En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Rohtang Pass

When we were on the bank of Beas,
the sharp silver crests above
and the steep terrain below,
the dense groves, the breeze sliding meadows
the scabious plants on the slopes
the tumbling river down the crag,
and the cool sleep-inducing clime
made us all spellbound.
It was a sight rarely seen!
Lo! The orchards lost bloom as winter sets in! 1

When we stepped out of the car,
Nature worked miracles by hailing.
Balls of ice-flake showered over us.
We caught them and threw around.
Soon followed the blizzards with sleets..
The thought of frostbite made us hire shoes and all
and we sat over the saddles of horses
not gallopng but walking up and down.
The tribes make a fast buck!
They fleeced us to walk over the slush
around the icy - king and queen.
Oh, some barefooted girls fall and roll on snow!
My friend paid for skating-kit
and had some snaps taken feigning slithering down.
Can anyone bid farewell to that pass?
What a bewitching pass it is!

poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The meadows.

The green velvety grass land,
Sway back and forth with band,
I am a seed with the woody gene,
Dispersed in various meadows of greens,
Alpine is so steep with pride and intelligence,
Even I sprout and can't hold the terrain,
Elevated people may have the wisdom,
Trees seldom find solace in such stardom.
Prairies are my next target,
Where I want to try my luck,
Caught with notorious angry wildfire,
Thirsty drought, no life tree can prosper.
When coastal meadows are full of salty sweats,
The desert meadows are hot tempered,
Wet meadows are full of river of tears,
Not compatible for me to grow and fruit.
Not suitable for me to have life and laughter.

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The smiling slopes with olive groves bedecked

`The smiling slopes with olive groves bedecked,
Now darkly green, now, as the breeze did stir,
Spectral and white, as though the air were flecked
With elfin branches laced with gossamer;

And then so faint, the eye could scarce detect
Which the gray hillside, which the foliage fair;
Until once more it dense and sombre grew,
To shift again just as the zephyr blew.

poem by Alfred Austin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Road That Runs Beside The River

follows the river as it bends
along the valley floor,
going the way it must.
Where water goes, so goes the road,
if there's room (not in a ravine,
gorge), the river
on your right or left. Left is better: when you're driving,
it's over your elbow across
the road.
You see the current, which is
what the river is: the river
in the river, a thing sliding fast forward
inside a thing sliding not so fast forward.
Driving with, beside, the river's flow is good.
Another pleasure, driving against it: it's the same river
someone else will see
somewhere else downstream -- same play,
new theater, different set.
Wide, shallow, fairly fast,
roundy-stone streambed, rocky-land river,
it turns there or here -- the ground
telling it so -- draining dull
mountains to the north,
migrating, feeding a few hard-fleshed fish
who live in it. One small sandbar splits
the river, then it loops left,
the road right, and the river's silver
slips under the trees,
into the forest,
and over the sharp perpendicular
edge of the earth.

poem by Thomas Lux
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

My river bank

The water hit the bank
Like a wave upon a shore
Happiness just out of reach
Finding that is something you can’t teach
No one to talk to
No one to see
As you can tell just me
I sit alone on my river bank
No happy people passing by as I let out a gentle sigh
I realized I sit alone on my river bank
Unreal happiness in this unreal tournament they call life
I sit alone, isolated on my river bank
I shall always sit alone on my river bank
I will always be alone on this river bank

poem by EmOzEd johnston
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Acon

Bear me to Dictaeus,
and to the steep slopes;
to the river Erymanthus.

I choose spray of dittany,
cyperum, frail of flower,
buds of myrrh,
all-healing herbs,
close pressed in calathes.

For she lies panting,
drawing sharp breath,
broken with harsh sobs.
she, Hyella,
whom no god pities.

poem by Hilda Doolittle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Betrayal at the Worst of Times Needs No Remorse!

