Explorer
A sound is south, and north is normal,
For east has each, and west may be wealthier.
The wind blows on the horizon of trees,
We now possess some wondrous delight
From the sound of the waves of the sea.
Mighty rivers have flowed in, mighty seas
Bloom with insignificant fish, the wealthiest
Creatures of the sea, as they happen to be full
Of space, and space is the key to normalcy.
Normal weather patterns show at first,
Then astonishing sound is coming of seagulls,
Far too many, far too many seagulls are seen.
We have discovered a land of opportunity,
The island of hope and understanding,
A beautiful living place so cherished by the
People who own it, and we now own it.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Wind Of Prediction
As the trees play in the breeze
Do you wonder what it may mean.
Does the wind coming from a certain direction
Mean something we should heed.
North wind blows cold and dry
Originating from the elements of earth
Read as the wind of death, colour black
Time to abondon issues no longer needed
Heed the news from the North.
West wind blows moist and fertile
Elements of water, coloured blue
Soothing, sensitive and healing.
Touch the cleansing power of the West.
South wind blows hot and dry
Of element fire, colour red
Usethe initiative and passion
To boost the ideals
Haste to feel the southern breeze.
East wind blows from the orient light
Assaulting with cold dry feel
Symbol of air, coloured white
Trust new starts from the East.
North South East and West
Thus the world changes
From whence it blows
That is what it will show
Predictions blown around.
poem by Alison Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Returning to South Carolina meant getting a normal job in a normal town with normal people and marrying a normal person. I wanted the glamour and opportunity of the world.
quote by Donna Rice
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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4. Blow me down
The North wind blew on Monday
As the East wind got the flu
The West wind blew on Tuesday
As the South wind never knew
The North East wind had Wednesday
As the South West wasn’t chuffed
The North West blew on Thursday
As the South East hardly puffed
The East and West blew Friday
As the others had a rest
The North and South blew Saturday
As the weekends were the best
The lot of them had Sunday
As the winds turned into storm
The whole of them had Monday off
As the week got back to norm
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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Ah Me! Ah Me!
Ah, me! Ah, me! My weary doom to labour here in the Palace!
Seven good wine-jars have I - and three in my province.
There where they stand I have hung straight-stemmed gourds of the finest -
They turn to the West when the East wind blows,
They turn to the East when the West wind blows,
They turn to the North when the South wind blows,
They turn to the South when the North wind blows.
And there I sit watching them turning and turning forever-
Oh, my gourds! Oh, my wine-jars!
poem by Sugawara Takesue no Musume
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Seagulls [1]
Seagulls are flying from edge tot edge,
their screeching voices call the veldt, the sky the sea
of South Africa stretching east and west
to a carnivorous hunt above the ridges, sea ditches
and small crabs, whose lives are spent in shell crevices, yield
splashing blood, ooze from their guts, their veins with
a little nucleus of skeleton. It was when I walked
facing the sea at its east end with a kind of dredge
of sprinkling sand, strolled through the lathering water
naked legged in the winter water, with a member as bait
under cast moon with rocks itching and scratching my feet
after I saw in my rising eyes the stretches, flattening
of this one land, a country stretching east to west,
(as if no other exists anywhere else)
south to north, wherever I were going
with hillocks, mountains, flashing city lights,
even trees looking somewhat blatantly
as if staring at me with cold winter bitterness.
I know that the sun still turns, until the next day
and the morning will visit as owls or rats to us
in hues of brilliant blue, only in the Cape it will be grey
and I know that day and night the seagulls fly over me
or we or us with wings covering South Africa, the whole
the continent of Africa, even the whole wide world
and their screeching will last until eternity.
[Reference: Owls by Leslie Norris.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Seagulls
Seagulls are flying from edge tot edge,
their screeching voices call the veldt, the sky the sea
of South Africa stretching east and west
to a carnivorous hunt above the ridges, sea ditches
and small crabs, whose lives are spent in shell crevices, yield
splashing blood, ooze from their guts, their veins with
a little nucleus of skeleton. It was when I walked
facing the sea at its east end with a kind of dredge
of sprinkling sand, strolled through the lathering water
naked legged in the winter water, with a member as bait
under cast moon with rocks itching and scratching my feet
after I saw in my rising eyes the stretches, flattening
of this one land, a country stretching east to west,
(as if no other exists anywhere else)
south to north, wherever I were going
with hillocks, mountains, flashing city lights,
even trees looking somewhat blatantly
as if staring at me with cold winter bitterness.
