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Country Living

Cats and dogs
Chickens and hogs
Lumps in the 'taters
And bumps on a log -
Stars in the night
The moon shines bright
Crowds pass through the country
Like clouds in flight -
Coffee and curds
Foxes and birds
Slow conversation
With a sweet flow in the words -
Fresh water rippling at the spring
Gives nature such a beautiful ring
Days like these
Have ways of making a heart sing -
Nights are short, days are long
Worries are few, oaks are strong
Living in the country
Is like giving the soul a wonderful song -

poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

Compensation

In that new world toward which our feet are set,
Shall we find aught to make our hearts forget
Earth's homely joys and her bright hours of bliss?
Has heaven a spell divine enough for this?
For who the pleasure of the spring shall tell
When on the leafless stalk the brown buds swell,
When the grass brightens and the days grow long,
And little birds break out in rippling song?

O sweet the dropping eve, the blush of morn,
The starlit sky, the rustling fields of corn,
The soft airs blowing from the freshening seas,
The sunflecked shadow of the stately trees,
The mellow thunder and the lulling rain,
The warm, delicious, happy summer rain,
When the grass brightens and the days grow long,
And little birds break out in rippling song!

O beauty manifold, from morn till night,
Dawn's flush, noon's blaze and sunset's tender light!
O fair, familiar features, changes sweet
Of her revolving seasons, storm and sleet
And golden calm, as slow she wheels through space,
From snow to roses, - and how dear her face,
When the grass brightens, when the days grow long,
And little birds break out in rippling song!

O happy earth! O home so well beloved!
What recompense have we, from thee removed?
One hope we have that overtops the whole, -
The hope of finding every vanished soul,
We love and long for daily, and for this
Gladly we turn from thee, and all thy bliss,
Even at thy loveliest, when the days are long,
And little birds break out in rippling song.

poem by Celia Thaxter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beautiful Days

Beautiful days in precious space.
It breaks the tiredness of my malaise.
Clears my head to navigate the maze.
Of my life and endless days.

The sun shines forth.
It brings me warmth.
In my soul I feel the hope.
Knowing that I'll beat the dopes.
Who dash my dreams,
and try to hang me with shortened rope.
With them I won't bother life's too short.

A beautiful day in Julys' great play.
The breeze is blowing my fears away.
I see the pond and hope is strong.
The beauty here is deep and long.

In my heart I sing a song.
It helps me know I'll defeat the wrong.
Dogs are barking and birds are singing.
The things I need Gods sweetly bringing.
To his love I'm strongly clinging.
Beautiful days are brightly ringing.
They give our souls a needed cleaning.
To get things right with no impeding.
From outside with things that have no reasoning.
Beautiful days stop the bleeding.
Enjoy them now and take his greeting

poem by Michael McParland
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When Days Get Long

When summer days get extremely long
the sky becomes a much deeper hue,
a myriad of birds fill the cobalt blue,
constantly singing their gorgeous song

it is as if everything do belong
to the coming spring, are singing true
like some beautiful birds and insects do,
while colourful swarming in their great throng

over the gentle meadow and the valley
filling the tranquil grey evening sky
softly singing a sweet kind of medley
while in jubilance they still do fly
over fields of hay and fields of barley,
sunny day after sunny day pass by.

Sunny day after sunny day pass by
with almost a kind of smothering heat
the fields, the open veldt and dirt road lie
far to hot to tread with just bare feet.

Everything shimmers, the poplars that rears
like huge fingers pointing to the sun,
massive broad oak trees of many years
and grass and flowers where life has just begun

glitters in a new emerald green sheen,
the wind rustles things touching one by one
as if finding things where there had not been,
between huge black boulders rocks and stone

the sun blazes on every day the same,
I see the sun making wings of hot flame.

III

I see the sun making wings of hot flame
on the few white clouds in dazzling colours
and in the west there are some small wild game
drinking water while the evening hours

brings the white and blue stars out dazzling clear
with night predators in the pitch black sky
and some more wild game are drawing near,
I hear the hyenas laughing, wild dogs cry,

the growls of lions, the howling of jackals,
I get the smells of the earth and the bush,
I hear some leopards growling, their calls
that are where they are lying in ambush,

at night the predators are hunting prey,
making a living in the dying day.

