Hopeful Landscapes
Gracious days blessed
By warm, angelic rays
Appeasing our soul and heart
Leaving some grief apart...
They shine quietly, indeed
Through a silent atmosphere
Sustaining life we revere
While God's renewing it every year!
Fields outside cover'd with dew
In very cold, wintry degrees
Contemplate the sky above
As if praying for humans, birds, trees.
From a Sign truly high
Lands from across the world
Apologize, embrace one another
Causing us a cheerful sigh!
December,2012
poem by Maria C. Costa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
It Is So Warm For Early In December
It is so warm for early in December the birds are panting and scarce a puff of breeze
And the tar is boiling on the sunlit roadway in temperatures of over thirty degrees
How come it's so warm this early on in Summer? we hear the scientists talk of the ozone hole
If this be true we have influenced the weather and the temperatures not beyond our control.
Some scientists claim it's due to man's pollution that we experience the weather extremes
The water now is down to a slow trickle in the polluted rivers, creeks and streams
Three weeks ago the low lying paddocks flooded the changes a few warm weeks can bring
And the farmers they are praying for rain already although we've had big rainfalls through the Spring
Each year the Summer temperatures keep rising and the warm weather goes into late Fall
And despite the first week of heavy rains the weather bureau
claim it's been the warmest November of them all
'Twould seem the coastal towns will do well for Christmas and traffic jams on the highway to the sea
And New Year's day will find them by the ocean the working man and his wife and family.
It is so warm for early in December and Summer days have only just begun
And people already wearing their sun hats and sun screens to keep away the cruel rays of the sun
And some scientists claim that the extremes of weather is or was never beyond our control
And that modern man who creates much pollution is responsible for the big ozone hole.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Furness Abbey
I WISH for the days of the olden time,
When the hours were told by the abbey chime,
When the glorious stars looked down through the midnigh dim,
Like approving saints on the choir's sweet hymn:
I think of the days we are living now,
And I sigh for those of the veil and the vow.
I would be content alone to dwell
Where the ivy shut out the sun from my cell,
With the death's-head at my side, and the missal on my knee,
Praying to that heaven which was opening to me:
Fevered and vain are the days I lead now,
And I sigh for those of the veil and the vow.
Silken broidery no more would I wear,
Nor golden combs in my golden hair;
I wore them but for one, and in vain they were worn;
My robe should be of serge, my crown of the thorn:
'Tis a cold false world we dwell in now,
And I sigh for the days of the veil and the vow.
I would that the cloister's quiet were mine;
In the silent depths of some holy shrine.
I would tell my blessed beads, and would weep away
From my inmost soul every stain of clay:
My heart's young hopes they have left me now,
And I sigh for the days of the veil and the vow.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A World Without Birds
In years from now will the children of the future on warm evenings in the prime of Spring
On trees and bushes in groves, woods and parklands when flowers are blooming hear the wild birds sing
For a World without birds would be sad to live in and sad to learn that they are becoming rare
These are sad times for people who love Nature and who for Nature's creatures genuinely do care,
A World without birds to think of even painful something that one would not rather contemplate
For birds seem an integral part of Nature the poets and painters them do celebrate
They have been in the World for perhaps longer than humans they have evolved from the dinosaur age
Humans even use them for their entertainment they keep them in an aviary or a cage
But birds should never be held in captivity as Nature's creatures meant to live naturally
They are not meant to be captives of humans in Nature's World they should live wild and free
For bird lovers it must be disappointing to know their numbers are on the decline
So nice to hear them singing in the gardens when flowers are blooming in the Spring sunshine
The demise of birds the thought even unpleasant a sadder World without them it would be
They are so much an integral part of Nature at least that is how it does seem to me.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Humans Being
Humans being
(off the twister soundtrack)
There is just enough christ in me
To make me feel almost guilty
Is that why God made us breed
To make us see were humans being
You break this, Ill break all that
You break my balls with all your crap
Spread your disease like lemmings breeding
Thats what makes us humans being
Shine on, shine on
Shine on, shine on
Some low life flat head scum infects
The sickness in his eyes reflects
You wonder why your life is screaming
Wonder why were humans being
Shine on, shine on
Shine on, shine on
Humans
Humans being
Were just humans, humans being
Thats what makes us
Humans being......
song performed by by Van Halen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Victoria's Weather
On fifth day of September five days into the Spring
The currawongs the birds of rain on the high gum trees sing
And weather back to Winter change and chill the breezes blow
And it's been hailing all the day and cold enough to snow.