A flock of sparrows were twittering
in the branches of the Neem trees.
The cold breeze from the rain-fed tank
was rustling the leaves, embracing
and solacing my body bereft of sleep.
The waves from the watery expanse,
dashing and breaking on the bank
were making regular clapping sounds.
The green paddy crops in the vast stretch of fields
were waving and dancing in the blowing wind.
The bees were straining droning sounds
and the butterflies were sailing over me.
The flowers of wild plants on the slopes of the bank
were flaming in the hot summer.
I was lying on the bank in the shades of the trees,
with my mind roaming around her
and my eyes staring at the sky above.
For betraying me at the worst of times,
she conveyed to me her words of regret,
and wanted to see me once,
to weep out her sinking grief.
But I didn't get a chance to look at that rueful face
and from my heart I couldn't also erase it out.

poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Tall Story part two

There is a bridge that crosses over a river
A river that is eerie and makes you quiver
With the light of the moon the river will gleam
and a boat will go sailing, on its own down
stream. The mist will come from out of the trees
and horrible sounds can be heard in the breeze.
It sounded like cats caught up in a fight a claim
for territory in the dead of night, but cats never fight
on the waters edge just in case they fall over the ledge.
A river bank full of matted reeds where plants had died
without dispersing their seeds.A man dressed in green
who paddles the stream who can be seen clear in the
moonlit beam.Sometimes you hear him digging on
the side of the river bank, could this be true or is it
some sort of a prank
A river full of alge green and that's how it had
always been. No carp, no bream no fish to fish not
even a place for a secret wish.
No river bank wildlife to give it grace, just run over the
bridge and get out of this place.
The story tells of a robber who stood about three feet
tall and because of his height he couldent climbe over
the wall. Now behind the wall was the river which spread
down far and wide and the man in green had a problem
because he could'nt get to the other side.So he hid the
loot inside his boot and started to dig under the wall
but as he dug the water flooded in and he sank to
the bottom of the pool.
Apart from one thing he could not swim and the weight
of the loot that was in his boot no doubt made him take
root.If you go to the river and see the man in green, then
please come back and tell us what you have seen.
This is a tall story one with a short tale, I am sorry it
didn't excit you, but my next one wont fail.

poem by Sylvia Spencer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The River and The Bank

I'm the river
I'm the bank too
There're times the
Bank revolts
Times when the
River overflows
Can't help...!
I struggle
And try reconcile
But when the river side of me flow
Into the sea
I'm an abandoned bank
And a lonely tear
Among the many tears
Flowing in the sea!

poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Fair Play

Fair play to you
Killarneys lakes are so blue
And the architecture Im taking in with my mind
So fine...
Tell me of poe
Oscar wilde and thoreau
Let your midnight and your daytime turn into love of life
Its a very fine line
But youve got the mind child
To carry on
When its just about to be
Carried on...
And theres only one meadows way to go
And you say geronimo
Theres only one meadows way to go
And you say geronimo
A paperback book
As we walk down the street
Fill my mind with tales of mystery, mystery...
And imagination
Forever fair
And Im touching your hair
I wish we could be dreamers
In this dream, ohhh
Let it dream
And theres only one meadows way to go
And you say geronimo
And theres only one meadows way to go
And you say geronimo
Fair play to you
Killarneys lakes are so blue
High-ho silver, tit for tat
And I love you for that
High-ho silver, tit for tat
And I love you for that, love you for that, love you for that
High-ho silver, tit for tat, tit for tat
And I love you for that
High-ho silver, tit for tat, hah!
Yeah, yeah
And I love you for that
And theres only one meadows way to go
And i, and I say geronimo
And theres only one meadows way to go
And we say geronimo
Geronimo
And theres only one meadows way to go
And we say geronimo
And theres only one meadows way to go
And we say geronimo
Fair play to you

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

The White Lily

By the river bank
The frogs croak and caress
Hoping along the river bank
From here to there
At a distant
The swallows twitter with fondness

The lilies rupture with the morning sun
The water reeds sway
As the wind blows along
The river bank

But yet....i feel lost
In this scenery of dexteric desires
I feel caught in lifes pedestals

Tender steps i make....
Along the river bank...
Lilies..
The white lily...
That symbolise
The purity of those souls
Enmeshed in lovesframe

The white lily
That symbolise
The fire that burns within circles
The white lily that symbolises
Long lost desires
Re-invented and rejuvenated
In this river of dexteric desires

The white lily
So white...so pure...