Making a living in the dying day
swarms of birds fly calling with flapping wings
poplars, cedars and many trees do sway
while the twilight is grey, full of life, brings

as if by some magic, all at play
flying leaves, bats insects and flying things
with a few that lonesome away stray,
most are flying to nests in trees that swings

and eventually places of rest receives
the many small things that are fluttering,
the wind settles among the moving leaves,
the numerous evening birds start to sing

until the full moon shines its silver rays,
when night fades slowly as on other days.

When night fades slowly as on other days,
man is still bound by nature and destiny
to the world in which he works and plays
as it probably will be to eternity.

The yellow sun, the cobalt blue heaven
is like it has been from its very birth
with its joyous bright splendour even
like any other day upon this earth

but a time will come when man will be free
from all death and all kinds of destruction
from heartache, the sorrows that he see
with a new amazing introduction

to a place that’s holy, pure and bright;
now suddenly it is silver twilight.

Now suddenly it is silver twilight
and the sheer darkness of night flees away
before the coming new breaking day
with the blazing sheer redness of sunlight

constantly reflecting against the bright
unclouded sky open in its solid grey
with the red blossoming as if its to stay
and in the veldt guinea fowl flees in fright

while a small jackal laughs out its delight
and the few milling dark clouds do stray
before a strong wind as if in spite
and through bushes and grass rocking it plays
churning up eddies before going out of sight
while the hot sun rises with its golden rays.

VII

While the hot sun rises with its golden rays,
you come from a country where rivers meander
where the rain sieves down for many days
where some beautiful wild birds do wander

in lush overgrown tranquil water-meadows,
far away from the busy big city,
filled with thick green living hedgerows
where many bright wild flowers are pretty

but I still do wonder what you will see
in a land where vicious savage beasts
have no civility and do roam free
where the natives have very weird feasts,

where the flaming sun does spare no one,
when summer days get extremely long.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beautiful Birds Of Peace

How Beautiful of birds
of the air,
seeing their awesome
wonderful flair.

So quiet it would be
without their sound
watching them as they
fly all around.

Sweet harmony do they make.
A lonesome world this would be,
for no birds making flight
these wonderful creatures I see.

Beautiful birds of nature
wonderful sounds to my ear
touching me with wonder,
so gentle with serenity
and so dear.

wrote 4-28-07

poem by Jim Foulk
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Of Glory

WHO will persuade me that one perfect song
Is not more glorious than a victor’s bays?
I know not who. I ask because the phrase
Runs lightly and the final words are strong.
But did you press me for a right or wrong,
Then would I bid you hunt for perfect lays,
And rouse the dust of dead heroic days,
And pass your judgement if you live so long.

To me it seems more worth, when all is said,
To smoke a friend’s cigar and see the moon
Lie rippling on the Arno mid the strewn
White ranks of rippling stars, to give my head
Its own good leading, to expect no boon,
To sing, and damn the world, and join the dead.

poem by Arthur Maquarie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Something About The Girl Called Spring (Sonnet Corona)

Just after winter you are back enchanting
with unfolding blossoms on hot sunny days
playing your roles in all your beautiful ways
as if every day is a grand setting

with colours and smells alluring, inviting
man, animals and insects to stray
in orchards, gardens and in the veldt to play
wherever you may be wandering

while insects and birds sing sweet melodies,
even the breeze is charming
in the season that you bequeath
that becomes a time of sweet memories
while everywhere life is swarming;
flowers are as fragrant as your breath.

Flowers are as fragrant as your breath
and outside the sun does shine
where flowers and insects ephemeral awaits death
living just as small specs of the will divine.

There are tales about flowers and butterflies that you tell,
about all the minute things, before the first shadows fall
but you have to mention the Creator as well
who fathered everything, created all.

His gardens fill the earth in sheer exuberance
while in summer and spring, in daylight hours
bees, butterflies and birds dance
around the fragrant flowers

in their winged flight,
from early twilight.

