Champa Valley in Himachal State.
O my friends! Come and plunge
into the depths of Champa Valley.
The peaks of the Dhaulador do not gleam
and the glen below seems a gulf.
The looming winter lies in wait
for the welcoming flakes of snow to fall
and so we need no sweaters to quell the cold.
The gullies on the slopes are bereft of streams
and the pines in cols do not greet the guests!
The unstirred leaves and the brooding grass
And the absence of the whooping birds
mean the end of the Spring.
But see! The upcoming Dhonis
hit sixes in the Chaugan sward.
Trek to the Chamunda Devi Temple
and shout to hear your echoes from the hills
and the sounds die away
rattling far amid the lofty ranges.
Have sometime to stroll on the salubrious Dalhousie
and have a gaze and be lost in the haze
over the snowy summits or the soaring rivers.
Meek you need to be to roam in the sylvan glades
and seek solace for your restless souls.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Come Next Winter, Friends
COME NEXT WINTER, FRIENDS
I WILL WAIT WITH MY SON IN MY HANDS
FORGET NOT COMING TO MY LAND MY FRIENDS
WHEN THE WOODS BLOOM WITH FLOWERS OF SNOW
WHEN THE BOREAS BRING YOU HELL WITH BLOW
WHEN YOUR HEARTS CRAVE FOR WARMTH AND GLOW
FORGET NOT COMING TO MY LAND MY FRIENDS
I WILL WAIT WITH MY SON IN MY HANDS
YOU SHALL NEST IN A PASTURE NEW
CLOVER IS GREEN AND FOES ARE FEW
I WILL SHOW YOU SOME ETHEREAL VIEW
FORGET NOT COMING TO MY LAND MY FRIENDS
I WILL WAIT WITH MY SON IN MY HANDS
YOU SHALL BATH IN HOT WATER SPRING
WRAP INTO SWEATERS THE SUNNY DAYS BRING
STROLL ON THE PLAIN WHERE SUN RAYS CLING
FORGET NOT COMING TO MY LAND MY FRIENDS
I WILL WAIT WITH MY SON IN MY HANDS
TELL THEM THE STORIES OF LIGHT AND HUE
TELL THEM THE STORIES OF GREEN AND BLUE
BRING WITH YOU SOME MORE FRIENDS NEW
FORGET NOT COMING TO MY LAND MY FRIENDS
I WILL WAIT WITH MY SON IN MY HANDS
PACK IN THY BAGS SOME FAIRY TALES
WRAP IN THY LUNGS SOME HOMELY SMELLS
MY SON WILL JUMP TO SEE DOLL BELLES
FORGET NOT COMING TO MY LAND MY FRIENDS
I WILL WAIT WITH MY SON IN MY HANDS
BYE BYE O BIRDS IF WE CAN NOT MEET
FORGIVE ME FRIENDS IF I CAN NOT GREET
FORGET NOT THE SKY YOU FLEW WITH ME
FORGET NOT THE LAND YOU ROAMED WITH ME
WORRY NOT TO COME NEXT WINTER MY FRIENDS
MY SON WILL WAIT WITH MY NAME IN HIS HANDS
Mukesh Raval
India [29/01/2010]
poem by Mukesh Raval
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Wintertime
Snow falling on the ground,
Little white flakes to be found.
Lift your head to the sky,
And watch the snow zippin’ by.
Cold wind at your back,
Nothing winter seems to lack.
A blanket of snow covers the Trees,
Winter can’t end. No please!
Can’t Jack Frost do his Job?
For a little longer, don’t make me sob.
Can’t I stay in this Wonderland?
I don’t want to return to golden sand.
But under the layer of cold, white snow,
Lies little seedlings ready to show.
I must say a grateful farewell,
To winter fun, for it was swell.
And say hello to summer sweat,
Instead of getting cold, we get wet.
Hello Spring! Hello Summer!
Goodbye Fall! Goodbye Winter!
Journey By a Cable Car (Badrinath)
Why the pines are pining
when the Auli Bugyal is smiling
with pollen strewing blossoms
in the diffused rays of the sun?
Before the snowy slabs
get paved over the sloping hills,
the whole grassy stretch gleams
with newly sprung up shoots
and waves in joy in the cool breeze
that steels into the telpher
and brings cheer to us all.