I know that the sun still turns, until the next day
and the morning will visit as owls or rats to us
in hues of brilliant blue, only in the Cape it will be grey
and I know that day and night the seagulls fly over me
or we or us with wings covering South Africa, the whole
the continent of Africa, even the whole wide world
and their screeching will last until eternity.
[Reference: Owls by Leslie Norris.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Deaf and Blind
Do we reach the sea with clocks
In our pockets, with the noise of the sea
In the sea, or are we the carriers
Of a purer and more silent water?
The water rubbing against our hands sharpens knives.
The warriors have found their weapons in the waves
And the sound of their blows is like
The rocks that smash the boats at night.
It is the storm and the thunder. Why not the silence
Of the flood, for we have dreamt within us
Space for the greatest silence and we breathe
Like the wind over terrible seas, like the wind
That creeps slowly over every horizon.
poem by Paul Eluard
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The Wind
He shouts in the sails of the ships at sea,
He steals the down from the honeybee,
He makes the forest trees rustle and sing,
He twirls my kite till it breaks its string.
Laughing, dancing, sunny wind,
Whistling, howling, rainy wind,
North, South, East and West,
Each is the wind I like the best.
He calls up the fog and hides the hills,
He whirls the wings of the great windmills,
The weathercocks love him and turn to discover
His whereabouts -- but he's gone, the rover!
Laughing, dancing, sunny wind,
Whistling, howling, rainy wind,
North, South, East and West,
Each is the wind I like the best.
The pine trees toss him their cones with glee,
The flowers bend low in courtesy,
Each wave flings up a shower of pearls,
The flag in front of the school unfurls.
Laughing, dancing, sunny wind,
Whistling, howling, rainy wind,
North, South, East and West,
Each is the wind I like the best.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Wind
He shouts in the sails of the ships at sea,
He steals the down from the honeybee,
He makes the forest trees rustle and sing,
He twirls my kite till it breaks its string.
Laughing, dancing, sunny wind,
Whistling, howling, rainy wind,
North, South, East and West,
Each is the wind I like the best.
He calls up the fog and hides the hills,
He whirls the wings of the great windmills,
The weathercocks love him and turn to discover
His whereabouts -- but he's gone, the rover!
Laughing, dancing, sunny wind,
Whistling, howling, rainy wind,
North, South, East and West,
Each is the wind I like the best.
The pine trees toss him their cones with glee,
The flowers bend low in courtesy,
Each wave flings up a shower of pearls,
The flag in front of the school unfurls.
Laughing, dancing, sunny wind,
Whistling, howling, rainy wind,
North, South, East and West,
Each is the wind I like the best.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Song To A Seagull
Fly silly seabird
No dreams can possess you
No voices can blame you
For sun on your wings
My gentle relations
Have names they must call me
For loving the freedom
Of all flying things
My dreams with the seagulls fly
Out of reach out of cry
I came to the city
And lived like old crusoe
On an island of noise
In a cobblestone sea
And the beaches were concrete
And the stars paid a light bill
And the blossoms hung false
On their store window trees
My dreams with the seagulls fly
Out of reach out of cry
Out of the city
And down to the seaside
To sun on my shoulders
And wind in my hair
But sandcastles crumble
And hunger is human
And humans are hungry
For worlds they cant share
My dreams with the seagulls fly
Out of reach out of cry
I call to a seagull
Who dives to the waters
And catches his silver-fine
Dinner alone
Crying where are the footprints
That danced on these beaches
And the hands that cast wishes
That sunk like a stone
My dreams with the seagulls fly
Out of reach out of cry
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's A Hard Road
I jumped on the train
I left this old town
I escaped the rain
I'm no longer down
The wheels start to turn
My worries are gone
I have lots to learn
About the trail that I'm on
As I look around
I see my new friend
I know I am bound
To travel till the end
I'll travel south and I'll travel north
I'll travel east and I'll travel west
I just want to find the road that is best
The train it did slow
I'm in a new place
The moonlight does glow
On my tired face
It's time for me
To try and find a bed
It's time for me
To rest my weary head
Morning is here
There's sorting to do
I'll sound sincere
With my goodbye to you
I'll travel south and I'll travel north
I'll travel east and I'll travel west
I just want to find the road that is best
It's time to move away
I'm not satisfied
I've spent many a day
Finding a place to reside
There's a town on my mind
It's just down the track
No need to find
A way to get back
The train I will get
Sitting at the station
The future is set
I feel anticipation
I'll travel south and I'll travel north
I'll travel east and I'll travel west
I just want to find the road that is best
poem by Liam Hughes
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Come With Me To The Edge Of The World
Come with me to the edge of the world,
Let's go there where sunset is touching the horizon,
Where is only silence and peace,
There is a place just for us, for you and me.