III

From early twilight
you are everywhere sent
until the dark night
for the whole world’s enjoyment

and flowering fair
you dance along
without a moment to spare
singing a cheerful song

as a seasonal creature being sweet,
dressed very serene
dancing with fairly like feet
as the essence of the productive machine

and nature everywhere tells,
spring is awaking in smells.

Spring is awaking in smells
with birds singing
rising from the valleys and dells,
sounding in joy about the beauty she is bringing

even every bird, deer and bee,
as the blessings have come
as a time of tranquillity to some
until all of nature is happy and free

when love is finally finding its home
and spring is especially dear to me,
in the air above there’s a vibrant hue
as if it’s a living kind of blue

specked with flocks of birds in their flight;
spring is dressed in white.

Spring is dressed in white,
dressed for her wedding day,
when she blesses wherever her flowers stray
in celebration in every day and night

while she dances from early morning light
inviting all her guests, the birds and bees to play,
while she lingers everything is gay
in colours jubilant and bright

with butterflies filling the air,
humming yellow and black bees,
even joined by flying birds that in joy sing
roaming among the almond, peach and pear,
flying to and fro from the blue gum trees
in the unfolding of spring.

In the unfolding of spring
it came to my mind
the words, the deeds and every thing,
of the troublesome kind

that man does to his fellow human beings
as if he is inclined
to act only to his own interest without any feelings,
as if so designed

but around me the new awakenings
are totally unrestrained
in days and evenings
with beauty that is gained

while everywhere flowers are rising,
I long for an eternal spring’s blessing.

VII

I long for an eternal spring’s blessing
as if the Godly plan
in a place where everything is living,
is still in effect for man,

where the songs of birds through the hubbub ring
as if the singing birds are right here
bringing pleasure to everything
making existing so sweet and sincere,

as if from the very beginning
the Lord God was near,
even before human beings were sinning
when these joyous songs fall on the ear:
.
with all of the love that God is granting,
just after winter you are back enchanting.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bird’s Song

Swim through oceans of air
Birds keep time up there
And spend their days winging
Through forests of clouds, singing
Hymns of nature’s style
Fluttering away all the while
Dancing with angels in the sky
Dancing, dancing as they fly
Through fields of blue
Just to sing their song for you.

Mountains of clouds all about
Saviors in times of drought
Gather up the tears you cry
Into your reservoir in the sky
And listen to the birds sing
Listen for the song in everything
From the forests to the sea
From the bird to the bee
Listen and the song is there
Nature sings everywhere.

The sun rejoices each new day
But it rises in the usual way
To wake up the world with beams of light
And to conquer the darkness of night
But still the birds sing their song
A tribute to the day that’s long
And travel through fields of blue
Just to sing their song for you
And then when all has gone away
They’ll sing for you some other day.

poem by Jamie Collins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Cavalier And My Friends

Long nights I was right there
Waited for you to come
The tears flowed up of my heart
The days became so long
The time has stopped there
Since the day you've gone
Years still are humbling by
Your words still like a knife are hurting my heart
Yet all still there in my heart
I gather them in my hands
I count them every day
I kiss them one by one
Once I forget that you've gone
My heart begins to fly
Flies again up there with the birds begins to sing love songs
Yea this is the where I always wanted to be
I become once again the most beautiful goddess of love
How amazing is the view of the life when I watch it from the sky
But I'm not there any more at once I return back to ground
Ah you were my honest cavalier and your words always expected to be real than real
Never thought that they could be unreal
Since you've gone my love
Across the nights I'm always alone
Untill me and the night became friends
He saw my aches and felt my heart pain
The night and his friends are my dearest friends
Every time I cry they come out of my dark clouds
We all begin to play games
The night and the moon and the stars with the sky
We all are good friends
Once I begin to cry they begin mocking to make me smile
Ah my love now I have lot of friends to take care of your pain.

poem by Sossi Khachadourian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It was a Lover and his Lass

IT was a lover and his lass,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o'er the green corn-field did pass,
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

Between the acres of the rye,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
These pretty country folks would lie,
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

This carol they began that hour,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
How that life was but a flower
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

And, therefore, take the present time
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
For love is crown`d with the prime
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

poem by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh When Will Autumn Moon and Spring Flowers End