“On whom to swoop down
the vulture is soaring? ”
When we were out of the car,
we sauntered towards the hilltop,
and lay on its lush green lap,
Looking at the sailing clouds
which hit on the sky high peaks,
tumble, trundle and dash at the vapour clouds
rising above the slush.
Scared they are, always running
when the bombs are on the plains around.
The snow-garbed Nandha Devi
signalled to us the agile Chinese
who loot the gold in Olympics,
and the grieving Tibetans are nearer.
The dulcet sounds of some throstles
Filled our ears with lilting music
and we dropped off in a drowse.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Looking, Watching, Waiting
It's Winter now,
And everything is cold and bare.
Used to be lush and green,
Covered in leaves.
The snow is melting.
It's getting warmer.
Spring is on it's way.
Now Spring has come
The snow has all melted,
And the trees are getting more leaves.
It's warm now,
And i can't wait for Summer to arrive.
Summer is finally here!
I go outside and run barefoot through the streets.
Windows are open and the birds are singing.
Summer is finally here!
Now Summer is gone, and Fall is in the air.
Soon it will get colder,
And i will once again be looking, watching, waiting,
For Summer's arrival.
poem by Vi Lanflagle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Masque Of The Seasons
Scene.--_A kitchen.--Group of Children, popping corn.--The Fairy Queen
of the Seasons discovered in the smoke of the corn-popper.--Waving her
wand, and, with eerie, sharp, imperious ejaculations, addressing the
bespelled auditors, who neither see nor hear her nor suspect her
presence._
QUEEN
Summer or Winter or Spring or Fall,--
Which do you like the best of all?
LITTLE JASPER
When I'm dressed warm as warm can be,
And with boots, to go
Through the deepest snow,
Winter-time is the time for me!
QUEEN
Summer or Winter or Spring or Fall,--
Which do you like the best of all?
LITTLE MILDRED
I like blossoms, and birds that sing;
The grass and the dew,
And the sunshine, too,--
So, best of all I like the Spring.
QUEEN
Summer or Winter or Spring or Fall,--
Which do you like the best of all?
LITTLE MANDEVILLE
O little friends, I most rejoice
When I hear the drums
As the Circus comes,--
So Summer-time's my special choice.
QUEEN
Summer or Winter or Spring or Fall,--
Which do you like the best of all?
LITTLE EDITH
Apples of ruby, and pears of gold,
And grapes of blue
That the bee stings through.--
Fall--it is all that my heart can hold!
QUEEN
Soh! my lovelings and pretty dears,
You've _each_ a favorite, it appears,--
Summer and Winter and Spring and Fall.--
That's the reason I send them _all_!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Champa
If want to make night dreams fragrant
garden ornamental and wet in scent;
ensure Champa is there.
In temple at worship you wish to offer
In weddings, festivals need the flowers
ensure champa is there.
Honey bees can't know what's here
girls go aromatic with Champa in hair
ensure champa is there.
If you want vampires and ghosts
Play their mischief in cemetery itself
ensure Champa is there.
Contained five elements in our body
Champa holds five petals to signify
ensures champa is there.
(C) S. D. Tiwari
sdtiwari1@gmail
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Waiting For the Snow
Waiting for the Snow
When the leaves turn golden
And the geese fly south
Where will I be?
When the wind turns cold
And the bear is in hiding
Where will I be?
When the streams are frozen
And the rabbits’ color turning
Where will I be?
When the leaves begin to fall
And the northern cardinals stay
Where will I be?
When the nuts fall down
And squirrels store walnuts
Where will I be?
When the corn is harvested
And the deer seek shelter
Where will I be?
When the grass is brown
And the pheasants are flying
Where will I be?
I will be riding before the wind
And winging t’ward the sun
Flying from the snow
I will be waiting for spring
And sleeping till then
Hiding from the snow
I will be hiding till I’m white
And searching the ground for food
Waiting for the snow
I will be looking for berries
And singing merrily
Waiting for the snow
I will be saving acorns
And jumping form tree to tree
Waiting for the snow
I will be searching fields for corn
And hiding in thickets
Waiting for the snow
I will be hiding under grass
And calling out loud
Waiting for the snow
Song of snow ranges
Song of snow ranges
Far from home, towering peaks and white slopes,
I gaped as sun rays quietly danced on snow;
Folded hands piously as mountains prayed.
