O, how sad
O, how sad!
Why of visitors
Should there be not one?
In melancholy, where I dwell
The wind comes upon the bush-clover leaves.
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Away, Melancholy
Away, melancholy,
Away with it, let it go.
Are not the trees green,
The earth as green?
Does not the wind blow,
Fire leap and the rivers flow?
Away melancholy.
The ant is busy
He carrieth his meat,
All things hurry
To be eaten or eat.
Away, melancholy.
Man, too, hurries,
Eats, couples, buries,
He is an animal also
With a hey ho melancholy,
Away with it, let it go.
Man of all creatures
Is superlative
(Away melancholy)
He of all creatures alone
Raiseth a stone
(Away melancholy)
Into the stone, the god
Pours what he knows of good
Calling, good, God.
Away melancholy, let it go.
Speak not to me of tears,
Tyranny, pox, wars,
Saying, Can God
Stone of man's thoughts, be good?
Say rather it is enough
That the stuffed
Stone of man's good, growing,
By man's called God.
Away, melancholy, let it go.
Man aspires
To good,
To love
Sighs;
Beaten, corrupted, dying
In his own blood lying
Yet heaves up an eye above
Cries, Love, love.
It is his virtue needs explaining,
Not his failing.
Away, melancholy,
Away with it, let it go
poem by Stevie Smith
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The Song of the Wind
Have you heard the wind blow
Through the leaves of tress
That sway and bend
In reverence to the wind?
Have you heard the lonely song
Of the wind
As it searches the world
Looking for its love?
Oh, the song of the wind,
A melancholy dirge,
Singing in time
To the funeral march
Of a forgotten soul
And the song of the wind
Howls mournfully...
The song of a heart that is breaking
And can no longer live
Without his love.
poem by Thomas Noel Smith
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When The Wind Blows
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
In a part of this once-great city
Stands a child crying out in pity.
Gone is hope in the heart of each hungry hour.
Every year in this land of plenty
There are millions of starving children
What will i say if they look my way?
This is an emergency.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
Bow your heads to the lost generation
Scars so deep, bringing god's damnation.
Businessmen sip wine while congress argue.
But for grace we enjoy our pleasures
What we face will be our salvation
Go build your towns, but remember time will not forget
That this is an emergency.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
Think of what the wise men said.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Four Leaf Clover
I wish I could find
a four-leaf clover
to give me a bit of luck.
Therefore, off I trotted
to have a look.
I found a lot of clover,
but not one
four leafed clover there.
(7 July 2007)
poem by David Harris
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Kindness to Insects
I saw a Melancholy Wasp
Upon a Purple Clover Knosp,
Who wept, 'The Poets do me Wrong,
Excluding me from Noble Song-
Though Pure am I and Wholly Crimeless-
Because, they say, my Name is Rhymeless!
Oh, had I but been born a Bee,
With Heaps of Words to Rhyme with me,
I should not want for Panegyrics
In Sonnets, Epics, Odes and Lyrics!
Will no one free me from the Curse
That bars my Race from Lofty Verse?'
'My Friend, that Little Thing I'll care for
At once,' said I- and that is wherefore
So tenderly I set that Wasp
Upon a Purple Clover Knosp.
poem by Arthur Guiterman
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I saw the leaves.
I saw the leaves
Clearer today.
The picture on my wardrobe.
Lonely as it is.
Saw myself from how others
Could paint me
First time never.
Saw the garden as my home.
My home, just as my refuge.
I saw the leaves on the bush,
Outside my bedroom.
Their wistful, insistent rustling
Amidst the moaning wind.
poem by Peter Vealey
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Clover
Written by ugly kid joe
Im, protected by the leaves of the four leaf clover
And i, refuse to die for you
And i, was tempted but the apple made me stronger
And i, spit it up on you
And Im here to free you
And Im here to free you
Im infected by the lies that made me colder
And i, I put my trust for you
Time has passed me by, my soul is getting stronger
And i, I never lie for you
And Im here to free you
And Im here to free you
Im protected by the leaves of a four leaf clover
And i, I never lie for you
And i, expect to die for my life wont live much longer
And i, I never lie for you
And Im here to free you
And Im here to free you
song performed by by Ugly Kid Joe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Beating Of The Bush
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I have this 'thing' about honest and truth.
And those who become offended,
By declaring them too harsh to accept!
There has not been an experience I received,
I regretted with a wish to forget!
And those attempting to live their lives,
In pretense to deceive believing this is not deception...
Will always escape with excuses and alibis to make.
Charading as if...
No one recognizes,
Who is in masquerade.
And who amongst them fakes!
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
An honesty and truth spoken,
From deceivers is rare.
Those who deceive perceive...
Those who are direct and honest,
Are insensitive and do not care!
With a sharing of this mentality...
To those empathetic,
In a keeping of delusions...
Spared from despair!
But I know I'm not the only one...
Who elects to see,
Dishonesty from all people get up and leave.
I can't be!
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Bush-clover Flowers
bush-clover flowers —
they sway but do not drop
their beads of dew
poem by Matsuo Basho
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When the Bush Begins to Speak
They know us not in England yet, their pens are overbold;
We're seen in fancy pictures that are fifty years too old.
They think we are a careless race - a childish race, and weak;
They'll know us yet in England, when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.
'The leaders that will be', the men of southern destiny,
Are not all found in cities that are builded by the sea;
They learn to love Australia by many a western creek,
They'll know them yet in England, when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.
