En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Mackworth Village Garden

Sitting alone in the country garden of number 82
on this July day with the sun shining through.
Watching the dandelion seeds being wafted up high
and just observing nature as the day passes by.

A magpie jumps onto the neighbour’s weather beaten roof
while a horse can be heard by the sound of its hoof.
The bees are as usual busy visiting all the flowers in bloom
as a dragonfly flits by on this Friday afternoon.

The sun’s gradual movement is taking the shade away
and shadows are growing, as afternoon tea comes my way.
A light wind refreshes as it kisses my uncovered knees,
and the trees respond by dancing along with the breeze.

The crows have decided to disturb the peace and quiet
squabbling over who gets first choice with their diet.
A woodpigeon calls out from next door’s chestnut tree,
then two more arrive, and coo in harmony.

poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When Tree Branches Rub Against The Roof

When tree branches rub against the roof
the small bulbul runs past
during the afternoon hour
to the pool where it dives and rolls,
stretches out wings and shoot them out straight,
walking boldly up and down
stretches out wings,
stretches out wings
as he walks to and thro.

When tree branches rub against the roof
a light breeze blows,
while the sun burns hot as fire
and the neighbouring child calls
when the afternoon comes with its peace,
with thoughts from the past
when the afternoon comes,
when the afternoon comes
and sometimes I forget the present.

When tree branches rub against the roof
birds peck around everywhere
while moments are lingering
as leaves blow to the ground,
and I think of God as if He is here,
while the shades bring a kind of tranquillity
and I think of God
and I think of God
and find some deeper meaning to life.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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September Afternoon

How lovely was that autumn day,
That late September afternoon
When the sun was high in a cloudless sky,
In an ocean of heavenly blue,
Just a gentle breeze to stir the leaves
Of the garden trees, while the hum of bees
Was soothing to those who lazily dozed
In the shimmering heat that made you believe
It was really July, and only the apples
That lay on the lawn made you remember
It was now September. The mallow flowers
Were still in bloom, and butterflies
Like handkerchiefs around them fluttered
Then flew across to the buddleia bush
With its bountiful nectar-rich blossom
And now and again a quarrel broke out
When the garden sparrows chirruped and chirped
And feathers flew, but it didn’t last
For peace like a blanket floated down
While overhead the swallows swooped
And turned and wheeled in graceful flight.
Such light and warmth and teeming life
Uplifts your heart, makes your spirits sing
So glad to be a child again
At home in the bosom of good Mother Earth.

poem by Pete Crowther
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Bunbury Afternoon

England in the summer is a pretty sight
Flowers in the meadow in the morning light
You know , satisfy the song inside
And the dream is making you care , evrybody smiles
And the dream is taking you there
Theres a little bit of heaven on the village green
And the bunbury eleven that you never see
And they take all comers in the month of june
On a friday , saturday , sunbury afternoon
On a friday , saturday , bunbury afternoon
On a friday , saturday , bunbury afternoon
They all say it couldnt be real
Shakin their head in wonder
Makin it long drive home
And when the sun and the moment is gone
Breakin that spell were under
We played a part in the heart of a beautiful memory
Theres a baby in a cradle and a wise old man
Young lovers happy to be hand in hand
Evrybody finds their way
They will learn the secret in time
Theres a ring on her finger
And a love that shows
And the bunbury eleven say the rumor goes
They re married in the church in the month of june
On a friday , saturday , sunbury afternoon
On a friday , saturday , bunbury afternoon
On a friday , saturday , bunbury afternoon
Theres a wind in the willows
When the day is done
People disappearing in the golden sun
You know , evrybody smiles
Theres a little bit of heaven on ....

song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's Raining In Wonthaggi

On the gum tree in the garden white backed magpie flutes his song
But it's raining in Wonthaggi and the wind is blowing strong
Two days back it was so balmy around twenty five degrees
It was perfect Summer weather with the faintest cooling breeze.

In south Gippsland's changing weather it can change from day to day
And the old timers who live here say it's always been this way
And when it's raining in Wonthaggi there's a strong wind from the sea
And on such inclememt weather indoors is the place to be.