Some clouds glowing, in bluest sky did sail.
Sun had traced patterns, myriad shape and size.
Shaded my eyes, with my hand, feeling a bit blind.
The rays diffused as the sun slowly climbed;
A glimpse of folks, perhaps of an ancient tribe…
A raven perched on far off hallowed peak;
It didn't seem to move or open its beak.
Heavens must have opened up while I slept,
In white satin sheets was draped rough terrain.
It was still, till I heard temple bell ring,
Resonate through the contemplating hills.
Despite layers of clothes my skin felt cold,
For what I heard, had never been fore told.
Snow leopard stepped out of a crevice
Eyes on summit, whiskers with thin ice stiff.
Winter shimmered in a mantle pristine
Snow ranges sang of progress of pilgrims.
Snow still soft, rolled it globe like in my hands.
Far from home, I felt at peace with myself.
Went on my knees, softly started to sing
A long cherished family anthem and hymn.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song Of The Evergreens
Listen to the briskly whistling winter evergreen
Whispering through the frozen morning light
And tell me whats to come
Saying my time is near
Never fear
I close each year
Im winter
Reminding me to trade my t-shirts for my woven wools
Trade my sandals for my skis
Whispered warnings in the wind
Saying soon come the dancing snowflakes
Theyre kissing every tree
Theyre kissing you and me
Please hurry
Falling
Dazzling dancing diamonds from the sky
Prisms
Rainbow sparkled flurries in our eyes
Whipping across the frozen crystal meadow
Pond of ice
Race the snow
Well build a warming fire there
And cuddle close and wine and dine
The setting sun
The morning light will find us high
Shooting down the glistening mountain side
Screaming through the whispering pines
The freedom of each day
Will cleanse our minds
I can hardly wait for winter
I can hardly wait for the snow
I can hardly hardly wait for winter
I can hardly wait for the snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sandrine Sonnet Cycle - Sonnet XCVII
So like the winter has your absence been,
And every day that passes by forsakes
Narcissic hopes: - head aches, while hoary flakes
Drudge from dark depths stark ancient echoes mean.
Read how the world I'd win were you my Queen!
Imagine how we'd overcome mistakes,
Nestled close together till each wakes
Entwined in silk-soft curves, from dreams serene.
Velvet is that touch too much you'd screen
Apart from one true heart that counterfeits
Insouciance yet still askance awaits
Love's signal from that ciphered smile, - Sandrine!
Let go old hesitations, seek new peaks,
Admiration Never Too much speaks.
28 October 1992
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Return To Nature
Suppose I am one who has a big ego I did have big plans once I do recall
But egos are a thing that inspire in us the need for success and are part of human nature after all
And now that my ego is a bit deflated and others I don't feel need to impress
Something perhaps that came with the realization that my life never has been a success.
Still I am one who finds solace in Nature and Nature the only God of which I know
I've always marvelled at her strength and beauty and still my admiration for her only grow
I had a church God when I was years younger but I gave my unseen church God away
And I returned again to Mother Nature and in her bosom I will rest one day.
The free born birds that sing in Nature's garden each species is distinctive by their song
And the fox that hunts for rabbits in the paddocks these creatures all to Nature's World belong
And the wedge tailed eagle soaring in the calm sky a very large and fearless bird of prey
Too is a part of Mother Nature's World and in Nature's bosom this bird's bones too will lay.
The swallows fly to warm climes in Winter and return home to greet the warmth of Spring
And chase insects o'er the valley where they first saw daylight and as they fly one hear them chirp and sing
How they can find their way to a far Country in late Fall and in the Spring find their way home again
Is something for which scientists can offer theories yet somehow seems beyond them to explain.
The World is quieter in Mother Nature's World for man made noise to Nature doesn't belong
On sunlit tree beside the rippling waters the thrush in Spring is singing all day long
And Nature she presides o'er all her Seasons and she has seen so many Seasons come and go
Her flowers of Spring and Summer and her brown leaves of Autumn and her hills of Winter wear white hats of snow.
