A Morning From The Top Of The Mountain
it is like i am ashore
with waves of mist and clouds
reversing and then
upon a clear sky
the sun arrives with its golden cloak of silk
spreading on the face of this mountain
where i slept
alone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ashore, ashore with the tide’s flow
Ashore, ashore with the tide’s flow
As in a sack some thing washed in:
And lay amidst the shells
And pebbles of the shore
Amidst the lapping of the waters rude
And the sea-waves’ roar.
Ashore, ashore with the tide’s flow
The sea-waves washed her in
One eye was closed the other open
And on her golden hair
Were drops of red:
Wild lapped the sea-waves and the cloud
Frowned on the sea-shore
Amidst the lapping of the waters rude
And the sea-waves’ roar.
How many winters rude have skimmed
Their frozen fingers on the white breast
Of the pale moon-lit lake a-dreaming sound
How many a Spring of green
Has come and gone:
Since that ashore, ashore with the tide’s flow
The sea-waves washed her in
Her clothes that rich were tattered were
Unseemly with the smoke of cigars
And the drunk smell of alcohol
Her look was wild and sad and raw:
Wild lapped the sea-waves and the cloud
Frowned on the sea-shore
Amidst the lapping of the waters rude
And the sea-waves’ roar.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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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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Morning Rain
A slight rain comes, bathed in dawn light.
I hear it among treetop leaves before mist
Arrives. Soon it sprinkles the soil and,
Windblown, follows clouds away. Deepened
Colors grace thatch homes for a moment.
Flocks and herds of things wild glisten
Faintly. Then the scent of musk opens across
Half a mountain -- and lingers on past noon.
Morning Rain
A slight rain comes, bathed in dawn light.
I hear it among treetop leaves before mist
Arrives. Soon it sprinkles the soil and,
Windblown, follows clouds away. Deepened
Colors grace thatch homes for a moment.
Flocks and herds of things wild glisten
Faintly. Then the scent of musk opens across
Half a mountain -- and lingers on past noon.
Flower No Flower
Flower no flower
mist no mist
arrives at midnight
and leaves at dawn
arrives like a spring dream – how many times
leaves like a morning cloud – nowhere to find
The Language Of Anything
everyone
speaks for
itself, the leaf
when it falls always
has something
to say
and says it
painlessly, and so does
the waves that break
their liquid
bodies ashore
spreading
into foams
may murmur
but goes back again
to where it must
go and
then belong
we too
in our own joys
and sorrows
say something
in words and yet
some do not
really understand
what we feel,
the world
knows each language
and keeps
on listening still......
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rain Passes
Rain passes, washing the face of the mountain.
Clouds come, the mountain's in a dream.
Clouds and rain come and go as they please.
Only the mountain, forever green, remains.
A Special Occasion
While observing the gathering guest
and remembering eleven years past, when
She made her first debut on the world stage.
Wearing a soft juicy peach birth-day dress;
silk light brown threads capped her tiny head;
those little pink feet bicycling
as if readying to lead.
On this eve looking out on the mist
hovering the Hudson River, even daylight
couldn't clear the huddled clouds nor
the thick mist holding onto its place.
Everyone slowly crowded the hall
to await the second coming.
Heads turn toward a refreshed face
strolling down the aisle adorning
a pale blue gown
free-swinging
about her ankle.
A radiant beauty and
grace unparalling all...
grandma watches her
beautiful Junior Debutante
in delight!
MAY 26,2006
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Water Anew
From mountain high to valley low, the warmth of springs thaw runoff comes clear cold water from the melting snow.
Spring rain, cool and clear, mist and fog, early morning's dew, creeks, rivers, lakes renew.
Though mud stained from the thaw, the water soon will clear, life sustaining, life anew.
With summer weather comes light or heavy rains, sprinkle, mist or fog, life sustaining, life anew.
With autumn arrives the cold, then frost, soon after winter follows, sleet and snow, water turns to ice.
Though covered with ice and winters snow, the water in creeks, rivers and lakes renew until springs thaw, the water still flows.
Whether spring, summer, autumn or winter, water, life sustaining, life anew.
poem by Alvin Schaut
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Where does the Winter go?
There goes the Winter, sulkily slinking
Somewhere behind the trees on the hill.
He caught a vision of sweet Spring prinking
In green before her mirror---the rill.
And he turned away
With his face quite grey,
And he went without ever a glance behind him
But I want to know
Which way does he go,
And does anyone ever try to find him?