And the magpie he keeps singing I can see him through the pane
And for some strange sort of reason he seems happy in the rain
Though birds sing their best and sweetest on their breeding days in Spring
On wet and changing weather you can also hear them sing.

It is windy in Wonthaggi and the rain is pouring down
And storm water drains are flooded all around the country Town
But the magpie seems quite happy he feels moved to melody
And he celebrate the downpour on high branch of old gum tree.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Things Clear Only to Me

The Wind swirls around me,
It swirls and shoots up a tree.

It rustles the leaves,
And over the Dryad weaves.

The wind I can see,
And things clear only to me!

Up a branch the Dryad prances,
And with the wind she dances!

Floating, the wind goes,
Up to the roof, and slows.

To the horse weathervane,
And there it ruffles his mane.

Then down I see him turn,
Not a horse, but flying unicorn!

The wind I run after,
To hear hearty laughter.

Behind the large rock I peek,
The laughing one to seek.

There a joke is read to a troll,
from a very old scroll.

I laugh too as I go,
Now the wind swoops low.

Down to the flowers small,
Where I hear tiny fairies call.

I cannot understand the sound,
Like me with grown-ups around.

Then I watch, and sigh,
As the wind lifts a dragon high.

Up there I cannot go,
Only feel the fire blow!

This is when I turn back,
The wind has gone slack.

I no longer see it swirl,
Or the other things in its' curl.

A blazing sun in the sky,
Is left from the dragon's fly.

On the flowers buzz bees,
No fairies below my knees.

I walk past the stone,
It and I are alone.

The horse up on the roof,
Makes no move, he's aloof.

The tree is empty and still,
The Dryad gone, gone until…

Until the wind comes again,
Swooping through this lane.

Then the wind I will see,
And things clear only to me!

poem by Elisabeth Hines
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When the wind started blowing in the afternoon

When the wind started blowing in the afternoon,
some African red-knobbed coots rose in a screaming row,
while the sun hanged over the water red like fire

and the twilight only lasted moments
while they flew past with slapping wings,
when the wind started blowing in the afternoon,

I felt a light breeze blowing against my cheek,
there was serenity and peace that came to me
while the sun hanged over the water red like fire,

there was a kind of bliss in nature
when dappled Egyptian goose also tried to avoid me,
when the wind started blowing in the afternoon,

I was caught by the sheer beauty,
I heard the call of birds cutting through the reeds,
while the sun hanged over the water red like fire

while the sky was darker and no more azure,
while ducks glide magically through the water,
when the wind started blowing in the afternoon,
the sun hanged over the water red like fire.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flowers In The Rain

Woke up one morning half asleep
With all my blankets in a heap
And yellow roses gathered all around me;
The time was still approaching four
I couldnt stand it anymore
Saw marigolds upon my eider down.
Im just sitting watching flowers in the rain
Feel the power of the rain making the garden grow,
Im just sitting watching flowers in the rain
Feel the power of the rain keeping me cool.
So I lay upon my side with all the windows opened wide
Couldnt pressurize my head from speaking
Hoping not to make a sound I pushed my bed into the grounds
In time to catch the sight that I was seeking.
Im just sitting watching flowers in the rain
Feel the power of the rain making the garden grow,
Im just sitting watching flowers in the rain
Feel the power of the rain keeping me cool.
If this perfect pleasure has the key
Then this is how it has to be
If my pillows getting wet
I dont see that it matters much to me.
I heard the flowers in the breeze make conversation with the trees
Believed to leave reality behind me
With my commitments in a mess my sleep has gone away depressed
In a world of fantasy youll find me.
Im just sitting watching flowers in the rain
Feel the power of the rain making the garden grow,
Im just sitting watching flowers in the rain
Feel the power of the rain keeping me cool.

song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let's Walk Through This Garden