In latter days of Winter the weather nice and fine
And morning paddocks gray with frost that melted in sunshine
And temperatures rose through the day to near twenty degrees
And warmth in the sunshine and warmth in the breeze.
Victoria's weather changes quick it's always been that way
And a heavy shower of cold Spring hail has left the garden gray
A high of five a low of two that's what the forecast say
In the only place that you will get four Seasons in one day.
The currawongs the birds of rain sing on the tall gum trees
On this the coldest day of Spring it's only five degrees
And through the wood on Selby hill the chilly breezes blow
And it's been hailing all the day and cold enough to snow.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Summer Days
Summer days are warm, and wonderfully long.
Deep down, within my heart, I feel a joyful song.
Gone are winter days, with their dowdy browns;
The trees and flowers now wear coloured crowns.
The natural world displays its bounteous beauty.
The soft, summer breeze is fragrant and fruity.
Bees, butterflies, and other bugs, now take flight.
Days of summer, feel so very cheerful and bright.
The days of winter can be so deeply depressing,
But now, their true selves, plants are expressing.
Suddenly, the world feels like a much better place,
And the happy smiles are evident on many a face.
The world, all about us, is given a golden glow,
Which illuminates Mother Nature's vibrant show.
Following the winter months: all dull and dreary;
We're treated to a display that's much more cheery.
Winter woodlands appear so very bland and bare,
But, come the summer, they look fabulous and fair.
Shafts of sunlight shine down through the tall trees;
The leaf laden branches rustle in the summer breeze.
Some secretly wish that summer could last forever;
That, all year round, we could enjoy warm weather.
Once summer is here, you hate for it to have to end;
You warm to it, as you would, to your dearest friend.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
At The Window
My choking breath, silent run between the window
Frames of wild chestnuts' trees.
Murmurs of warm sheets cast away my body.
Balcony, sprout seeds of transparent fluid.
Mute you show me the world, so that I can make the tree sing.
And the birds' blow by the wind.
It exalted my desire, which cannot be neither confined nor not die.
Like shining night, reflected on cats' eyes.
Every time the moon shine.
Voices of flame, blow by the wind
Against the window spiffier, last fire soon death adores.
Of my breath, last sigh.
I shall disappear from the reflection of a sterile glass.
Contemplate with my sight the blue sky, and let it die.
poem by Luca Menin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mr. Sun
Do not forget to wake me at morn.
You've been there for me since I was born
Making me cheerful
Making me warm
Making me happy
Making me form
the habit of checking to see if you're there,
Not hidden by clouds that are thick in the air.
Please Mr. Sun I look for your rays.
Shine all around me. Shine on my days.
When you are hidden my mood seems to change.
Why does this happen?
Isn't it strange?
When you are back. I'm right back on track
You're
Making me cheerful
Making me warm
Making me happy
like when I was born.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
With Each Day Passing
Every day I feel more demoralized
as many old friends pass on to heaven
before new ones can be found
to fill the empty spaces they leave behind.
Little birds sing their cheerful chorus
as the morning begins to rise.
I stand in the shadows of the evening call
and watch the bats in silence fly.
Each day seems to pass quicker than the last
merging morning and afternoon into one.
Alone I stand and watch the moon
rise quietly from the eastern sky.
Every fibre in my soul aches
for those whom my life has lost.
The gaps within my life grow
more and more with each day passing.
2 December 2012
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Death-Parting
LEAVES and rain and the days of the year,
(Water-willow and wellaway,)
All these fall, and my soul gives ear,
And she is hence who once was here.
(With a wind blown night and day.)
Ah! but now, for a secret sign,
(The willow's wan and the water white,)
In the held breath of the day's decline
Her very face seemed pressed to mine.
