Now I Know Why It Must Rain Sometimes
there is no significance at first
when age is a little boy, the moon is the moon
nothing else, the wind is like anybody's wind
mother's breaths, like a pillow,
such a small world, of less significance
are the little things, unaccounted
laughters are laughters, sighs are sighs,
but today, the metaphors keep hovering
over my hair, like some flowers in my dreams
turning into butterflies, somehow,
the window becomes a framework of
my future, the door an opportunity
that i, as a pair of hands, must either close
or open,
this is it, every word is accounted and saved
and then something grows,
seeds are words now, and the flowers my deeds.
it rains sometimes, a cry for an unburdening.
sleep is again cruel to me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
When the wind sighs
When the wind sighs
When the wind sighs
The blind-fold statue sings
The faces of the skies are dark
And the cloud flies.
When the wind sighs
From the door-crevice in
It begs to enter in
How darker are the shadows on the walls
How sad how sad the flame wavers
As on the wall it flickers:
When the wind sighs
The sea’s black turns to green
And on the city-bastions tall
The first chill blow of wind
The first chill dropp of rain
And in the alley strait
Rain-waters gurgle down
The old stone-cobbled streets:
When the wind sighs
When the wind sighs.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rainbow Butterflies
Rainbow butterflies, hovering around
competing for nectar, where flowers are found
They know their life span is very short
they wont give up or their mission abort
To drink from the flowers whenever they can
turning into rainbows, again and again
Rainbow butterflies, hovering around
in suspended animation, where flowers are found.
poem by White Tiger
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Separate World
guess not
but i live in a different world
not yours
it is dimmer
but it is mine
it is not as joyful
as the bells
of the church
or as naive as the
wind chimes
by the window
but it is mine
i live here
contentedly
watching everyone
that passes
my way
at night when i sleep
i am confident
with the pillow
conscience rests
peacefully as
the moon
above the trees
as fresh as the
wind to the
leaves
as scented as the
flowers
beside the paths
of righteousness.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sometimes Wind Moves In Secret
Sometimes wind moves in secret
Like a lover or a moon
Sometimes a board will answer
Or a shutter or a loon
Sometimes wind answers itself
Like a woman at the mirror
And sometimes no one's present
Or unwilling to hear
Wind moans over graveyards
As if weeping for the dead
Wind howls at the windows
Like it wants you, in your bed
Wind steals kites of children
Without making any sound
And wind tears off your head scarf
But lifts hair, like a crown
Wind sighs round a lighthouse
Like a sailor blown off course
Wind whispers in the rigging
Like a breeze has lost its voice
Wind dies in the harbor
When the moon is sailing high
But wind sings before morning
When the twilight blush is nigh
poem by Patti Masterman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rose’s rose rose
Rose’s rose rose
In the light of the day
While the wind blows
Round its flowers of the lightest rosé.
Rose’s rose rose
In a way Rose may
When she grows
As her rose
Shows
How it grows
And by the end of the day
When her rose’s flowers’d close
And its head would sway
In the wind, Rose would say:
“My rose, as you rose
In the light of the day
Did you notice those,
The sounds of your stay?
Not only those of the day,
But, too, the ones of the dark, rose,
The ones of the dark and the moon in its pose.
Did you notice those, rose?
Did you notice those? ”
And the rose would know
What Rose would want to say
And it would sleep
With its flowers of the lightest rosé.
The East Wind Sighs
The East wind sighs, the fine rains come:
Beyond the pool of water-lilies, the noise of faint thunder.
A gold toad gnaws the lock. Open it. Burn the incense.
A tiger of jade pulls the rope. Draw from the well and escape.
Chia's daughter peeped through the screen when Han the clerk was young.
The goddess of the river left her pillow for the great Prince of Wei.
Never let your heart open with the spring flowers:
One inch of love is an inch of ashes.
poem by Li Shangyin, translated by A.C. Graham
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Wonderful Seeds
What does sprout from seeds?
The flowers might, but do not war with deeds.
Then a darling panting comes from the breathing space,
Wonders adjust the expenses of the body, and this is the case.
The seeds of wonderful nature collide with the wind
To sprint in the sand and loam, all agog, all dinned.
Such surprise! Such a soil of wonderment!
The seeds from seeds are springing into flowers and abandonment.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Three Unique Flowers!
Due to flowers world itself is called as flower world!
Of them lotus, rose and tulip are world renowned ones
Nobody can deny their significance anywhere anytime!
Danish renowned tulip flowers cheer all by unique beauty!
Tulip flowers of many colours have made mark in literature;
Everybody cherishes their beauty unique in Nature all time.
Rose flower, the thorny beauty of all is the queen of flowers
Everybody has an high esteem and value for rose everywhere!
It is the chosen flower uniquely cherished as a symbol of love.
Lotus flower with yellow seeds in is cherished as divine one!
It is highly esteemed as a spiritual flower for meditation most;
Spiritually valued high lotus flower has mystical significance.