Come, my beloved, let us walk through this garden
Where lots of bees enchanting with the nature
Life of bees has got the life in the heaven
And placed it on the peach and citrus tree
Let us follow the footprint of those bees
Who has walked miles over the mountain?
The mountain to draw nectar high above the cool plain
Let us go into the fields, my beloved,
For the time of those who left to harvest
Seed of love has sowed into this garden
As the spirit nourishes the grain of joy with love in burden
Let us hear the melodies of the wind touch the wings
Let's sit beside this flower and pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.
Let us go into the next field, my beloved,
Let's us not fill our heart with joy of sadness
Bees are yet to shed tears for those who have already lost their heavies
Under the forced of the whispering wind
Let us tend the bloom of the earth
Let us make the flowers our happiest heaven
Let us relax after the day's toil,
And listen to the murmur of the provoke bees
Rather parting with old acquaintance.
Oh! Let us return to our dwelling, my beloved!
For the wind has caused the yellow leaves to fall;
And shroud the withering flower that whisper elegy to the bees
Come my beloved, come close to me since nature has just wearied
And bidding her enthusiasm farewell.
With quiet and content sorrow
Come close to me beloved; come too closed to me.
Let us speak glory of our heart,
For that is greater than the sorrow of the bees
Lost her heaves in the flower garden
Under the force of the merciless whispering wind.

poem by Kezang Dawa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ingratitude

when the dragonfly
got lost in the woods,
the wind accommodated it
pushing it towards
its home,

when the wind travels and passes
over the dragonfly town
it looks for that blue dragonfly that it helped one time
in the woods,
the wind asks for nothing
but the dragonfly so safe in its house
looks at the wind
not even mentioning its name

it hurts so the wind goes away
as usual
on same spirited wings not asking for anything

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Feel Lucky To Live In This Country

We did have some showers in the morning though it was quite welcome the rain
And the day it has turned out quite windy and the sun is out shining again
For mid Fall it is such good weather the butterflies dance in the breeze
And the temperatures so very pleasant a tad over twenty degrees.

I have every cause to feel happy on this rather beautiful day
The butcherbird the familiar fellow in his cloak of dark brown and gray
His bubbling notes he is piping on high branch of the blackwood tree
Though nesting Season for him over and no need to defend territory.

I feel lucky to live in this Country in this warm and balmy Land of the South
When darkness it cloaks the woodland one hear the soft call of the frogmouth
A beautiful place for to live in where the coldest of weather is not cold
But oh how the time ticks on quickly and even the young are growing old.

For April it is splendid weather the wind gently soughing in the trees
And butterflies dance in the sunshine in this Land of the Southern seas
I feel lucky to live in this Country this weather for all to enjoy
The magpie he pipes in the sunshine and so very happy am I.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The Day For November Quite Warm

The day for November quite warm with only the faintest sign of breeze
And starlings from the trees to the garden railings flying and flying back again to the trees
The weather temperature in the high twenties from 27 to 29 degrees
And in the shade of the gum in the paddock the cow sits and chews her cud at ease.

White butterflies out in the sunshine they do not like the wind and the rain
Why they like the calm sunny weather do not ask me since I cannot explain
Anything of the workings of Nature of Nature's ways so little I know
Of Nature's ways I know as much now as I did five decades ago.

The poets love Spring for Nature's greenery her beauty them always inspire
In their words they always laud the Earth Mother of singing her praises they never do tire
And the artists try to capture some of nature's beauty on their canvas the flora and fauna of the woods and the hills and sea shore
I know of so many fine artists in fact there has never been more.

The day for November quite warm even warm for the time of year
And on the wattle tree in the garden the song of the blackbird I hear
'Tis said when birds sing in warm sunshine that rain cannot be far away
The radio weather forecaster says the weather is changing with thunder showers later today.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It is Spring Time

It is Spring Time

It is spring time.
I can smell it in the air.
I can smell the flowers.
I can smell the grass.
I can touch the grass.
I can touch and taste the vegetable growing in the garden.
The weather is changing.
The weather is warming up.
The trees are blossoming.
The flowers are blossoming.

It is spring time.
Easter has passed.
Beltane has passed.
Spring and May is here.
This is the time to tend to your garden and planted some flowers.
Some people pray to God to protect their garden.
Some people pray to Mother Nature for protect.
I do both and I thank God for this planet.

It is Spring Time.
The animals and bugs come out to play.
The frogs jump around the pond.
The wildflower comes out.
The sky is clean and blue.
The sun is shining.
The horses are running free.
The sunflowers are growing.
When seasons the earth also changes it is a beautiful way.
Nature is every where.

