Busy With Money-game
Stillness is gathering around,
The music is not heard.
I can not see the morning light
At my house's back yard.
The green trees are grey now,
I don't look at the sky.
The shadow of my afternoon,
Have become high and high!
The dear faces of neighbors,
Are not seen anymore.
I want to ask about them all,
But fail to reach their door!
I don't listen to cuckoo's song,
It's mixed with traffic horns.
I can't understand all these faults,
My childhood often mourns!
I loved my cats and cute kittens,
And wished to live with them.
Now-a-days I can not care as,
Busy with money game!
Nilakshi Das
Submitted: Thursday, April 05,2012
Edited: Thursday, April 05,2012
•
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Related quotes
April, Dear April
April, dear April, I beg you come soon –
And bring your sweet primroses too.
Let them join in with the daffodils’ play,
As skies offer sunshine anew.
April, dear April, my blessed spring child,
Ornate in your yellow and white,
Teasing the birds into trilling their songs
And dancing to music of flight.
April, dear April, come enter my dreams
And rid me from cold winter chills.
Banish the rain and those blustery winds
And warm up our countryside hills.
April, dear April, I know you can’t stay -
You have to move on ‘till next year.
And though I shall cherish the glory of summer,
You’ll always be my month most dear.
From: Succumbed to Thinking by Mark Raymond Slaughter, lulu.com
Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2009
All rights reserved
April April April April
April April April April
April April April April
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Days of April
O, my days of April, I've pined for you so long
And waited to see your gardens return where they belong
O, my days of April, which find me with a fellow
Do you see my new smile outglowing daffodills yellow?
O, my days of April, you leave me sleepless in your splendor
You find me beneath the shaded trees in his arms tender
Marveling beneath the orange sunlight that covers the grassy hills
Feeling the blissful breeze travel where it wills
O, my days of April, his voice hums like your honey bees
It often sends my heart on happy little sprees
And as we swim through the land of lavender seas
I thank you for the days you bring such as these
O, my days of April, he smells like your fresh rain
That waters the mowed grass in the thirsty plains
His eyes shine like the diamonds you leave on the blades
I hold them to my memory to escape December days
O, my days of April, remember you'll live forevermore
Your cloudless days and golden rays always will knock at May's door
And your flowers will bloom so high they almost reach the gables
But remember us, remember us, my sweet days of April
poem by Whitney Albright
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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
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Young William And Young April
Young William and young April
Met in the park one day.
Young William said to April,
'Why did you come this way? '
Young April said to William,
'I thought I might see you.'
Young William, then to April,
'It's funny, what you do.'
Young April gave to William
A sweet, young childhood kiss.
Young William said to April,
'Don't bother me like this.'
Young April stood in silence,
Not knowing what to do.
Then young William turned away.
Young April, torn in two.
Young William said, 'Don't follow me.'
Away from her he fled.
April then, sat down and cried,
And wished that she was dead.
William never came again.
At least, for many years.
Fearful that young April still,
Might be there shedding tears.
William walked the park again.
It seemed just like before.
Wondering if he might see her.
Young April, there once more.
Young William never noticed.
The roses hid it well.
The place they found Young April.
The place she used to dwell.
poem by Greenwolfe 1962
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When April Comes!
When April comes with softly shining eyes,
And daffodils bound in her wind-blown hair,
Oh, she will coax all clouds from out the skies,
And every day will bring some sweet surprise,--
The swallows will come swinging through the air
When April comes!
When April comes with tender smile and tear,
Dear dandelions will gild the common ways,
And at the break of morning we will hear
The piping of the robins crystal clear--
While bobolinks will whistle through the days,
When April comes!
When April comes, the world so wise and old,
Will half forget that it is worn and grey;
Winter will seem but as a tale long told--
Its bitter winds with all its frost and cold
Will be the by-gone things of yesterday,
When April comes!
poem by Virna Sheard
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The Weekend Song
Monday morning is not monday morning
'till taylor has his coffee
Friday night is not friday night
'till jesse leaves the room sweaty
Tuesday morning is not tuesday morning
'till nick has his talk with his son
Thursday night is not thursday night
'till chris has sex with his bass
Come on to the weekend
'cause the weekend i'll get high
Hold off 'till the weekend
'cause there's too much time to think
And there will be nice skies
Tuesday morning is wednesday afternoon
When you cry all night
Wednesday early we fall into work
All caught up in the day by day
Thursday morning is not thursday morning
'till (alanis???) says how's your life
How's your life?
Yeah how's your life
How's your life?