If tulips are angels rose is the queen of love poets cherish
Meant to worship mystically elevating divine lotus ever fresh!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Like A Lover
Like a lover, the morning sun slowly rises and kisses you awake
Your smile is soft and drowsy as you let it play upon your face
Oh how I dream I might be like the morning sun to you
Like a lover the river wind,
Sighs and ripples it's fingers through your hair
Upon your cheek it lingers, never have I known a sweeter place
Oh how I dream I might be like the river wind to you
Oh how I envy a cup that knows your lips
Let it be me, my love
And a table that feels your fingertips
Let it be me, let me be your love
Bring an end to the endless days and nights without you
Like a lover the velvet moon shares your pillow and watches while you sleep
It's light arrives on tiptoe gently taking you in it's embrace
Oh how I dream I might be like the velvet moon to you
Como um radio de sol (Like the sunshine)
A brincar com seui rosto (Playing upon your face)
Oh how I envy a cup that knows your lips let it be me
My love and a table that feels your fingertips
Let it be me, let me be your love
Bring an end to the endless days and nights without you
Like a lover the velvet moon shares you pillow and watches while you sleep
It's light arrives on tiptoe gently taking you in it's embrace
Oh how I dream I might be like the velvet moon to you
I might be like the velvet moon to you
Como um radio de sol (Like the sunshine)
I might be like the velvet moon to you
A brincar com seui rosto (Playing upon your face)
I might be like the velvet moon to you
Como um radio de sol (Like the sunshine)
I might be like the velvet moon wanna be like the velvet moon
I might be like the velvet moon to you
song performed by by Natalie Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Clothesline
talking about incisive mind;
my life's laid bare
on my clothesline
right under the sun
if noosy neighbour
really knows where to read it.
our laughters and moods
trail with the frills, shades
pastels, chiffons
a myriad shapely wear
that dance in the morning breeze;
a party in the open.
the butterflies and bees
lose out to their allure;
a cartoonist's inner world
at work as we figure
all the characters
in the wear
trooping through
the avenue with their
infectious laughters.
in the dawn of a new season
how the shapes have changed,
and the colours
fly away like autumn.
the dull colours!
the dull colours!
how they invade my
clothesline, my life.
the falling leaves!
the falling crown!
how everything start
giving up on each other
split, broken, trail
with the wind!
the void! the void!
Right in this warm
blooded creature!
So cold the days
finally become...
my clothesline,
the delicate theatre
of my life
that trails with the wind
day in and day out.
if only the noosy neighbour
know where to read
all my secrets;
they dance in the winds...
each morning....
when the sun is bright
and the wind blowing....
this morning i watch
with witheld tears alone
knowing full well
some shirts will
never return to the line.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Are Dreams
What are dreams?
they are not what they seem,
I dream of the day
after we have had out say
to see you, sat by a window,
the sunlight upon you,
It highlights your glory
your face tells its own story,
What are dreams?
Only dreams *sighs*
What are dreams?
They are not what they seem,
to dream of touching you,
with more than just my words.
My voice trembles
as over words I stumble.
Its for you I yearn.
What are dreams?
Only dreams *sighs*
What are dreams?
they are not what they seem,
I repaired your wings,
even made you sing.
but within our trip,
your wings I clip.
your silent now
it hurts and how.
What are dreams?
Only dreams...........
RG/RR
poem by Robert Green
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wounded Wind
the wounded wind
spirited messages
she does send
disturb not the bark of this tree
ancient soul
it does speak to me
disturb not the pureness of this stream
trickling tears
it does haunt my dreams
the wounded wind sighs
ghostly shadows still dance before her eyes
the wounded wind cries
like the coyote who splits the silence of night howling at the moon
Warning, the wrath of the wounded wind will be upon us soon
poem by by unknown author
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Summer's Wind
You are the wind on a hot summer’s day
That cools off the air
Surrounding my body
You are the wind in my hair
As I walk down the street
You are the wind
That blows through my dreams
And awakens me to feelings
Of living and smiling
You are the wind
In which my hair rises
And my breath quickens
As my smile lifts
You are the wind
On a hot summer’s day
You are the sun
In which I need
To stay warm
You are the moon
In which I need
To read at night
You are the sun
In which brightens the day
To show me the way
To your arms
You are the moon
In which I need
To see the starts
To gaze under
You are the wind
On a hot summer’s day
You are the wind
That cools off the air
And helps so I can smile again
You are the wind
In which I feel
Your simple touch
Which makes me yield
You are the wind
In which I stop
And feel, calm, relaxed
And realize I am alive
You are the wind
On a hot summer’s day
That makes me realize
Life
Might just be
Ok
poem by Scarred Unknown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do Not Sleep Yet...
