A Walk In Vienna Woods
In the Vienna Woods, I took a walk
A March dampness in the air
The trees were still Winter bare
Standing stoic as if in silent talk.
Sunless snow caked in crevices and cracks
Biding the time that would bring
Mortal melting from the Spring
As I plodded onwards down trodden tracks.
In the gloomy skies no birds could be seen
And there was no wild life here
No lizard, squirrel or deer
Nothing to bear witness that I had been.
These woods have made music and ancient tales
But I heard no songs this day
Just leaves dropping in the way
Like fluttering souls caught on windy wails.
Countless numbers have passed this path before
But each as I, walked alone
Aging muscle, thinning bone
Failing flesh that ends at the seasons’ Fall
On sodden soil I walked with weary tread
Through mist where I couldn’t see
Past the shadow of each tree
Yet, a beautiful city lays ahead.
Related quotes
Forest Of Souls
The path was dark and shadowed,
They walked as their children followed.
Through the forest to the feild,
For time they shall not yeild.
Lost souls on their paths to fate,
As the reach eternals gate.
The path was dark and shadowed
They walked on as their children followed
The darkness is overcoming
As if to bow before what they are becoming.
They walk with their eyes ahead,
with nowhere to go but where they are lead.
They walk with family, with lovers,
As the mist lightly huvers
The path was dark and shadowed,
As they walk on with more coming to follow.
Their souls are lost, their hearts are gone,
As they walk through the woods as they walk on.
They carry the memories with them,
They leave all their feelings behind them.
Now they walk as one,
Until all but an empy shell is gone.
The path becomes dark and shadowed,
As more people come to follow.
The souls of men, of people,
As they all come, all the people.
They walk through the forest, through the wood,
Down the path of fate, past where they once stood.
The path is dark and shadowed,
As more and more people follow.
They walk past trees,
And plants and bushes, past all of these.
They walk, an empty shell, their emotions and their being...gone.
The souls walk on.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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In Memoriam: Anna Akhmatova, poet
Last Spring I stood
in front of the bronze statue
they’ve put up in your honour
on the banks of the Neva
not far from the prison's red wall
just as, half in jest, you requested it,
never expecting this...
the thaw had just started
and a white snow crystal, already half transparent,
melted in the corner of your bronze eye
as if it were a tear
I watched it slide down Spring's warming bronze,
down past your name on the base,
across the trodden snow of the pavement,
into the Neva whose memory is time itself,
and as it joined the river's flow of breaking, creaking ice and snow
the sunlight caught it, briefly.
The next day
I walked to your dacha in the woods
as the first light rain of Spring
gently washed the birch saplings
and the brown leaves of last autumn now revealed
made a silent carpet for my feet;
and the pale sunlight
caught a raindrop, briefly.
In some future Spring
a poet’s tears fall as gentle rain.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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That Early Morning
under the trees
you tread upon a heap of leaves
only a few feet walked on this path
the winds came and gave a hush
it has been this way
since
meanwhile some rays of light
begin to pierce crevices between
touchy
the leaves fall like a confetti
you remember
once when freedom first arrived
in the streets of the city
you hear the shouts of joy
for liberation
you remember opening hands
some fists
it is over now
and what you have are the sounds of footsteps
on the heaps of leaves
on this path
where no one likes to tread again
you are
alone again but stronger this time
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Oh unchanging tree
Such a beautiful thing Is a tree.
In summer, in winter, in spring, in fall
the beauty of a tree, doesn't change at all
The leaves fall to the ground
all the richest beautiful color
can be found
The snow falls
but it doesn't hurt the tree,
it just lays on it's branches
like frosting on a cake
Then it gets warm, the snow melts.
Say goodbye to to winter, say hello to sping.
New life is such a beautiful thing
But so is the tree, the beautiful mighty tree.
That stands alone as the seasons pass
as when you were old or just a lass.
A tree must have a heart, because when it falls to the ground.
No Joy can be found..