It is spring time.
There is rain and storm.
The trees have leaves and it arms.
The trees are ancient.
An apple falls down from the trees.
This is what thinks spring time is for me.
Spring time is beautiful.
Spring time is when nature is beautiful.

It is spring time.
Spring time is here.
The rabbits come out, and hop round.
The bees are collection honey for us.
The tulips are blossoming.
The roses are blossoming, and looking so beautiful.
The lavender is purple and bright.
Spring time is a time to celebrate.
Spring time is a time to clean our environment.

It is spring time.
Spring time is a time when rain falls.
Spring time is the time when the seasons changes.
Spring time is when the plants grow.
Spring time is my favorite season.
Spring time is the time to be happy.

It is spring time.

poem by Crystal Chown
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Every Day Is Festival!

Every dawn is decorated,
as if an auspicious day,
As if everyday is festival,
On the treetops shining bulbs of dews,
like golden beads and bulbs,
Every leaf of grass bent with dew drops weight,
As if bowing to welcome the Sun,
fields look like green lakes,
wave of breeze,
on the mountain peak,
Clouds dancing around,
Golden rays piercing darkness,
Shining globules of dews,
Shining like decorative light bulbs,
Reflecting face of nature,
Bathed fresh,
look like a woman just excited
to welcome Sun,
her eternal Love!

Busy birds flying above,
Singing their own song,
Every heart has a song,
Busy, yet hearts kept cool by morning breeze!

In the flow of river,
Or in the sound of waterfalls,
The mantra that chanted,
With bells of temples and churches,
Call for prayer from mosques heard,
But call of love
in every heart is strongly heard,
than any sound

Light of love, melts hearts,
Melts negative feelings,
Bathing in beauty,
Every day is festival,
O mother, you are divine,
Washed by morning dews,
You make everyone to bathe in thy beauty,
just like mother calls children,
When father returns home,
Earth welcomes Sun,
With her children,
Shining whole nature as one!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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This Day Will Not Come Again

'A sweet summer afternoon. Cool breezes and a clear sky. This day will not come again.
The young bulls lie under a tree in the corner of their field. Quiet afternoon. Blue hills.
Day lilies nod in the wind. This day will not come again. '
Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander

I expected the slight rise
in the east, the sky
growing slate, then
blushing pink and
suddenly blue.

The winter tree
is often
bathed in gold,

and the familiar song
of thrush and jay,
woodpecker's rapid tapping
brash geese
shouting,

are often the same
from one to another day.

But this sudden breeze,
freshening breath
of the butterfly,
the warmth
the joyful cry!

My God is here!

I breathe,
I sigh.

poem by Steven Federle
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On The Second Week Of January

On the second week of January I hear the shrike thrush sing
His flute like notes so pleasant to them have a familiar ring
And Spring is but a memory and Summer near her prime
And that birds sing out of Season happens all of the time.

The piping of the white backed magpie his is a familiar song
By their songs Nature's feathered minstrels one cannot get them wrong
A pleasant Summer's morning 'twill make a pleasant day
And the paddocks of Wonthaggi scent sweetly of baled hay.

In a clearing I am standing surrounded by scrub trees
In such places the Aboriginal dancers had their Corroborees
They danced on Summer evenings before the sun went down
Long before there was a Gippsland or a Wonthaggi Town.

A morning on the second week of January with a warm summery breeze
And a forecast high for the afternoon of 25 degrees
One might say perfect weather for the time of year
North in New South Wales and Queensland 'tis warmer by far than here.