Spring flower autumn moon what time finish?
Past events know so many
Small tower last night again east wind
Old country cot bear recollect moon bright at
Carve balustrade marble steps must still remain
Simply red face change
For gentleman can be how much sorrow?
Just like a river spring water to east flow
Oh when will autumn moon and spring flowers end?
How many past events I've known.
The east wind buffeted my room again last night,
I cannot bear to remember the bright moon of the old country.
The marble steps and carved balustrades must still be there,
The people's rosy cheeks are all that's changed.
How much sorrow can one man have to bear?
As much as a river of spring water flowing east.

poem by Li Yu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song Of Wyoming

This song appears on three albums, and was first released on the windsong album, and has also been released on the country classics and the country roads collection albums.
Well, Im weary and tired, Ive done my days ridin
Nighttime is rollin my way
The skys all on fire and the lights slowly fading
Peaceful and still ends the day
Out on the trail night birds are callin
Singin their wild melody
Down in the canyon cottonwood whispers
A song of wyoming for me
Well, Ive wandered around the town and the city
Tried to figure the how and the why
Well, Ive stopped all my schemin
Im just driftin and dreamin
Watching the river roll by
Here comes that big ole prairie moon risin
Shinin down bright as can be
Up on the hill theres a coyote singin
A song of wyoming for me
Now its whiskey and tobacco and bitter black coffee
A lonesome old dogie am i
But wakin up on the range
Lord I feel like an angel
Free like I almost could fly
Drift like a cloud out over the badlands
Sing like a bird in the tree
The wind in the sage sounds like heaven singin
A song of wyoming for me
A song of wyoming for me
Words and music by kent lewis

song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lament For Leaf Loss

Sing sad songs for the days that are gone
Now the days are growing darker and the night lasts long
But listen for the flutter of each shrivelled tear
As it drops in golden leaf-fall of the fading, dying year.

Sing sad songs for the days that are gone
Now the light is growing dimmer and the night lasts long
But listen for the echoes of the summer’s breeze
As it gossips with the branches of the leafless poplar trees.

Sing sad songs for the days that are gone
Now the frost is growing grimmer and the night lasts long
But listen for the rustle of lost autumn leaves
And the crying of the dewdrops as the barren forest grieves.

Sing sad songs for the days that are gone
Now the mood is growing glummer and the night lasts long
But listen for the whispers of the coming spring
When the buds begin their bursting and the birds begin to sing.

Sing no more for the days that are gone
For the light will soon be stronger and the night less long
And listen to the rhythm of season’s song
As spring will soon be with us while the winter won’t be long.

poem by C. Richard Miles
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reflection

You have given me riches and ease,
You have given me joys through the years,
I have sat in the shade of your trees,
With the song of your birds in my ears.
I have drunk of your bountiful wine
And done as I've chosen to do,
But, oh wonderful country of mine,
'How little have I done for you!

You have given me safe harbor from harm,
Untroubled I've slept through the nights
And have waked to the new morning's charm
And claimed as my own its delights.
I have taken the finest of fine
From your orchards and fields where it grew,
But, oh wonderful country of mine,
How little I've given to you!

You have given me a home and a place
Where in safety my babies may play;
Health blooms on each bright dimpled face
And laughter is theirs every day.
You have guarded from danger the shrine
Where I worship when toiling is through,
But, oh wonderful country of mine,
How little have I done for you!

I have taken your gifts without thought,
I have revelled in joys that you gave,
That I see now with blood had been bought,
The blood of your earlier braves.
I have lived without making one sign
That the source of my riches I knew,
Now, oh wonderful country of mine,
I'm here to do something for you!

poem by Edgar Albert Guest
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shine.