I do not worship false Gods any longer and I returned to Nature years ago
And though Mother Nature has so much to teach us so little about her I seem to know
Yet I feel happy to walk in her garden and along the bank of her quiet water way
'Twas an act of Nature brought me to this World and I'll return to her bosom one day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Red House
On the wide fields the water gleams like snow,
And snow like water pale beneath pale sky,
When old and burdened the white clouds are stooped low.
Sudden as thought, or startled near bird's cry,
The whiteness of first light on hills of snow
New dropped from skiey hills of tumbling white
Streams from the ridge to where the long woods lie;
And tall ridge-trees lift their soft crowns of white
Above slim bodies all black or flecked with snow.
By the tossed foam of the not yet frozen brook
Black pigs go straggling over fields of snow;
The air is full of snow, and starling and rook
Are blacker amid the myriad streams of light.
Warm as old fire the Red House burns yet bright
Beneath the unmelting snows of pine and larch,
While February moves as slow, as slow
As Spring might never come, never come March.
Amid such snows, by generations haunted,
By echoes, memories and dreams enchanted,
Firm when dark winds through the night stamp and shout,
Brightest when time silvers the world all about,
That old house called _The Heart_ burns, burns, and still
Outbraves the mortal threat of the hanging hill.
poem by John Freeman
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Autumn Thoughts
Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers,
And gone the Summer's pomp and show,
And Autumn, in his leafless bowers,
Is waiting for the Winter's snow.
I said to Earth, so cold and gray,
'An emblem of myself thou art.'
'Not so,' the Earth did seem to say,
'For Spring shall warm my frozen heart.'
I soothe my wintry sleep with dreams
Of warmer sun and softer rain,
And wait to hear the sound of streams
And songs of merry birds again.
But thou, from whom the Spring hath gone,
For whom the flowers no longer blow,
Who standest blighted and forlorn,
Like Autumn waiting for the snow;
No hope is thine of sunnier hours,
Thy Winter shall no more depart;
No Spring revive thy wasted flowers,
Nor Summer warm thy frozen heart.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The Thrills Around Dharmsalah (Himachal State-India)
Our bus was zig-zaging its way through the hills
between the shingles on the bank of the river, Ravi
which was whooshing past a gulch down.
Going up and down the stream in canoes,
we with poor mettle can’t think of.
A chiselled mud wall on a side
was lying in wait to slide in the next chance.
Loose rocks may roll down and block the road
Or batter the bus to fall headlong into the stream.
We passed mountain after mountain from Dalhousie
valley after valley before reaching Kangra Vale,
which has that heavenly Dharmsalah.
Prostrating and rising many a time before the idol of Buddha
will make people strong and healthy.
The air is fine, bracing and delicious,
making it the abode of angels!
From the clefts of walls flames shoot up
at the temple of Jwalamukhi to awe the unlearnt
and the learnt to scratch their heads
to find the reasons for the ever-burning flames
in the solemn stillness of the woods around.
The monkeys with their little ones,
slide to the edge of the boughs,
hold on with their hind feet or curl of their tails,
spring to the branch of the next tree
and run into the depths of the jungle.
------------
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Contemplation At Dharmsalah (Himachal State-India)
Our bus was zig-zaging its way through the hills
between the shingles on the bank of the river, Ravi
which was whooshing past a gulch down.
Going up and down the stream in canoes,
we with poor mettle can’t think of.
A chiselled mud wall on a side
was lying in wait to slide in the next chance.
Loose rocks may roll down and block the road
Or batter the bus to fall headlong into the stream.
We passed mountain after mountain from Dalhousie
valley after valley before reaching Kangra Vale,
which has that heavenly Dharmsalah.
Prostrating and rising many a time before the idol of Buddha
will make people strong and healthy.
The air is fine, bracing and delicious,
making it the abode of angels!
From the clefts of walls flames shoot up
at the temple of Jwalamukhi to awe the unlearnt
and the learnt to scratch their heads
to find the reasons for the ever-burning flames
in the solemn stillness of the woods around.
The monkeys with their little ones,
slide to the edge of the boughs,
hold on with their hind feet or curl of their tails,
spring to the branch of the next tree
and run into the depths of the jungle.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Snowing In St. Louis
Today I ate some snow
And I don’t mean
That I did blow.