On the second week of January the weather warm and dry
And a goldfinch he is singing on a wattle tree nearby
And brown butterflies are dancing in the sunny morning sky
And Mother Nature's natural beauty is for all to enjoy.

poem by Francis Duggan
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A Beautiful Day In October

The flies are buzzing in the sunshine and the little dark brown honeybees
Are busily gathering nectar from the flowers of the blossoming trees
On a beautiful day in October of around 27 degrees
And Nature she is at her calmest with only a very faint breeze
Under the house eaves lined with lots of feathers the house sparrows have their nest of hay
Non singers devoted to chirping they seem to chirp all through the day
Such beauty to inspire poets and artists the beauty that Nature create
The willy wagtail with tail wagging is perched on the back garden gate
A tiny black and white long tailed flycatcher always on the look out for flies
One who mobs the much bigger magpie undaunted it does seem by size,
A beautiful day in October butterflies flitting in the sunlight
And fuchsias and roses in full bloom such things that make a pretty sight
And Nature she is at her calmest with only a very slight breeze
And all around the sunlit garden the buzzings of flies and of bees.

poem by Francis Duggan
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An Afternoon Poem Is Rare

AN AFTERNOON POEM IS RARE

An Afternoon Poem is rare-
Afternoon is long after the first light-
Afternoon is a time of heaviness and quiet
A time of rest-

Afternoon is after the morning work has been done-
Afternoon is the weight of the day-
Afternoon is the time after the day has lost its freshness-

Still there must be afternoon poems-
There must be a beauty that emerges
In its own way,
Perhaps from where lovers meet
Perhaps from ‘ripeness is all’
Perhaps from the anticipation of evening
Perhaps from winter where it is the warmest time of day.

There must be afternoon poems-
Poems that celebrate all that warmth can bring-
Poems of rest poems of sleep-
Poems of waiting to believe
That in the evening
A new day and a new world
Will make life easier again.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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My Mind Was Full Of Ideas This Morning

my mind is full of ideas this morning
while i am walking alone
on the grassy path of this mountainside

i am so tired. I take my rest sitting on a log
rotting under a tree.

i gaze on the ricefields just below this hill.
some white herons as usual fly low
some sparrows regroup themselves and
scatter in an instant like a confetti of dry leaves.

the sun comes out in glory
proclaiming though its reign on this corner
the gumamela flowers on the side of the hills bow down
and bloom again

i am amazed on the beginning of this beautiful day.
The butterflies flutter on the bushes of white petals
of these wild flowers. I see a nest with three small white eggs.

the sound of waters cascading on the creek.
some leaves are carried away. A fish jumps trying to catch
a low flying dragonfly. Some dew begins to lose their
glow on the bamboo leaves.The law of evaporation gets in.

Lost. I am so empty.The window of my heart is open.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Beautiful Camellias

The camellias bloom in Winter when the skies are cold and gray
When the sun shines at it's weakest and the Spring seems far away
Each tree an individual by the shade of flowers they bear
An avenue of camellias of one shade of flowers more often than not rare.

In shades of pink and creams and reds the colours one might name
Each is an individual for no two look the same
The beautiful camellias resplendent in their flowers
They bloom in lawn and garden on Winter's coldest hours.

In late fall in Victoria in the Southern Hemisphere
The flower buds on camellia tell Winter days are near
And before the wattles come to bloom towards the end of July
The flowers on the camellia tree lose their petals and die.

The beautiful camellias bloom in the cold winter showers
And long before the southern spring they will have lost their flowers
And on June's coldest and wettest day great beauty I can see
A mass of pink flowers blooming on the green camellia tree.

poem by Francis Duggan
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A Man Who Knows Much About Nature

He has not been to college or uni and for so called success in life he does not have much to show
But about flora and fauna and Nature there is so much he seems to know
He knows all of the trees in the Parkland by the bark or the leaves that they wear
A man who knows much about Nature and for the health of Nature he care.

A man who knows much about nature by their songs the birds he recognize
He like the quiet place in the country far removed from human made noise
In the shadow of a tree by the river the sun shining bright in the sky
Listening to birds singing around him such moments of peace he enjoy.

He like places without man's buildings away from the noise of the street
A quiet place in Nature's own kingdom where the creek and the river meet
Where lark he is soaring and singing as upward and upwards he fly
He has been a student of Nature ever since he was a young school going boy.

A man who knows much about Nature and to Nature he remains true
And Nature needs all of her good friends for Nature's good friends are too few
The weekend finds him in a quiet place on a sunny day sitting by a tree
Near where the creek flows into the river the river that flows to the sea.

poem by Francis Duggan
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