So when you see a tree say hello, they can get lonely you know.
Tell them a story, tell them a poem, they will listen.
This I know
poem by Summer Song
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Sunset In the Winter
The crisp smell of the woods is beautiful when it comes to winter. Snow across the the woods sitting there fresh and clean. when it comes to sunsets you know what i am talking about, a sunset in the winter is far more beautiful the in the spring, because in the winter you have some time to sit there and think. You are just there to see how beautiful a sunset is in the winter, My, my the beautiful things. When you hear the animals whistling in the woods you know what its like to see and feel a sunset in the winter.
poem by Rosanna Florio
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Cuckoo!
In woods so long time bare
Cuckoo!
Up and in the wood, I know not where
Two notes fall.
Yet I do not envy him at all
His phantasy.
Cuckoo!
I too,
Somewhere,
I have sung as merrily as he
Who can dare,
Small and careless love, so to laugh at care,
And who
Can call
Cuckoo!
In woods of winter weary,
In scented woods, of winter weary, call
Cuckoo!
In woods so long time bare.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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To Heaven On Foot
Ta.................Ta.................Ta..
My journey began a long time ago
how it began is unknown
in this journey I was born
where to go lies in
Ta..............Ta...............Ta
the thuds of my foot steps
as I head to heaven.
Ts a long way to go
A life time ride by horse
through suns outstretched
to a land where
I find my own foot marks
telling me I have been here before
I am lost
perhaps the path lies in
Ta.............Ta.............Ta
the thuds of my foot steps
as I head to heaven on foot
Ts a long way to go
a one day ride by time
if day be eternal,
A journey o'er that hurdle
I hope time offers me its saddle.
Ts still a long way to go
miles and miles above the skies
a dismayed try after all the tries
ts still a long way to go
to heaven on foot.
My feet has become heavy
lardened with the sound
of my foot steps
my mind is lost at the centre
of direction,
am lost at the centre of a compass
hesitant to haste
so I move slow, a still gas
the path lies in
Ta.............Ta............Ta
as I heard to heaven
on foot.
I have walked for a life time
I have walked at least to death's time
now before me
are woods of green
and songs of birds playing,
are dear birds flying happily to heaven?
My matildah has
but a compass,
so I unpack my soul
clean its feet and
Ta...............Ta.............Ta...
To heaven on foot.
To cut through these woods
To cut through the song
of the white ravine
To cut through a way
and pass through the raven
Is the misguided hope of angels,
fallen angels
so I shall walk and
will never get lost in
Ta.................Ta...................Ta
the thuds of my foot steps
as I head to heaven.
In these woods
that tree points north
that other tree points north
all of the trees point to north
but their posture
is dimantled in a still gesture.
They point north
with their leaves
but they dont march
to heaven's gates
they are just still, stagnant pasture,
I cannot feed
their direction I cannot follow
but
Ta.............Ta............Ta!
To heaven on foot
I go and nothing on my way
I forego.
If I at once be stranded
was told to trace
my way back
following my prints and my scent
back to birth back to heaven
for I am from heaven.
But all I stumble upon
are cries of a child,
will the noise lead me to that mild
and allowed heaven?
Or do I have to cry
as I walk to heaven?
Ta....Ta.......................Ta...Ta! ! !
Through hills and drowning in seas
on my way to heaven,
on foot.
Across plains and hills
my body, sweating profusely
and tracking in ice
through and through the chills
my body no longer sweating,
sweat is freezing on my body,
everywhere frost
and I am not lost
on my way to heaven
on foot.
Ta........Ta....................Ta...... Ta
I walk now
Ta...Ta.............Ta...Ta
I will walk then
TaTa............TaTa...
until I reach the gates
Ta..Ta..Ta.....................Ta...Ta.. .Ta! !
Increasing my pace and rates.