do not sleep yet
for i am sad and like all the sad people of this world
i need a little time
to keep me company
talk
talk to me
whatever that be
i may listen and look at every word that you utter
as some butterflies or bees
or flowers on the foot of those green hills
breasts of some mountains
thighs of some river banks
soft hands of the creeks
bellies of the valleys
i want to imagine the anatomy of nature
like they are all naked women
and you shall think of me as the lusting sun
licking all those
tasting everyone
do not sleep yet
i need to look at your words as flowers
for now my intentions are honest
pure as gold without the bones
of adulteration
soft and yellow
shaped by the gentleness of your hands
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Making Lvoe With Her Own Bed
you are just near me
but between us is a door
and between that door
is another door, and so
when you say a word
i have to figure out what
you really mean,
when i open the door
there is a glass wall and
i thought it was you
humming,
it is cold tonight
i am closing a window
out there
i see a black bird perched
upon a branch,
it is cold and i am shutting
myself for any
kind of significance like
what if the bird dies?
what if the bird is you
disguised as a bird?
tonight i cannot sleep
something bothers me
all these thoughts bother me
there is no note
that you are coming back
from that long trip
away from home
was it Sarah who said
that she is making love with her bed?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Matilda Said
Matilda closed the door. Matilda
Saw Millie by the window. Her maid’s
Uniform looked tight at the rear. She
Wanted to place her arms around her
Waist, kiss her neck. Millie turned and
Said, He’s out there with Mrs Dimmable.
Matilda walked to the window and stared.
She sensed Millie beside her; heard her
Breathing, the brush of her sleeve against
Her arm. Looks happy enough, Matilda said
Of Mrs. Dimmable. You didn’t sleep too well
Last night, Millie said, turning, going to the
Bed. She pulled back the covers, smoothed
Out the sheet. Matilda went around the other
Side of the bed and looked at Millie. You were
Tossing and turning, Millie said looking up.
Matilda helped make the bed and said, Sorry
About that. Millie stared at Matilda and said
You murmured words. Did I? Matilda replied.
Yes, Millie said, looking at her hands. What did
I say? Matilda asked. You muttered my name.
Millie stood back from the bed, gazed at Matilda.
You said things. What things? Said you loved me.
Millie blushed at the words. Matilda patted the
Pillow but said nothing. She brushed her hands
Over the covers, pushed away creases. She paused.
Looked at the window. Smelt the flowers in a vase.
Do you? Millie asked. Love me? Matilda stared
Out at Mrs Dimmable and the new gardener.
Her lips wanted to move but nothing came.
Her eyes watered. The world was awash. Millie
Walked to the window, put her arms around Matilda’s
Waist, her fingers formed a knot on Matilda’s stomach.
Matilda placed her hands over Millie’s.
They do look in love and contented don’t they?
Millie said over Matilda’s shoulder. Matilda’s sensed
The warm breath. Yes, she said, they do. Do you?
Millie’s breath uttered softly into her ear, yes.
poem by Terry Collett
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Forgotten Hills
Again I was giving chase
to a mirage.
Wiping off the transient thoughts
oozing from every orifice,
I will sell my dreams today.
Limb by limb,
the naked and brute will buy
the bonanza.
For a lost scent
I wandered from moon to moon
flitting past the sky of doves,
and the lonely winds
of crowded griefs.
The trampled earth
will not soak the joy of burning sun.
The tree and the flowers,
and the seeds falling in a heap
went unnoticed.
Now I will go in the forgotten hills
through mist and rains.
Give me some more pain,
it makes me move faster.
poem by Satish Verma
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Canadian Canary
sleep now baby it is late
dreams, have some dreams
you need dreams to appease you
i will not be with you
anymore
come summer time
the sun shines in full glory
and i will be with my sunflowers
the wind
and the moon and some stars to carry me away
from my previous rainy days,
so sleep now,
dream about the sunflowers and let your hair flow freely
with the wind,
forget him for a while, think some more,
destiny awaits you
with so much anticipation,
without plans.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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310
sleep now baby it is late
dreams, have some dreams
you need dreams to appease you
i will not be with you
anymore
come summer time
the sun shines in full glory
and i will be with my sunflowers
the wind
and the moon and some stars to carry me away
from my previous rainy days,
so sleep now,
dream about the sunflowers and let your hair flow freely
with the wind,
forget him for a while, think some more,
destiny awaits you
with so much anticipation,
without plans.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Monologue #3
how kind of you
you wait for life here
you are sitting, sipping coffee, watching the first sunrise by
the bay window.
relax.
how stupid of you to imagine life as a force
a knight of the morning
riding on winged white horse
inviting you for a ride
on the clouds.
i am not stupid. i am not stupid.
shut up.
there are so many things that you do not know.
I AM A forest of
mysteries.
I have secrets. flowers, worms, seeds,
stones,
ants, scorpions.
so you are into insects now?
small time.
you do not understand. these are metaphors.
i am not a poet.
you are a liar.
i am a lovely, attractive liar.
butterflies hover and hover around my head
loving my hair.
my hair are waterfalls.
do you hear the sound?
it is the sound of magnificent water.
it is power.
seriously, do you like to like to have a
shrink?
don't try me.
I can be so silent with your violent insults.
i am an artist.
no you are not. you are cheap. you are taking yourself seriously.
look at you.
yes, i am human.
are you god?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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