Is he caught to the sky in a burst of thunder
And tucked away in the clouds to sleep?
Or does he go down to the sea, I wonder,
And fling himself out where the waves roll deep?
Is he washed ashore
After tossings sore,
And found by some fisherman, pale and dying?
On some lonely beach
Beyond human reach
Still and stark is poor Winter lying?
Or climbs he up, with his grey head drooping,
Yon purple mountain that hides the sun,
And stooping and rising, rising and stooping,
Digs a grave where never was one?
And then lies down
In his grey, pale gown
A prayer on his lips, and his hands together?
"What tears will they shed
Because I am dead?
They will dance on my grave all the bright Spring weather."
Oh! Winter, Winter, my tears are falling,
Are you glad of the tears of a little child?
Though Spring is abroad and calling, calling,
I cling to the edge of your cloak so wild.
And I kiss your hand
And I understand,
And I smooth your proor grey head, low-lying,
Ah! I cannot sing
Just yet with the Spring
While Winter, Winter, is pale and dying.
poem by Ethel Turner
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Memories in Water
Water ripples across a clear fountain blue,
Pennies the wishes of a new yesteryear,
The waves of the ocean washes its tide,
Taking with it the sands of oysters still,
The ocean deep, the blue as dark yet,
Getting darker, the ships of yesteryear living with regret,
The water only remembering the cutting of the ships,
As they cast over their nets.
Water falls from a sodden sky,
The shape of the tears to gather with the tide,
The deep of the water: silk to the skin,
Shall bury itself deep into the sands of time.
The tides of the ocean with its bare seas cries,
The forgotten memories of another time,
Telling its tale of each fisherman it brought with its tide.
Each teardropp of rain the clouds bring with grey skies,
Shall dampen each sunshine ray,
And with joy bring a rainbow to shine,
The rainbow in joyous colour opening up the sky,
The clouds forgetting each tear it had fallen from the sky,
Opens up its gaps, the sun's rays spreading wide,
The stillness of the water once again reflecting the light.
poem by Paula Glynn
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The River of Memories
The flow of fresh water
Down the mountain
Like sprinkles from a fountain
Makes clouds of tiny drops
Spreading like shawl
Over the blades of crops
Cools the air in warm
Fevered brain gets calm
Form fork of rivers
The surface of its water
Reflection of our dream
Reminds me of race
Of childhood mimic fleets
Threw them
Ran with them
Cheering shouting, clapping
Swim fast.
Till it reached a whirl
Made them wet
Engulfed them
And were gone
And the one
Fought the waves hard. Won.
Our childhood innocent memories
Swim on the surface
Laughs loud
Echo with the sound of waves
Rebirth of our playful Youth.
poem by Jahan zaib
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The Castle By The Sea
'Hast thou seen that lordly castle,
That Castle by the Sea?
Golden and red above it
The clouds float gorgeously.
'And fain it would stoop downward
To the mirrored wave below;
And fain it would soar upward
In the evening's crimson glow.'
'Well have I seen that castle,
That Castle by the Sea,
And the moon above it standing,
And the mist rise solemnly.'
'The winds and the waves of ocean,
Had they a merry chime?
Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers,
The harp and the minstrel's rhyme?'
'The winds and the waves of ocean,
They rested quietly,
But I heard on the gale a sound of wail,
And tears came to mine eye.'
'And sawest thou on the turrets
The King and his royal bride?
And the wave of their crimson mantles?
And the golden crown of pride?
'Led they not forth, in rapture,
A beauteous maiden there?
Resplendent as the morning sun,
Beaming with golden hair?'
'Well saw I the ancient parents,
Without the crown of pride;
They were moving slow, in weeds of woe,
No maiden was by their side!'
poem by Johann Ludwig Uhland
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The Castle By The Sea. (From The German Of Uhland)
'Hast thou seen that lordly castle,
That Castle by the Sea?
Golden and red above it
The clouds float gorgeously.
'And fain it would stoop downward
To the mirrored wave below;
And fain it would soar upward
In the evening's crimson glow.'
'Well have I seen that castle,
That Castle by the Sea,
And the moon above it standing,
And the mist rise solemnly.'
'The winds and the waves of ocean,
Had they a merry chime?
Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers,
The harp and the minstrel's rhyme?'
'The winds and the waves of ocean,
They rested quietly,
But I heard on the gale a sound of wail,
And tears came to mine eye.'