On my way to heaven on foot
On my way to heaven on foot!
poem by Chanda Mwenechanya
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Walk By
ock and roll!
she walked down to the store at 8
the devil walks with her and he thinks shes great
when he looked at me i dont know wat i saw
i think hes trying to make me his son in law
when she walked by
walked by
walked by
she walked on by
walked by
walked by
walked by
she walked on by
egos fly and she walks by
she caught my eye on october ninth
thats 22 days before halloween
how did i know shed be my evil queen
when she walked by
walked by
walked by
she walked on by
walked by
walked by
walked by
she walked on by
my mother warned me against girls like you
she said stay away from them son you know they arent true
all there gonna do is put you under their spell
and when your going down your going straight to hell
walk by
walk by
walk by
im gonna walk on by
walk by
walk by
walk by
im gonna walk on by
walk on by
walk on by
walk on by
walk on by
song performed by by Good Charlotte from Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rose Tree Of Winter
In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.
poem by Francis Duggan
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To Crap
Goldstein’s left footprints
In the snow, they go off
Toward the woods. Birds
Take flight at the sound of
Gunfire, their wings clipping
The branches of tall trees,
Disturbing snow; a fall of
Whiteness settling upon
Crimson stains; Goldstein’s
Dead eyes see nothing of this,
Hear nothing of birds in flight,
The open wound in his head
Seeps blood. Jackboots tread
Where Goldstein trod; the rifle
Silent now, hung over the sturdy
Shoulder, a cold hand gripping
The strap. The killer pauses at the
Edge of the woods, ready to pee
In the snow, time to ease and crap.
poem by Terry Collett
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Promise of Renewal
As I walked in the woods
Feeling sad and subdued,
I stepped on dry dead leaves
And realised autumn had set in.
A sharp gust of wind
Made me unsteady on my feet
I instinctively reached out,
To avoid a fall, for support.
As my hands rested on the trunk
Of the nearby tree, I was struck
That it kind of looked shrivelled and dead
I just rested my weary head
Against it, and thought it would soon
Be cut and pruned
To bear signs of new life by spring
Will my heart ever again soar and sing?
How could nature have forgotten to keep
Its promise of renewal to me?
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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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
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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.
poem by John Clare
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In A Windowpane
I looked into a windowpane
Last evening in a city far away
I was feelin sad and blue
I wondered then if I should really stay
Wanting someone to be with me in the light of this uncertain time
Waiting by the window for the man inside
To please make up his mind
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
Never knowing never feeling anything
Will you live your whole life through never knowing what to do
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
I walked along the roadway to a fountain
Where lovers come to meet
A hobo walked up to me, I could tell
He didnt have enough to eat
He said, good sir you look so kind
And though the years have stripped me to the bone
It seems I am the better man
For in this place Ive never walked alone
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
Never knowing never feeling anything
Will you live your whole life through never knowing what to do
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
Where will you be, my friendly, when your
Telephone aint givin out no calls
And when the seasons come to haunt you
Will you still find springtime in the fall
And when youre on your island
Will you wave at every ship that passes by
And will you feed a hungry man
I thank you, sir,
Now Ill just say goodbye
Dont you be one who passed through but never saw
Never knowing never feeling anything
Will you live your whole life through never knowing what to do
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
Will you live your whole life through never knowing what to do
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rainbow Snow
Rainbow snow
Once I saw rainbow snow falling like a carpet woven by angels
with time on their lily pale hands. A white winter hare sat on
its haunches taking in this strange sight. There are men with
shotguns lurking in the woods, farmers who wait for spring to
plough dark soil and plant spuds.
The hare made a jump of death, now a stew and the braves spit
pellets on a plate. Snow ate the rainbow and I saw heavy boots,
the hare looked small. In the forest a big tree soundless fell and
a squirrel lost its winter larder. Red fur on saintly snowfall;
do they eat squirrels in Norway?
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Kaspar Hauser's Song
He truly loved the purple sun, descending from the hills,
The ways through the woods, the singing blackbird
And the joys of green.
Sombre was his dwelling in the shadows of the tree
And his face undefiled.