All ready for the struggle, and waiting for the change,
The army of our future lies encamped beyond the range;
Australia, for her patriots, will not have far to seek;
They'll know her yet in England when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.
We'll find the peace and comfort that our fathers could not find,
Or some shall strike the good old blow that leaves a mark behind.
We'll find the Truth and Liberty our fathers came to seek,
Or let them know in England when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Leaves
There are leaves on my trees
that don't want to go.
They cling to their branches
and the wind does blow.
They defy the wind
as if to say
'It will take more than you
to take me away.'
We are in December
and still they're here.
Are they boldly waiting
to see the New Year?
If Christmas comes
with ice and snow,
maybe then
my leaves will go.
And I'll look once more
and I will know
that the wind did win
for the leaves did go.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Melancholy Mood
A little collie weed to ease I grief
too much agony living in the limits of big city
a little collie weed to meditate
too much insanity in this society
melancholy mood I eat for my food melancholy mood
rise this morning smile with the sun
oh I'm blessed another day has begun
everything in life has its purpose
find its reason it has its season
melancholy mood I eat for my food melancholy mood
tears leave my eyes I just want to fly
deep down I feel pain
but I know I must rise again
from this melancholy mood melancholy mood
melancholy mood I eat for my food melancholy mood
song performed by by Ziggy Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Melancholy Song
-believing that humans are made in the image of God
has its implications;
living life here, while looking There
brings about the most precarious, melancholy situations-
There's a sad song singing
In the soul of the wind,
And yet a joyful wind blowing
Through every soul's song.
It never stays
And it never goes,
Calling our hearts onward
To wherever it flows.
It's a song of sadness
And of good cheer,
A song of great warmth
And no small fear.
The song of the masses
And the song of one,
The sound of breaking darkness in the night
And the music of the rising sun.
It's the melancholy in me
And great joy,
It's the deep desire to stay
And yet homeward go.
I know this song
And the tears it brings,
I hear this song
Within my heart, where it sings.
It leaves me lonely
But, never alone,
For it's ever with me
Singing of a place, called Home.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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I Come to Dwell In This Loneliness
I come to dwell in this loneliness.
It is my turn to do it as I wish!
I am not that far away from moonbeams,
And stars.
But right now I'd rather ponder my heart...
Where it is,
And who has a part!
I come to dwell in this loneliness.
Thinking of those I love...
And how much they are missed!
In a way I can only say,
As a poet can convey.
I come to dwell in this loneliness.
But torment and grief...
Is not what I am here treating!
I am remembering them,
With love that wont end!
I come to dwell in this loneliness.
It is my turn to do it as I wish!
And when I am finished,
I feel a burden lift!
Without agony relived...
Since I am aware,
Love is still there.
And for me I realize,
True love was shared!
I come to dwell in this loneliness.
And it's okay...
It does not stay.
Like the love that was known,
And remembered shown that way!
I come to dwell in this loneliness.
And when this period permits...
It will leave me lifted,
When it is done with its visit!
I come to dwell in this loneliness.
But not to hide...
Or become absorbed with it!
It is my turn to do it as I wish!
And when it departs,
It leaves a happiness in my heart!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sonnet: The Wind
What shakes the trees so violently? ’Tis Wind;
What moves the clouds hither/ thither? ’Tis Wind;
What takes the tornado around? ’Tis Wind;
What brings the sandstorm on the earth? ’Tis Wind.
What makes the cool and gentle breeze? ’Tis Wind
What makes the boughs and leaves to dance? ’Tis Wind;
What makes the autumn leaves to fall? ’Tis Wind;
What makes the honey-bees to fly? ’Tis Wind.
What makes pollen reach in showers? ’Tis Wind;
What makes the dust to climb towers? ’Tis Wind;
What spreads the perfume of flowers? ’Tis Wind;
What makes the rain-clouds advance far? ’Tis Wind.
What makes the Wind to blow? ’Tis God;
What makes a Tempest stop? ’ Tis our Lord.
7-18-2001
poem by John Celes
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Staying at an inn
Staying at an inn
where prostitutes are also sleeping--
bush clover and the moon.
Translated by Robert Hass
poem by Matsuo Basho
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My Melancholy Is Your Melancholy
and so at the end
we rediscover that my
melancholy
is your melancholy too
we cannot describe
how deep the roots are
and how rotten
the trees
we were counting the
leaves falling
we want to measure
the length and weight
of the heaps
i do not bother myself
now
we have become so
different
like crisscrossing
lines
with endpoints
crazy somewhere
not wanting any
meeting
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Melancholy
I walk in the wind
The breeze wraps about me -
The sunset has begun
And it's all I seem to see.
The melancholy I know so well
Returns as a faithful old friend -
Distant crystal clouds going away
Flow through my soul like an intangible end.
They smiling aglow beg me follow
To a place I'm unsure I know -
The very same place found
Just beyond the rising rainbow.
There is a color in the wind
Not to be seen, only heard -
A voice in the sun's last light
Speaking to the soul in unpronounceable words.
Wind, clouds, sunlight
Everything lives, leaves, and moves through -
Sooner or later each human
Has to take notice... and go along too...
poem by Smoky Hoss
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I remember plucking
buds of bush clover
long ago with
Satsuma geta on my feet and
a walking stick in my hand
tanka by Masaoki Shiki
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