued to the TV.
Not for me the little box,
rather an evening stroll.
Then sit to rest
my weary bones somewhere,
letting the cool evening breeze
dance with my hair.
As I sit quietly
absorbing all around.
Watching the sun
sink slowly in the west.
Breathing in the cool evening air,
as night begins to call.

11 June 2007

poem by David Harris
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A Song of Her Garden

She builds her pleasant garden
Where the winds are not so strong
The sun sometimes relenting
Becomes her companion

The garden spreads its arms to her
Thick shoulders, fragile hands
The creepers and the vines that bear
Her flowers from many lands

There is shade upon her shadow
And a path of leaves and stones
That were inlaid imperceptibly
Through years of life alone

There's a trickle of river water
Breaking on a precipice
An ornately painted corner
Where she sees the light of bliss

Papaya trees and lemon trees
That the hurricanes forgot
The garden is her mirror
It reflects her, then does not

Wind chimes in the moonlight
Songbirds awake till dawn
She cultivates the seasons,
Leaves the garden to be born.

poem by Frank Bana
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The Poet Walks Slowly

THE POET WALKS SLOWLY

The poet walks slowly
The dream of the world surrounds him
As Light.
He stops to write
And the words open up happily,
As if the morning and the fresh breeze
Were all there need be
Of God’s Soul.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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