Come on to the weekend
'cause the weekend i'll get by
Hold off 'till the weekend
'cause there's too much time to think and not much time to cry
Hold off 'till the weekend
'cause the weekend we'll be high
Hold off 'till the weekend
'cause there'll be no time but we'll get by
What if there were no more mama's boys
What if no one shares their humble appearance
What there were no consequences
What if there were no more arguments
Well that'd be a shame
Wouldn't that be impossible
And you would be bored
'cause you wouldn't want it a little too late...
Hold on 'till the weekend
'cause the weekend i'll get by
Hold off 'till the weekend
'cause the man upstairs has the really nice skies
Hold off 'till the weekend
'cause the weekend i'll get high
Hold off 'till the weekend
'cause we may look strange but we surely will get by
What if there were no more mama's boys
What if we all had no thinking together
Wouldn't that be a shame...
Wouldn't that be impossible
And you would be bored
'cause you wouldn't want it any other way...
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cuckoo in the Pear-Tree
The Cuckoo sat in the old pear-tree,
Cuckoo!
Raining or snowing, nought cared he.
Cuckoo!
Cuckoo, cuckoo, nought cared he.
The Cuckoo flew over a housetop high.
Cuckoo!
"Dear, are you at home, for here am I?
Cuckoo!
Cuckoo, cuckoo, here am I."
"I dare not open the door to you.
Cuckoo!
Perhaps you are not the right cuckoo?
Cuckoo!
Cuckoo, cukoo, the right Cuckoo!"
"I am the right Cuckoo, the proper one.
Cuckoo!
For I am my father's only son,
Cuckoo!
Cuckoo, cuckoo, his only son."
"If you are your father's only son -
Cuckoo!
The bobbin pull tightly,
Come through the door lightly -
Cuckoo!
"If you are your father's only son -
Cuckoo!
It must be you, the only one -
Cuckoo, cuckoo, my own Cuckoo!
Cuckoo!"
poem by William Brighty Rands
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April on the Battlefields
April now walks the fields again,
Trailing her tearful leaves
And holding all her frightened buds against her heart:
Wrapt in her clouds and mists,
She walks,
Groping her way among the graves of men.
The green of earth is differently green,
A dreadful knowledge trembles in the grass,
And little wide-eyed flowers die too soon:
There is a stillness here --
After a terror of all raving sounds --
And birds sit close for comfort upon the boughs
Of broken trees.
April, thou grief!
What of thy sun and glad, high wind,
Thy valiant hills and woods and eager brooks,
Thy thousand-petalled hopes?
The sky forbids thee sorrow, April!
And yet --
I see thee walking listlessly
Across those scars that once were joyous sod,
Those graves,
Those stepping-stones from life to life.
Death is an interruption between two heart-beats,
That I know --
Yet know not how I know --
But April mourns,
Trailing her tender green,
The passion of her green,
Across the passion of those fearful fields.
Yes, all the fields!
No barrier here,
No challenge in the night,
No stranger-land;
She passes with her perfect countersign,
Her green;
She wanders in her mournful garden,
Dropping her buds like tears,
Spreading her lovely grief upon the graves of man.
poem by Leonora Speyer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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April Rain
The April rain, the April rain,
Comes slanting down in fitful showers,
Then from the furrow shoots the grain,
And banks are fledged with nestling flowers;
And in grey shaw and woodland bowers
The cuckoo through the April rain
Calls once again.
The April sun, the April sun,
Glints through the rain in fitful splendour,
And in grey shaw and woodland dun
The little leaves spring forth and tender
Their infant hands, yet weak and slender,
For warmth towards the April sun,
One after one.
And between shower and shine hath birth
The rainbow's evanescent glory;
Heaven's light that breaks on mists of earth!
Frail symbol of our human story,
It flowers through showers where, looming hoary,
The rain-clouds flash with April mirth,
Like Life on earth.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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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
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I Don't Know
Monday morning is not Monday morning 'till Taylor has his coffee
Friday night is not Friday night 'till Jessie leaves the room sweaty
Tuesday morning is not Tuesday morning 'till Nick has his talk with his son
Thursday night is not Thursday night 'till Chris has sex with his bass
Come on to the Weekend
'Cause the Weekend I'll get by
Hold off 'till the Weekend
'Cause there's too much time bein' merrily nice guys
Tuesday morning is Wednesday afternoon when you cry all night
Wednesday early we fall into what I'll Phil-a-del-ph-i-a
Thursday morning is not Thursday morning 'till one of us says
How's your life
How's your life?
Yeah how's your life
How's your life?