Ur sweet smile shines down brightly upon my darken and withered soul like sunshine on a nice warm sunny summer day ur smile shines down on me like a bright light that reaches everywhere and anything ur smile makes me think of better times times o when i could go outside and look at the stars the brightest in which reminds me of your sparkling personality your heart in which is as bright as pure gold shines brightly it sparkles and glitters for all to see your spirit is strong one u are good to know and good to speak with for you i would take a bullet for hell probably even for you know how to put a smile upon my face when i am not smiling my heart glows when i hear from you the words from ur lips are like a pure morning everything is nice the sun rising the birds chirping the sky going from dark to bright blue the ever changing colors that is how a conversation with you is like u make my soul feel like it can shine for an eternity.

poem by Dorian Suchelle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Warchild

Ill take you down to that bright city mile ---
There to powder your sweet face and paint on a smile,
That will show all of the pleasures and none of the pain,
When you join my explosion
And play with my games.
Warchild dance the days, and dance the nights away.
No unconditional surrender; no armistice day ---
Each night Ill die in my contentment and lie in your grave.
While you bring me water and I give you wine ---
Let me dance in your tea-cup and you shall swim in mine.
Warchild dance the days, and dance the nights away.
Open your windows and Ill walk through your doors.
Let me live in your country --- let me sleep by your shores.
Warchild dance the days, and dance the nights away.

song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What a wonderful world of nature...

When the early morning is born with heavenly blessed
When the bright sun rays shower through the misty clouds
When the birds choir being to chirp their songs on the trees
then the day being with a wonderful of nature.
I can feel the Mother Nature touches me with her love
I can feel the nature illuminates my heart and brighten my soul
I can see the green grass in summer-spread lovely
I can see the flowers in the spring bloomed lavishly
I can see the leaves falls in the autumn covered earth greatly
I can see the trees full of snow in the winter sprinkled
I can see the stream water gurgles from the mountain
I can see the fauna in the jungles freely set to live happily
I can see the barren lands wet and fertile
Not only they are beautiful in nature
but they serve a purpose for us
Not only they are beauty as forest
but they serve food and water for us
Always, praise the God and thank HIM for HIS beautiful creation
What a wonderful world of nature that you and me live.

poem by Ravi Sathasivam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Unknown Country

WHERE is the unknown country?'
I whispered sad and slow,--
'The strange and awful country
To which I soon must go, must go,
To which I soon must go?'

Out of the unknown country
A voice sang soft and low:--
'O pleasant is that country
And sweet it is to go, to go,
And sweet it is to go.

'Along the shining country
The peaceful rivers flow:
And in that wondrous country
The tree of life does grow, does grow,
The tree of life does grow.'

Ah, then into that country
Of which I nothing know,
The everlasting country,
With willing heart I go, I go,
With willing heart I go.

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet-In Melancholia

'Tis Summer-time this year in its peak form;
There is no sign of leaves green, buds or flow’rs;
One's sweaty-skin could raise exanthems warm;
with water scarce, none can afford good show’rs.

Dry drumstick-fruits hang down from twigs so dry;
Papaya tree has not a single fruit;
The Moon has turned shapeless tonight;
I cry; ' The sky has clouds that look as black as soot.”

The place is airless; there's no noise of Birds;
My Allergy has reached a sorry stage;
And all I eat is rice with pickles, curds;
A battle 'gainst Nature, how can I wage?

Yet, things are settling down in God’s queer ways;
I feel as though these are my last sad days.

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The City Vs. The Country

In the city where the colours run dry,
Or in the country where the farmers grow rye.
In the city where there are fees,
Or in the country where beauty is free.
In the city where there are loud crowds,
Or in the country where you can watch clouds.
In the city where you camp out in your room,
Or in the country where you have fun dancing with a broom.
In the city where there are polluting cars,
Or in the county where you can see stars.
In the city where you seal the deal,
Or in the country where you can heal.
In the city where you say later,
Or in the country where you can see the water.
In the city where space is tight,
Or in the country where you hold their hand in the moonlight.

Written by Haley McRae,14.

poem by Haley McRae
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The songster

Music, music with throb and swing,
Of a plaintive note, and long;
'Tis a note no human throat could sing,
No harp with its dulcet golden string,--
Nor lute, nor lyre with liquid ring,
Is sweet as the robin's song.

He sings for love of the season
When the days grow warm and long,
For the beautiful God-sent reason
That his breast was born for song.

Calling, calling so fresh and clear,
Through the song-sweet days of May;
Warbling there, and whistling here,
He swells his voice on the drinking ear,
On the great, wide, pulsing atmosphere
Till his music drowns the day.