Related quotes: it will never be boring...

Sunshine And Green Fields

it will never be boring
the same sun shining
on the same green field
and the same man
sitting under the same
tall tree watching
a day go by
like it is the last
day of his life

sunshine touching
his face like the hands
of a remembrance

green fields appeasing
him like some
souvenir from
a far away
memory

and there is this wind
always whispering
to his ears:

wait for me
i am coming.....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes

Trees Don`t Die

A seed sprouts and a life is born.
You are a tree, my friend
Stretching your hands to the sky.

A tree has a mind
It has thoughts and pains
Like you and me, friends.

A green friend holding me in the shade
You are my granny..
Sometimes you are my great granny...

Many birds live in you and fly around
Coluds float above you.
You are a tall wonder.

A tree has an enemy
A man coming with an axe.
Who will take away your trunk.

Don`t weep dear friend
Many like me will plant seeds deep
And you will be reborn.

A tree cannot die and just die alone
As our minds are green for it
A tree is our hope....

poem by Keerthana Dinesh 1998
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Coming Of Spring

Coming of spring over the fields
she sitting there in the tall grass

talking of the effects of art on the
human mind and fragile heart and

you sitting there beside her your
hand near hers as it lay there and

you half listening to her words while
taking in a glimpse of thigh showing

where her skirt rides high out of the
corner of your eye and she saying

without the essence art life would be
a mistake and you lean forward and

kiss her neck sensing the softness of
skin the smell of sweet scent wishing

Rubens or Renoir could capture her
with brush and oils and by stretched

canvas held with the coming of spring
in this green field where songbirds sing.

poem by Terry Collett
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The Little Tree

A very faithful farmer,
Planted a small seed,
Where in a distant field,
It grew into a tree.

This tree had leaves of laughter,
As it rustled in the wind,
Its sound of many whispers,
Were voices of many friends.

Its branches were far reaching,
Its limbs, like little hands,
That touched the lives of many,
As it grew upon the land.

Its flowers bloomed in sunshine,
-They were countless little smiles,
That offered joy to others,
If but only for a while.

For the Farmer who was helping,
His little tree grow tall,
Knew of a better orchard,
The best one of them all.

Se he placed His hands around the tree,
And lifted it with care,
He took it to an orchard,
Where He himself was near.

The tree had all the sunshine,
Its leaves were there to stay,
Its flowers bloomed in happiness,
Every single day.

The Farmer loved the little tree,
Far more than people knew,
Now it lives forever,
In our hearts and Heaven too.

-In loving memory of Charles McMichael

poem by Jean Penner
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Green, Green, and More Green

There is green everywhere,
even in peoples' hair.Some
on hands, some on shirts.
There is green everywhere!

Green, green, and more green.
I think I'm going crazy over green.
If you don't wear green you get pinched,
then you'll start to itch.
So many people are obsessed with green.
Green Spring, green air.Green feet, green wheat, green meat.
Green isn't very neat!

poem by Autumn Howard
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New For Old

Bud blisters into life
Stretching for the light
Unfolding radiant green
Upturned palm to the sun
Life seeping in, breathing out
Green, Green so Green
Resurrected hope, so Green
Summer breeze stroking
Branches ebb and flow
Leaves so Green strong now
Fear not wind of change
Mellow summer turns
Green, green, green-yellow
Yellow area of dieing heart
Green lingers no more
Limp transparent yellow
Barely a breeze takes one
Fierce Hyde-like wind now
Cracking and ripping
Wind torn leaves fall
Life chords snapped
Death too early, still Green
Nourishment broken not ended
Seasons build up to tear down
To build up, to tear down
Leaves fall, Green leaves fall
And then some more
Until leaves are falling, falling
Trees and branches revealed
In the x-ray of autumn blast
Winter is coming
Winter is coming
Yellow pale yellow carpet
Beneath the naked tree
Yellow, mulchy brown
Once crisp leaves scatter
Green, yellow, transparent veins
Tired, half dead, leaves lose their grip
Join the autumn rain soaked mound
Providing new life to the roots
Old for new, New for Old
Seeds buried in death
Bring new life in Spring
In the end is the beginning.