God, a tender flame, spoke to his heart:
Oh son of man!
Silently his step turned to the city in the evening;
A mysterious complaint fell from his lips:
“I shall become a horseman.”
But bush and beast did follow his ways
To the pale people’s house and garden at dusk,
And his murderer sought after him.
Spring and summer and – oh so beautiful – the fall
Of the righteous. His silent steps
Passed by the dark rooms of the dreamers.
At night he and his star dwelled alone.
He saw the snow fall on bare branches
And in the murky doorway the assassin’s shadow.
Silvern sank the unborne’s head.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Once Upon A Winter Day
Once upon a winter day
Gray clouds passed swiftly across the sky
As shapely snowflakes fell steadily down,
Covering the land in a dazzling white
Leaving a winter calling card on the ground.
Once upon a winter day
The snow-edged creek silently wept
Near the shadows of the tall pine trees
Trimmed in a glittering white lace,
Creating an impressive display in the breeze.
Once upon a winter day
Branches drooped to the impassable road
Due to the weight of the snow.
Icicles hung from the dormant trees
In view of the shattered daylight glow.
Once upon a winter day
Nothing is heard but rubbing tree limbs
And a stray dog faintly barking,
The vibrant sound of a frightened deer,
A broken tree branch suddenly falling.
Once upon a winter day
The distant snow-covered hills
Loomed in the path of the gloomy sky,
Where the northerly wind briskly growled
As chickadees and juncos fluttered by.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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The Place Of My Dreams
Nobody ever walked this path before
-before trees grew here nearly touching the sky,
I am alone safely inside a world of my own-
A world where only deer roam and birds fly about-
Cardinals, robins and sometimes
I believed I saw angels-
Angels singing in harmony with bird songs-
The wind would rustle the leaves upon the trees and
In the early summertime, cicadas would sing incessantly-
Incessantly and melodiously-
Only one day I heard a different sound-
The sounds of footsteps and children screaming,
Following closely behind me-
I would hide behind a tall oak tree and I would almost weep as
My solitude has been interrupted and
I am no longer safe as my private world had been invaded-
Nobody ever walked this path before until this day and
My dream has been transformed to a nightmare-
I am not safe in a world destroyed by the presence of strangers-
Cardinals, robins and cicadas are my friends and
Other people are my enemies whom I do not trust-
Following in my footsteps and trying to make eye contact,
To read the verses of the songs my mind composes?
I know I have seen angels and heard them singing, and
Birds chanting along with the gentle winds
Rustling the leaves upon the trees-
But now other people have discovered the path,
upon which I have walked alone,
And my secure space has become a public tenement-
I once believed nobody ever walked this path before,
This path to which I could escape reality and lose myself inside
The magnificent world of my delusions-now they have come to take me away and
To lock me inside this prison which I cannot escape?
I cannot hear the angels singing here and birds are seemingly far away-
Here I have lost myself inside my own world,
one so different and so frightening?
There are people here, so close to me, yet I feel so alone-
Although alone in a dangerous way- I am singing my own song,
Hoping that the angels can hear me and one day I shall be back in unison with nature,
Far away from intruders and singing in harmony with nightingales –
And once again, alone safely,
as I shall have abandoned the nightmare of reality,
Touching the sky in my dreams, dancing with angels as I listen to the cicadas chanting
Happily as they are lost inside the world of their fantasies, just as I wish to be…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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The lonely woods
In the lonely woods do I roam,
I get a good glimpse of everything,
when I walk through the lonely woods, and a sad song I sing.
I see a pretty bird's wing,
so beautiful, so shiny, like that of a silver ring.
I walk near a small stream,
and when I am tired, I stop near it, sleep and dream.
All around me is silence, there is no hatred and there is no violence.
this is what I like in the woods, the lonely woods,
so silent, so calm,
to me, the trees, and the animals, there is no harm,
this is the lonely woods.
poem by Savio Vogt
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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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