Come on to the weekend
'Cause the weekend I'll get by
Hold off 'till the weekend
'Cause there's too much time to think and not much time to cry
Hold off 'till the weekend
'Cause the weekend we'll be high
Hold off 'till the weekend
'Cause we may look tired, but we'll get by
What if there were no more mama's boys
What if no one shared their humble appearance
What there were no consequences
What if there were no more arguments
Well that'd be a shame
And that'd be impossible
And you would be bored
'Cause you wouldn't want it any other way
Hold on 'till the weekend
'Cause the weekend I'll get by
Hold off 'till the weekend
'Cause we may look scared, but we're really nice guys
Hold off 'till the weekend
'Cause the weekend I'll get high
Hold off 'till the weekend
'Cause we may look strange but we surely will get by
What if there were no more mama's boys
What if we all had no thinking together
Would that be a shame...
And that'd be impossible
'Cause you would be bored
'Cause you wouldn't want it any other way
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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April 2031
They say the sky used to be blue
I don't quite believe it.
It's probably always been
the color that it is.
And there were cotton candy clouds.
And birds to fly through it.
Just stories we all love to tell our kids.
So I'll close my electronic door
And keep the cold outside.
And hug my aluminium pillow so tight.
And pray the radiation
doesn't make me sick tonight.
No more sky and no more trees.
April 2031
No more oxygen to breathe.
April 2031
No more hate and no more war.
April 2031
Nothing left worth fighting for.
April 2031.
They say there used to be a wind
that wasn't caused by fans
I wonder how it would have felt in my hair
And the nuclear ring
around the moon was caused by man
if it was, then it's much too late to care
So I'll put my safety goggles on
and gaze out at the sun
as the artificial atmostphere machines
give off a constant hum
in a world that's cold and peaceful, april 2031
No more sky and no more trees.
April 2031
No more oxygen to breathe.
April 2031
No more hate and no more war.
April 2031
Nothing left worth fighting for.
April 2031.
As far back as Veitnam,
we should have learned our lesson.
But we closed our eyes
and sent our sons away.
And they told us we were winning
as they sold more ammunition.
Some were angry,
most just looked the other way.
And the night's illuminated
by the endless glowing sand
that swallowed all the oceans
and choked off all the land.
In a world beyond resuscitation
Even by God's hand
No more mountains no more sea
April 2031
No more you and no more me
April 2031
No more music no more songs
April 2031
No God left to blame it on
April 2031
No more children playing
April 2031
No more need for praying
April 2030 One
song performed by by Warrant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stillness Of The Night
Midnight on the hill I heard the thunder fill
The stillness of the night
It hit me like a slap, youre never comin back
From the stillness of the night
It was never black or white, neither wrong or right
Like the shadow of a full moons light
I knew wed lost the track, when I heard the lightning crack
The stillness of the night
Chorus
In the stillness of the night
Thats when well make it right
We can stop the thunder till the light
In the stillness of the night
I know you think you hear, those voices in your ear
In the stillness of the night
But Ive tried to make it clear theres nothing left to fear
Just the stillness of the night
And if you listen hard you might find the reason for your fright
Just the wind is high tonight
And the danger we must face is the anger of this race
In the stillness of the night
Chorus
song performed by by Reo Speedwagon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thursday Afternoon
Her life is a show
One act follows the other everywhere she goes
She takes the leading role
She never plays herself
Save for the time shes on the stage
Color her black or white
Now either one reflects the teardrops
One extreme for the other
Nothing in between
Color her white for the princess she could be
Color her black for the troubled child she plays so well
Well shes dancing through hell on a dream
And blue is soul of the one
Reaching for the man that she hasnt got yet
And holding on to those hearts for lost causes
She could be so bright
But shes reaching for us all
Color her blue for the loneliness she feels
Shes hiding her heart in the sky
And this is a thursday afternoon
Its just another thursday afternoon
Its just another thursday afternoon
Color me grey
Im a little bit of everything today
And Im not sure just where Im going
Color me grey
Wishing I was something more of distinction
Color us all cause were just stars
Wishing our lives away
Into the distance
And out of existence
Color her black or white
Color her blue
Or color me grey
Color us all - were stars
Wishing our lives away
Now were stars
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Seeing Little Lorikeets
They looked like African lovebirds that I see
On trees near Dimboola in the Vic Mallee
But then I told myself this cannot be
As African lovebirds in Australia don't live free.
Lit by a shaft of bright April sun shine
On pleasant evening in middle Autumn time
Small green feathered Parrots with red faces and dark bills
On eucalyptus branches uttered high pitched trills.
It took me back to photograph I'd seen
Of litle red faced parrots dressed in green
That fly from tree to tree in daylight hours
In search of fruit and eucalyptus flowers.
And 'twas then I realized that I had come to meet
The smallest of the lories little lorikeets
Near Dimboola Town on small roadside Parkway
On eucalyptus trees on sunlit April day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Home Thoughts from Abroad
April in England–daffodils are growing
By every wayside, golden, tall and fair;
April–and all the little winds are blowing
The scents of springtime through the sunny air.
April in England–God, that we were there!