'And sawest thou on the turrets
The King and his royal bride?
And the wave of their crimson mantles?
And the golden crown of pride?
'Led they not forth, in rapture,
A beauteous maiden there?
Resplendent as the morning sun,
Beaming with golden hair?'
'Well saw I the ancient parents,
Without the crown of pride;
They were moving slow, in weeds of woe,
No maiden was by their side!'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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We’ll go to the mountain, you and I
We’ll go to the mountain
that overlooks the sea
climb up one of its peaks
and from high
where it almost
touches the clouds
on Helderberg Mountain view
the dark blue sea,
see trees lined in rows.
I’ll spread a blanket
from where you’ll face
into the breeze
which will play
with your auburn hair
and maybe we’ll catch
some wild doves in the trees
up there
and see them frolic and
count the houses
along the golden shore
and wait for some time
and then some more.
We’ll have a picnic
and eat some roasted chicken
and potato salad
if you want,
and drink some fresh water
from a mountain spring
and have some apple pie
if we brought some along
and later have some champagne
and you’ll be mine
and I will be yours
and when we are done
we will go home again
while we watch the beach,
the ocean and the sky
and down we’ll walk
just you and I.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Mountain
Oh the majesty I see in the sky,
a far distance from I
rises up in granduer high
reaching the clouds by and by.
Sometimes I look. It's covered with snow
It is then that I know
where the fierce winds do blow,
making my heart overflow.
Sometimes I look and it's so clear
in the colorful blue atmosphere.
It appears as an altar to revere,
allowing my senses to endear.
Sometimes I look and cannot see
this beautiful formation of majesty.
It's surrounded by mist and fog. I plea
for God's mountain, hidden from me
to appear once again.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Flood
I thought my true love slept;
Behind her chair I crept
And pulled out a long pin;
The golden flood came out,
She shook it all about,
With both our faces in.
Ah! little wren, I know
Your mossy, small nest now
A windy, cold place is;
No eye can see my face,
Howe'er it watch the place
Where I half drown in bliss.
When I am drowned hald dead,
She laughs and shakes her head;
Flogged by her hair-waves, I
Withdraw my face from there;
But never once, I swear,
She heard a mercy cry.
poem by William Henry Davies
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Illusions
As a mist gathers
on the ocean
the sun warms
you blush.!
a tide sweeps in
hitting the shore
your face in the
waves
you smile.!
the sun brightly
shines
in the heat
you melt.!
A breeze grabs a
leaf
whirls it away
you fly.!
a violent storm
gathers in the
clouds
you float away.
poem by Heather Burns
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The Scarlet Cloak
ONE may go a-many leagues a-questing yon and hither;
One may look on queens and kings, and think the vision bliss;
But he who has the wholesome heart, as lightsome as a feather,
Can find a joy in everything, no matter what it is.
Golden Miles to Burrawang, when the morn was tender! —
How your memory rises up, how it haunts and smiles!
Back again, and back it comes — all the early splendour —
All your length made beautiful, O you Golden Miles!
You that wore the scarlet cloak in the pearly morning,
When the sun came up the East, and through the heavens strode
Like a prince of great account, cloud and mist-wreath scorning —
What was in the heart of you, waiting by the road?
Birds of all the bush around were at their greeting matins,
Some with little twitterings, and some with loud acclaim;
Cloth-of-gold is fine wear, and fine are silks and satins —
Finer was the scarlet cloak that wrapped you like a flame.
You that wore the scarlet cloak in the early morning,
When the leaves were dancing all, and the dewdrops glowed,
Like a flower — a flower of flowers, the dewy way adorning —
Love was in the heart of you, waiting by the road!
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Rainbow Of Clouds
(09/27/11)
Oh! How I love to look at the sky
So many colors that attract the eye.
Blues, grey s , reds, and oranges too
Create such a perfect view.
Especially at dusk or dawn
When new colors are born.
Or when the white clouds look like
Snow covered mountain tops
And the rippling waves that it creates
Puts you at a restful state.
What about the patches of blue
In between the oranges and grey s
And your heart wishing that they would stay.
The skies can create such a therapeutic state
On which so many of us can relate.
Putting our minds and bodies at such ease
Like the feel of a soft gentle breeze.
It also has its black clouds
Covering its face like a shroud.
These dark clouds tend to hide the day
And you never know what will come your way.
But Even the darkest of clouds can bring joy.
The rains that the dark clouds bring
Gives life to everything.
poem by Louis Rams
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