(With a wind blown day and night.)
O love, of my death my life is fain;
(The willows wave on the water-way,)
Your cheek and mine are cold in the rain,
But warm they'll be when we meet again.
(With a wind blown night and day.)
Mists are heaved and cover the sky;
(The willows wail in the waning light,)
O loose your lips, leave space for a sigh,—
They seal my soul, I cannot die.
(With a wind blown day and night.)
Leaves and rain and the days of the year,
(Water-willow and wellaway,)
All still fall, and I still give ear,
And she is hence, and I am here.
(With a wind blown night and day.)
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Back There In Old Duhallow The Frosty Fields Are Gray
Back there in old Duhallow the frosty fields are gray
And the wildborn birds are silent at the dawning of the day
And the chilly winds of January sough in the naked trees
And ice is on the dark pond from the hard overnight freeze
In January in Duhallow the hedgerows looking bare
And in the rushy field by the river the shy and elusive hare
In the greyness of his surroundings quite visible in his coat of brown
For to warm the coldness in his bones through the rushes racing up and down
From the fields of old Duhallow the Spring seems far away
And the cattle in the farm-yard shed are bellowing for hay
And hungry birds by the back door squabble over crusts of bread
And before the warmth of Spring weeks of cold weather ahead
And the chirping house sparrows in the back-yard the only birds one does hear
Back there in old Duhallow tis a cold time of the year.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If
IF I WERE THE WIND, I’D BLOW YOU A KISS.
IF I WERE A STAR I’D FILL YOU WITH BLISS.
IF I WERE THE MOON, I’D SEND YOU A GLOW.
IF I WERE THE SUN, MY BEAMS YOU WOULD KNOW.
BUT I’M JUST A MAN WHO LOVES YOU SO.
IF YOU LOVE ME, ALL OF THESE WILL BE MINE.
THE SUN, THE MOON AND THE STARS ALL WILL SHINE.
THEN OUR LOVE WILL BE BLESSED BY THE DIVINE.
AND WARM RAYS WILL FILL ALL OUR DAYS.
YES, WARM RAYS WILL FILL ALL OUR DAYS.
poem by Gregory Huyette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Showery October Afternoon
It is a showery afternoon water drips from the trees
But it's not cold a mild Spring day perhaps twenty degrees
In late October in the hills you do get days like these
When morning sun give way to showers though cool enough the breeze.
The black faced cuckoo shrike is back from places far away
A bird you never can mistake in cloak of silver gray
And in the wood the high pitched voice of the gray currawong
These birds you come to recognize by their distinctive song.
On the high gum tree in their nest young magpies chirp and call
And October in the Dandenongs the loveliest month of all
The high paddocks of Belgrave South are looking lush and green
And Mother Nature beautiful as lovely as I've seen.
The migratory welcome swallows back in the hills again
They fly low o'er the paddocks the flies are low in rain
My favourite Season of the year has always been the Spring
In storm and rain and sunshine the wild birds chirp and sing
This morning pretty butterflies flitted around the flowers
But the afternoon turned cloudy and sun gave way to showers
In October in the Dandenongs you do get days like these
A day of showers and sun shine water dripping off the trees.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The First Of 08
The first day of 08 a warm and a humid day
And weeks of weather such as this on the way
A furnace like breath in the afternoon breeze
In a forecast high of 39 degrees
From the constant heat their only form of ease
The sheep congregate in the shade of the trees
The renowned chirpers house sparrows the only birds one does hear
On the first day of January in the Southern New Year
In towns and in cities from here near and far away
The revellers of last night are hung over today
A cool change is coming in the forecast we do hear
As to the prime of Summer we are drawing ever near
The first day of January and so warm is the sun
And another New Year has already begun.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Flame-Heart
So much have I forgotten in ten years,
So much in ten brief years! I have forgot
What time the purple apples come to juice,
And what month brings the shy forget-me-not.
I have forgot the special, startling season
Of the pimento's flowering and fruiting;
What time of year the ground doves brown the fields
And fill the noonday with their curious fluting.