April in England–and her sons are lying
On these red fields, and dreaming of her shore;
April–we hear the thrushes' songs replying
Each unto each, above the cannons' roar;
April in England–shall we see it more?
April in England–there's the cuckoo calling
Down in her meadows where the cowslip gleams;
April–and little showers are softly falling,
Dimpling the surface of her babbling streams;
April in England–how the shrapnel screams!
April in England–blood and dust and smother,
Screaming of horses, men in agony.
April–full many of thy sons, O Mother,
Never again those dewy dawns shall see.
April in England–God, keep England free!
poem by Norah M. Holland
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Cuckoo Song
(Spring begins in southern England on the 14th April, on which date the Old Woman lets the Cuckoo out of her basket at Heathfield Fair -- locally known as Heffle Cuckoo Fair.)
Tell it to the locked-up trees,
Cuckoo, bring your song here!
Warrant, Act and Summons, please,
For Spring to pass along here!
Tell old Winder, if he doubt,
Tell him squat and square -- a!
Old Woman!
Old Woman!
Old Woman's let the Cuckoo out
At Heffle Cuckoo Fair -- a!
March has searched and April tried --
'Tisn't long to Mary now.
Not so far to Whitsuntide
And Cuckoo's come to stay now!
Hear the valiant fellow shout
Down the orchard bare -- a!
Old Woman!
Old Woman!
Old Woman's let the Cuckoo out
At Heffle Cuckoo Fair -- a!
When your heart is young and gay
And the season rules it --
Work your works and play your play
'Fore the Autumn cools it!
Kiss you turn and turn-about,
But my lad, beware -- a!
Old Woman!
Old Woman!
Old Woman's let the Cuckoo out
At Heffle Cuckoo Fair -- a!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Kiss Me Dear..Part3
Kiss me dear kiss me with lustful.
Kiss me dear kiss me with luxurious.
Kiss me dear kiss me with lyrical.
Kiss me dear kiss me with lovable.
Kiss me dear kiss me with humorous.
Kiss me dear kiss me with hummed.
Kiss me dear kiss me with hugged.
Kiss me dear kiss me with hopeful.
Kiss me dear kiss me with gutsy.
Kiss me dear kiss me with guaranty.
Kiss me dear kiss me with gratified.
Kiss me dear kiss me with graciousness.
Couse your kiss is a consomme.............
It's different taste..........
and i'will needs again...
Kiss me dear kiss me on sunday.
Kiss me dear kiss me on monday.
Kiss me dear kiss me on tuesday.
Kiss me dear kiss me on wednesday.
Kiss me dear kiss me on thursday.
Kiss me dear kiss me on friday.
Kiss me dear kiss me on saturday.
Couse your kiss is my dish everyday.
and i'will needs again.
Kiss me dear kiss me on january.
Kiss me dear kiss me on february.
Kiss me dear kiss me on march.
Kiss me dear kiss me on april.
Kiss me dear kiss me on may.
Kiss me dear kiss me on june.
Kiss me dear kiss me on july.
Kiss me dear kiss me on august.
Kiss me dear kiss me on september.
Kiss me dear kiss me on october.
Kiss me dear kiss me on november.
Kiss me dear kiss me on december.
Couse your kiss is my: every times
every days
every month
and every years.
I'will needs again
April Showers
It is the season of new beginnings...
Spring removes her winter robe
And fades into rainbows of hope;
The sun shines its headlights into April-
And in the garden the effluent scent
Of multiple blooms delights the nose;
The naked trees are no longer bare
Clothed in egg shell, pink and green.
Now entertaining the sometime visit
Of the butterfly and bee;
Showers are but a necessity
Splashed to chase the thirst away
They are never maudlin weeping tears
But always fall on purpose
For they help to bring
Even more blossoms to May;
Dedicated To: 'Betty'...AKA- - - - - - -
Remembering 1978
August: Seattle Times
And what you said:
'Emily took off like a big bird
For L.A. and Australia
But you had better get your
Umbrella's out as she is
Flying back in the spring...'
I did fly back in the Spring
Of 1979...for my fathers last
Two heart attacks and death.
Heart attack in April and last
One in May... and then he passed!
We will always wonder how
You knew that i would be
coming back in April
When even the doctors did
Not know!
By: Theodora Onken
April 9,2012
poem by Theodora Onken
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Song of April!
Is it that incomplete song
you sing for me April
or the soulful song of
a nightingale or a song
from the heart of Earth
A song long heard
which is lost in the waves
or one melody which melts
the rocks so hard you want
to sing for me April
A song I can sing from the
notes so perfect or the one
so loud to compete with
the wild clouds and forests
Is it that song incomplete April
you sing for me now...
April 17, 2009
poem by Rema Prasanaa
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