Far away from people, far away from crowd,
We are running to find a place for our hearts,
Where is only sky above us to share with it our dreams,
Where is only peace and harmony.
The night was coming, such a silent night,
Only your arms and wind were wrapping me,
Only your whispers and seagulls were my music,
Only your heart was belonging to me.
The sea is touching our feet laying on the sand,
Only seagulls are screaming crossing the sky,
Making aware us this is not a dream,
Is reality of our lives, another page in the book of life.
There is a place just for us, for you and me,
Where is only silence and peace,
Let's go there where sunset is touching the horizon,
Come with me to the edge of the world.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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The Snow Man
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Sunset (the One We Agreed Upon)
i like your sunset
flaming firmament
hues of fire, red hot iron and orange fruit combined
tasting like salt and sugar and vinegar to me
v-shaped seagulls like fighting planes
and the silence of the vast space
like i am in the library
the librarian on sick leave
and all the books are taken
did i forget the flavor?
(remember we agree on a poem with a color, taste, sound, smell
and whatever)
vanilla, and the sound, i already told you,
pssst, silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Yraggon
Recalled,
Enlisted,
But pray without ceasing!
And, do not neglect prophecies.
Contingent,
Pure, sure, lure, cure;
But do it yourself to comfort your heart,
As, it is proper.
Try this plan and inform Yraggon your friend about it,
Up and down and, front and back;
And like north, south, east and west! !
For a sound mind lives in a sound body.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Four Places Of Sorrow
There is sorrow for me in the North, where the black wind blows,
(Hush, O Wind of the dirges, O Voice of the restless dead!)
The ache of its cruel keening thro' my heart like an arrow goes,
I see in the tossing waters the sheen of a dear bright head.
There is sorrow for me in the South, where the white wind sings,
(Hush, O Wind of all lovers, crooning a laugh and a cry!)
On the pain of a dream love-haunted breaks the music of wings,
Seagulls, sweeping and swaying, saw ye my dead drift by?
There is sorrow for me in the East, where the red wind burns,
(Hush, O Wind of remorse, O Wind of the scourging flame!)
Under its slow cold dawning the soul of the drowned returns
And wan, in the startled daybreak, a ghost from the sea he came.
There is sorrow for me in the West, where the brown wind raves,
(Hush, O Wind from the bogs, O memory-freighted Wind!)
He is spindrift hither and thither, sport of unweary waves:
Would that my heart were close on his heart, my eyes on his eyes were blind!
poem by Anna Johnston MacManus
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The Rays of the Sun
The gift of rays from the blazing sun
Touch our life with energy to begin,
A Warming caress with the very power
Of solar energy’s gift of God has begun,
Coaxing seeds to awaken and burst forth
The DNA path is laid down from above,
From the Far East to the west and
The southern south up to the polar north.
This warmth is surely heavens love
For mankind the master of life’s wonder,
Trees are so mighty
Growing thru the green wonder of grass,
Drinking the rain after natures thunder.
Bluebell’s are blue daffodil’s are yellow
Seagulls are white and the tiger is striped,
All this seeded life a glorious wonder,
Ironic planet earth’s life did begin
Without the curse of a single sin.
poem by Ken e Hall
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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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Whalebones And Crosses
(HenryHoldridge)
Whalebones and crosses stand against the Arctic sky.
The wind blows through the graveyard where our fallen fathers lie.
Eternal snow that covers them, the shadows of the sun.
The mighty struggle on the seas, a way of life is run.
I'll sing for you my father, for the ancient sacred ways.
How the hunter loved the hunted, how the night becomes the day.
The circle of the mighty spirit keeps us in its fold.
The warmth of understanding like a light shot through the cold.
Then bring to me my people, touch them with your loving hands.
Lead them from confusion, lead them back unto the land.
For sickness seems to block their path, it clouds my people's eyes.
The promise that an idle truth will reap a golden lie.
Whalebones and crosses stand against the Arctic sky.
The wind blows through the graveyard where our fallen fathers lie.
The timeless hunt, a journey back to what we once came from.
Compassion and nobility beneath the midnight sun.
The mighty struggle on the seas, a way of life is run.
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sound of war
...
Bum! Bum! Bum!
Sound of war
it's like the roaring of a lion
I the jungle.
Sound of war
It's like flash of the lightening
Sound of war
It make people lose their strength
Sound of war
It make people to run to and fro
Sound of war
Um...
Sound of war
make people hopeless
when there is hope
Sound of war is cruel
Because it make people shudder
It make people suffer, shudder shiver, cringe
And due before they die
Sound of war
Oops!
Ouch!
Phew!
poem by Ejalonibu Abraham
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