poem by Adrian Wait
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A Seed

See how a Seed, which Autumn flung down,
And through the Winter neglected lay,
Uncoils two little green leaves and two brown,
With tiny root taking hold on the clay
As, lifting and strengthening day by day,
It pushes red branchless, sprouts new leaves,
And cell after cell the Power in it weaves
Out of the storehouse of soil and clime,
To fashion a Tree in due course of time;
Tree with rough bark and boughs' expansion,
Where the Crow can build his mansion,
Or a Man, in some new May,
Lie under whispering leaves and say,
"Are the ills of one's life so very bad
When a Green Tree makes me deliciously glad?"
As I do now. But where shall I be
When this little Seed is a tall green Tree?

poem by William Allingham
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To Green

Oh! my green; Oh! my green
Where are you? Where can be seen?
Up above my chin
You are so thin;

I held you,
Saw you on tiny drops
Shining and shining
After shower found you smiling.
Where are you - going thin and thin
Oh! my green, Oh! my green.

Tempest came;
Came wearing wealthy jackets
Laid the traps showing lollypops.
It took my hands charmed on me
Studded with rubies (like) to fake me
Than I scramble and long for you
Repent my sin
Oh! my green, Oh! my green.

poem by Hrushikesha Mohanty
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The Rim Of Green

Green panties, green roses
green tits, green milk.
Green moon, posies in green.
green eyes, green full lips
green face, cheese, green..
Green around the rim,
green limes can but erupt...?

poem by Is It Poetry
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Learning to Play Coltrane

She thought it was green, not
the emerald green of Indian summer
but a green like a darkening plain,
or the shadow rivers cast.
She thought it was light, a glint
or a warning, the shine
at the papery edge
of storm clouds. The way
a voice rising and falling becomes
a premonition, a dampness
at the back of her neck. Or maybe
it was more of an imprint,
a memory of sound, some afternoon
after the circus has left town
and all that remains is a field
strewn with garbage, a music
of pasted stars and ruin.
And she thought of a color
like that, mud-green, the green
of a small sadness, shapeless
as the wind itself. And for a moment
she owned everything inside it,
the light, the field, the wind.

—for Adrian

First published in American Poetry Review.

poem by Silvia Curbelo
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In Lavender And Green

Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With bells about your feet,
And music in your step,
When you come to me in lavender and green.

Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With sunshine in your eyes,
And springtime in your hair,
When you come to me in lavender and green.

Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With softness in your words,
And healing in your touch,
When you come to me in lavender and green.

Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With your name upon my lips,
And delight within your kiss,
When you come to me in lavender and green.

Will you come to me in lavender and green,
In dreams at midnight’s rest,
Or afternoon’s recline?
Come then to me in lavender and green.

Will you come to me in lavender and green,
At the setting of the sun,
When my days are nearly run?
Still come to me in lavender and green?

Will you come to me in lavender and green,
If I wait at heaven’s door,
As I waited once before,
While you walked to organ’s tune,
On a summer’s afternoon.
Now dressed in springtime hues?
My love, companion, muse,
A vision still I see,
Dressed in lavender and green.

poem by Greg Davidson
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Mango Grove

Dark green canopy
Of mango trees
On terraced fields
Traverse
In the month
When trees
In romance blend
Butterflies of all hues
In jocund mood
Bright sunshine
In shadow of thick clouds
Buzzing bees
Swaying with gentle wind
Spread fragrance
Of sprouting buds
Below
The field
Covered with
Carpet
Lush green.

poem by Sanjay Mehta
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Green Fields And Running Brooks

Ho! green fields and running brooks!
Knotted strings and fishing-hooks
Of the truant, stealing down
Weedy backways of the town.

Where the sunshine overlooks,
By green fields and running brooks,
All intruding guests of chance
With a golden tolerance,

Cooing doves, or pensive pair
Of picnickers, straying there--
By green fields and running brooks,
Sylvan shades and mossy nooks!

And--O Dreamer of the Days,
Murmurer of roundelays
All unsung of words or books,
Sing green fields and running brooks!

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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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