I restrict myself to weed and rum & coke
Chased with a colt 45.
What is it to get high?
It takes a certain constitution to endure it.
Not all survive it
Some are forever chasing the high
Never enough to be satisfied
You can see it in their eyes.
Heron I have never tried
But once I did tried crack
But found the high
Not worth the cost
The snow has change to sleet
Making pin point sounds in the streets
Covered with the preverbal blanket
That covers everything.
There are foot prints to tell where strangers went
It is now wickedly cold
My bones are nearly froze
The garden is fast asleep
Waiting the break of spring
The winds blow the snow
Into piles at the curb of the streets
Traffic has slowed to a crawl
Birds are nowhere to be found
Neither man nor beasts are on the prow
As the snow silently fall
St. Louis is no stranger to a snowy
Winter cold that blows snow up the nose
poem by David E. Patton
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There 'Use' To Be A Winter In New England
Pretty soon people will be complaining,
About getting any snow at all.
Especially in New England...
When Summer and Fall,
Seem to rush to connect with Spring.
It is January and there is a dusting of snow.
And people heard strolling on the streets...
Say it is cold.
Wearing nothing but jackets and no Winter coats.
There 'use' to be a Winter in New England,
This time of the year.
And many would ski and slide the slopes.
Prepared in their snow wearing gear.
And every year Winter seems to be taking a backseat,
As warmer days come to tease...
Those who love the snow,
To witness it quickly leave.
There 'use' to be a Winter in New England,
This time of the year.
Pretty soon people will be complaining,
About getting any snow at all.
When Summer and Fall,
Seem to rush to connect with Spring.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Winter's Whitest Spurts
Although John Clare declared that he
saw spring in winter’s whitest spurts,
for many this is hard to see
when, freezing, all our body hurts,
and winter’s direst discontent
makes cold blasts pierce the frozen soul.
We wonder where the summer went
when icy winds exact their toll,
and whistling toll for all of us
on nights we wish would be more silent.
each blast a blaring blunderbuss
that’s aimed to make us all an island,
disconnected from the spring
and summer, fall, that we remember
when we for warmth our cold arms fling
around each other in December.
Inspired by John Clare’s “The Winter’s Spring”:
THE winter comes; I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own
The winter is the spring.
No flowers to please-no bees to hum-
The coming spring's already come.
I never want the Christmas rose
To come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,
Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;
'Tis but the winter garb of spring.
I never want the grass to bloom:
The snowstorm's best in white.
I love to see the tempest come
And love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to cling
O'er snow-white meadows sees the spring.
I love the snow, the crumpling snow
That hangs on everything,
It covers everything below
Like white dove's brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,
A vast expanse of dazzling light.
It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring-the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,
That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,
Nature's white spurts of the spring.
12/24/09
poem by Gershon Hepner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let the Spring Winds Blow
Who divided the rivers and mountains
Forty-five years ago, hearts were torn, blood flowed
Standing and waiting, turning to stone looking at my homeland
The cries of anguish are no longer heard No fertile land for the trees to grow, no water to float the ships
No flight in the sky, where did it go
Known long ago, Korea was the rising sun of the East
Everywhere, tall trees, clear waters, blue skies To roam everywhere, to greet everyone
But that was yesterday
Spring comes to other countries, where everyone can travel
But winter snow blocks the path to my homeland Following year to year, people and seasons come and go
I am waiting, why are the spring winds not blowing
Winter is long and cold but spring must come
The seeds are waiting to bloom Spring has arrived, let us join hands
Let us plant trees on the mountains
Let us sail our ships on the rivers
Let us fly far into the sky
poem by Michael I. Byun
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Approaching Spring
spring soon will be here
Away from the winter's snow
Drying up every frosty tear
And causing the landscape to glow
But the shine of spring I need right now
I need all the help I can get
To wave goodbye to this past winter
In hopes that I can forget
I've lost all my real friends
And almost ever other friendship too
Right now I am just amazed
That I haven't yet lost you
The approaching spring will hit restart
It's something that we all need
The approaching spring will fix our hearts
And allow our souls to breathe
poem by Matt Burgett
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