By the river bank
I watch the white lily float and dance
Along the river waters

Their is tenderness in the river
The fishes swim with tenderness
The waters flowing
With a lovers moan

Rythmic drums can be heard from afar
Magic everywhere
I sit and stare at the white lily
With a longing yen....
By the river bank.

poem by Jack Shaka
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

An Elegy By The Danube

I travel quietly, my walk in silence sank
Through the dreams of the legions asleep
On the hill slopes, avoiding the paths steep
By the old Danube river bank.

The Roman armies have left the ground
The town is still and the night is long
To evade the ghosts only I am still strong
Everywhere silence, sadness all around.

The scent of winter is by autumn spread
The sticky leaves are piled by the rain
We search in darkness, but it's all in vain
Nothing to be seen, nothing to be said.

The waves are plunging the shore proudly
The distant Moon is refusing to shine
The stars are chasing your silence and mine
That's not a sorrow - that's an elegy.

Translated by Ivan Boskovic and Aleksandra Dragosavljevic

poem by Natasa Bajic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

That Quick Little Brown Dog

that quick little brown dog
jumps over the fence
near the bank of the river,
it is not your dog,
but you happen to be there when it
jumped,
over the fence near the bank of the river
into the river
that deep river with a overrunning
of the water
the dog was struggling to swim back
to the safety of the bank
but it failed and the dog was taken away
by the river and
it was gone,
you wonder why until now you think about that
dead dog
it is not yours but it sticks to your mind
as though it is yours
somehow you think as though you own it
and that you feel so painful about such loss
and you cannot sleep
and then you dream about that quick little brown dog
that drowned
it is barking so hard trying to be alive again
you wake up
with lots of cold sweat
somehow you think again
inside that dream
the face of the quick little brown dog
that jumped over the fence
into the deep river
is yours.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Decline of Day

Gentle breeze,
swaying trees
leaves
golden-green.

Imperfect sphere
sliding through day’s
perfect, blue air.

Ascends the moon
stark and silver
much too soon.

poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

And... The River Runs Through It

Those sweet memories still linger in my mind
The chain of mountains, The birds singing their song,
The outspread meadows...
And the river that runs through it!

I still see us walking along the river bank holding each other's hand.
And as we lie down on the grass, Interlocked in arms, looking at the sky,
The rock sings for us, a melodious song,
As the river runs through it!

I still go there
Sometimes in dreams and sometimes in real.
The birds are still singing and the rock still sings.
Everything is unchanged except the fact that
You are nowhere to be seen.
You have crossed over to the other side of the river,
The outstretched field of heaven!
And as I sit on the grass, sorrow grips my mind
And... The river runs through it!

poem by Arti Honrao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Hope

I hope when I take my final breath
it will be in my dreams.
In the country places I used to go,
the woods, meadows and streams.

The summer day is bright and sunny
a light warm breeze cuts the air.
Rippling water echoes against the river bank
as it flows over rocks and long green hair.

I see my parents are sitting close by
on a blanket by the riverside.
My sister and brothers play in the shallows
splashing, and chanting nursery rhymes.

My daughter and sons are also there,
and my grandchildren too.
Everything is like a bygone Sunday afternoon,
so peaceful a memory to take with you.

poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Hills of Mahabaleshwar (Pune-Mumbai-India)

Passing through a long stretch of woodlands
and fields above the hills,
we saw a terrain with knolls in circles,
where the mountain-rat Shivaji held sway,
with a drawn sword when the Moghuls ruled India.
When we were going up, the shining bunds of lights
one above the other on the slopes of the hills,
made our jaunt fascinating!

A fine morning drizzle fell to make the hills smile
and the spreading mists tried in vain to veil the hills
from our ravening looks.
The mists were wreathing upwards
while our eyes were scaling down the slopes.
And it was a vertiginous dropp to the vales below!

Sparkling sparks of teachers, my friends were,
taking neck or nothing risks
and travelling in routes unheard of
to retreat into hills and forests,
not as jungle bandits with prize catches
or as bogus ascetics with all delicacies
but with passions unbridled
to get wet in the breeze of the hills
and be shrouded in the all pervading mists.
------------

poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

When The Walls Came Tumbling Down

On the first day of the first month in some distant year
The whole sky froze golden
Some said it was the aftermath of the radium bomb
While others told of a final retribution
A terrible revenge of the gods

But we understood the grand finale
Fulfillment of a prophecy told many years before
So all that was left was...