I have forgotten much, but still remember
The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.
I still recall the honey-fever grass,
But cannot recollect the high days when
We rooted them out of the ping-wing path
To stop the mad bees in the rabbit pen.
I often try to think in what sweet month
The languid painted ladies used to dapple
The yellow by-road mazing from the main,
Sweet with the golden threads of the rose-apple.
I have forgotten--strange--but quite remember
The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.
What weeks, what months, what time of the mild year
We cheated school to have our fling at tops?
What days our wine-thrilled bodies pulsed with joy
Feasting upon blackberries in the copse?
Oh some I know! I have embalmed the days,
Even the sacred moments when we played,
All innocent of passion, uncorrupt,
At noon and evening in the flame-heart's shade.
We were so happy, happy, I remember,
Beneath the poinsettia's red in warm December.
poem by Claude McKay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Men And Monsters
How does passion ignite the days
Of the year, and flowers of the rain?
My offering to some is a fellowship,
Into many days of the year, that are rays.
They'd shine for you like capsized boats,
Hollering like monkeys in quicksand.
The day strongly empowers the night
With verses of young damage.
What monster sheriffs this county?
I see verses and symbols of a long time
Going into my heart as one sign.
One makes a man seem in trouble
When one observes him from faraway.
They squirm in from under the clouds,
Opening their messages so enjoyed by
The heart.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Autumn In The South
In April when the first cool days
Foretell of winter's coming frost,
And waning sun's soft golden rays
Shine weaker now that summer's lost;
When morning mists, in veils of grey,
The trees along the river cloak,
Until the breezes blow away
The clinging mist, like clouds of smoke.
Then under skies of palest blue,
In these clear days before the cold,
The trees that shed their gowns bestrew
The fading green with flecks of gold.
© Dennis N. O'Brien,2011 - 2012
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Warm August Day In Old Duhallow
A warm August day in old Duhallow far north of here and miles away
And swallows high o'er sunlit meadows scenting sweetly of mown hay
And songbirds silent on the hedgerows in Summer you seldom hear them sing
they always pipe their finest in the prime months of the Spring.
A warm day in August in the fields of Knocknagree
And old gray faced rook is cawing on high branch of elm tree
And the magpie he is chattering as into the grove he fly
From once seen and heard he's one that's not hard to identify.
A warm day by Clara mountain by the old Town of Millstreet
And the skylark is not singing o'er the bracken in the heat
In the warm days of late Summer he doesn't feel the urge to fly
High above the sunlit mountain for to carol in the sky.
A warm day in August and the drains of water dry
And the old man says often in August I've seen water flowing bank high
And the long range weather forecast is the weather will be fine
And that at least another fortnight of warm days and sunshine.
A warm August day in Duhallow and the farmer in short sleeves
And the temperatures quite pleasant around 25 degrees
Still it can't be very long now till the cool winds of change blow
And the Paps and Caherbarnagh will be in their hats of snow.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Abaude: Night into Morning
We lie under high arched windows
awake in the deep winter night
and gaze on the tallest trees
glazed in silver light.
They reach up to the radiant moon,
their fingers spread bare and plain,
raised in silent prayer
after December's cold, hard rain.
Your face is bathed in these holy rays,
and I fight sleep; I cannot turn away
from truth so deep as the moon beaming
through our wintering trees ardently streaming.
But I close my eyes for a moment, then see
dawn drawing azure from night's darkest seed,
and the trees' golden limbs rising on high
to praise morning's vaulting blue sky.
So I arise and turning to you I see
how night flows to dawn eternally
and to the resurgent world restores
the spring of our never-ending joy.
poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spring in Sweden
Spring has finally reached Sweden too
warm rays of sun shining over me and you
Snowbells and bluebells in bloom
buttercupps, and tulips soon
Over half a year of winter is gone
half a year with no light, nothing shone
Grass turns slowly from brown to green
so does the trees, now they are seen
By us who wanders in the woods
weather too hot for our hoods
Blessed be the spring so sweet
blessed be the spring so neat
poem by Lisa thecountrygirl Timmermand
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!