All the women were captured and chained
And national suicide was proclaimed
And New America fell to the ground
And all the children lay crippled and lame
But all the nations came together
In fear of the thought of the end
No more would we fight in the streets
No courage had we to defend

When the walls came tumbling down
When the walls came tumbling down
Everybody ran as they screamed at the sound
When the walls came tumbling down
When the walls came tumbling down
When the walls came tumbling down
Everybody ran as they screamed at the sound

A blinding light the sun had died
A new moon took its place
Tidal waves and open graves the fate of the unhuman race
The city's heart no longer beats no pity have I left to lend
A sinner sits reciting Dylan it's now that I welcome the end

When the walls came tumbling down
When the walls came tumbling down
When the walls came tumbling down
Everybody ran as they screamed at the sound
When the walls came tumbling down
When the walls came tumbling down
When the walls came tumbling down
Everybody ran as they screamed at the sound

When the walls came tumbling down
When the walls came tumbling down
When the walls came tumbling down
Everybody ran as they screamed at the sound
When the walls came tumbling down
When the walls came tumbling down
When the walls came tumbling down
Nobody made a sound
Down

song performed by by Def Leppard from On Through The Night
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

No One Steps Twice On The River Of Life...

it is not the rage of this river.
when i was a child, as mother says,
i keep my finger inside my mouth
sucked by my throat, to keep hunger away
beside the bank of this river

i am the spectator
and the river believes in the magic
of my innocence
it flows always in a distant
affection,

it is not the rage of the river,
it is i, the grown up man who goes swimming
in the river and feel
the joys of its cool waters
always moving on towards
a destination
it is the swimming with a friend
and then
with a lover and then with a wife
and then my silence,

what we do not have we force to forget
it is the bathing in the river
the rinsing and the cleansing of the waters
it is not the rage of this river

and then we become too weak to be in this river
the river moves on and on
towards the deepest sea looking for the
opening

i wait by the bank of this river
many things have been missed
the more important ones
the one that gives the posterity of
my humanity
it is denied of me because of this river
that gives me nothing

all the while i was the leaf that fell off from
the tree
on the side of this river
and i floated because i have nothing to do
because i can do nothing about
the flow of the river
i become the dead leaf that the air
rides upon
tossed and bumped on boulders
till i sink
deep down the river
that i shall pass only once.

time.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Rippling Childhood Memories

Rippling Childhood Memories
Melvin Banggollay

Sitting in solitude in the bank of a river
I behold waves to keep coming back
Gently kissing the shore long and forever
With their murmuring songs like flashback
While cool breeze rippled the serene water
With sweet memories just like a while back
When I used to play in this pristine river
Along with childhood friends on the block.

When I gaze the surface of the serene river
I saw smiles of swimming kids like ducks
Merrily playing as they build castle’s tower
along the river’s shore but waves took them back
with splashing moves from the naughty players
playing and throwing mud from the river bank
but at a distance I behold two young lovers
Building a castle of their own fortune and luck.

Who’s that, well that was me and girl of my life.

poem by Melvin Banggollay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Misty Mountain Mirage (An acrostic)

Mountainous terrain steep
In the Tibetan plateau, where the
Sky almost
Touches the horizon
Yonder, with the

Mist moving up from the vale below,
Over the tall pine-trees and thick foliage,
Uniting the clouds from above
Naturally, and blocking the visual acuity of
The tired, trekking mountaineers on their
Arduous route down the mountain slopes,
In the intense heat of the rising sun,
Notwithstanding the many

Miles of shrubs and undergrowth that lie ahead, looking
Impossible to even the expert climber, who is momentarily
Relieved and excited by the mirage of an old castle
Appearing suddenly from nowhere,
Giving a ‘de ja vu’ feeling to all up there
Eyeing the beauty of the ancient masonry.

Copyright by Dr John Celes 7-26-2008

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!