A Windy Day
We live in the land
of the western wind.
Sit silent and still
under dancing leaves.
See how it fills
the savage trees
with whispered passion,
strokes rough wood,
enraptures
tender stems.
poem by Steven Federle
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Summer's Wind
Be weary, Lord of the summer wind,
Lord of the heat that you blow in,
Away with flowers, land and trees,
To stay them not, least all the trees.
Listen to this, all that I say,
Our land does die, and drift away.
Our living born upon the wind,
All of ours, and those of friends.
So we called upon the leave-filled wind,
The autumn one, of which were friends.
This wind of cool and gentle hand,
Not like the wind that stole our land.
And the heat did melt into the leaves,
And turned them colors from the trees.
Then the leave-filled wind bore them away,
And upon the land, they came to stay.
And stayed them there, till land-hard cold,
And then the land, the leaves they stole.
And after the harsh cold wind had blown,
And living soil again was sown,
Summer's wind came again to prey,
Upon our lands, most every day.
But our living land, the leaves did save,
And the summer's wind did blow away,
Never to re-live, the seasons day.
The cool soft wind now blows so free,
Upon the land, and through the trees.
All through the people, and over me.
poem by Sandra Osborne
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From this High Window
From this high window
the invisible wind
moves silent trees:
motion without sound,
dance without song.
Behind painted walls
and heavy curtains,
I cannot not hear
the tumult,
but opening the heavy door,
at last I hear the trees sing,
stirred to passion
by unseen hands
waving branches
swept up
by the compelling wind,
and drawn outside,
exposed and complete,
finally I face the clear maelstrom,
my own hair flying free,
and gaze at the trees,
wild men
dancing as they chant
savage hymns
to their howling god.
poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Western Wind.
The western wind
so hot for me to bear
so cold for me to fear
the brat icared for
caried away by the wind
too haevy for me to carry
too light for me to leave
weighty as an iron rod
free from the control of human
The western wind!
the cold in it i adore
the heat in it i can't absorb
fresh to change a rough life
swift and calm do i admire it
the passion in it do i aspire
the joy in it do i require
too expensive for me acquire
though it is my greatest desire
to be carried away by the swift western wind
and never to return
The western wind! !
of which affection tends to be hot
but whose attention seems to be cold
it brought me to a junction of faint decision
I do not know which path to tread
The western wind
my greatest desire and my highiest panic.
poem by Kumolu Ayowale
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Mercy and Love
In order to know and love God as He is, we must have God dwelling in us in a new way, not only in His creative power but in His mercy. Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation.
Nothing I could do
would ever be enough
to make the dead-wood
live. Though the wind
and rain sever bright leaves,
tender blossoms from
the cherry tree, and the
birds themselves fly
from my anger,
I know
I could never
make it right,
though with tears I flood,
nourish with a
broken heart's blood
I am powerless.
Yet still these bruised stems,
thicken and split
to bud, spill green life,
fill the earth
with mercy
and love.
poem by Steven Federle
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Windspirits Triolet
Spirits in the wind are dancing.
The wind spirits are playing flutes.
They play heavenly and gracefully.
Spirits in the wind are dancing.
They are prancing wood fairies.
Spirits in the wind are dancing.
Thesw happy spirits are just dead.
The wind spirits should just go to bed.
Spirits in the wind are dancing.
poem by Vega Destiny Star
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What Weather
The leaves are blowing away
Up, up, and away they go.
Swish, swoosh, they go.
Like a dancing ballerina
Up, up and away they go
Way up , in the sky.
The trees standing there,
Their branches all bare.
The wind whistling throughout empty branches,
The trees look scary, swish, swoosh,
The wind is getting louder,
Throughout the trees it howls
The trees are blowing
From side to side
Like someone dancing swiftly,
The clouds in the sky are moving quietly
Is the weather ever going to change,
What weather it is today
poem by Angela Fletcher
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Poinciana
(simon/bernier)
Blow...tropic wind...
Sing a song...through the trees.
Trees...sigh to me...
Soon my love...i will see.
Poinciana,
Your branches speak to me of love.
Pale moon is casting shadows from above.
Poinciana,
Somehow I feel the jungle beat
Within me, there grows a rhythmic, savage
Beat.
Love is everywhere, its magic perfume fills the air.
To and fro, you sway, my hearts in time,
Ive learned to care.
Poinciana,
Though skies may turn from blue to gray,
My love will live for ever and a day.
Blow....tropic wind,
Sing a song through the trees.
Trees...sigh to me
Soon my love... I will see.
Poinciana...
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song Of The Silent Land. (From The German Of Salis)
Into the Silent Land!
Ah! who shall lead us thither?
Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather,
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand.
Who leads us with a gentle hand
Thither, O thither,
Into the Silent Land?
Into the Silent Land!
To you, ye boundless regions
Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions
Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band!
Who in Life's battle firm doth stand,
Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms
Into the Silent Land!
O Land! O Land!
For all the broken-hearted
The mildest herald by our faith allotted,
Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand
To lead us with a gentle hand
Into the land of the great Departed,
Into the Silent Land!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Feuilles D'Automne
Gather the leaves from the forest
And blow them over the world,
The wind of winter follows
The wind of autumn furled.
Only the beech tree cherishes
A leaf or two for ruth,
Their stems too tough for the tempest,
Like thoughts of love and of youth.
You may sit by the fire and ponder
While darkness veils the pane,
And fear that your memories are rushing away
In the wind and the rain.
But you'll find them in the quiet
When the clouds race with the moon,
Making the tender silver sound
Of a beech in the month of June.
For you cannot rob the memory
Of the leaves it loves the best;
The wind of time may harry them,
It rushes away with the rest.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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In Sanctuary
THE young Spring air was strong like wine,
The sky reflected in your eyes
Was of a blue as deep-divine
As ever glowed in southern skies.
We passed from out the sunny lane
Into the green wood's shadowing;
And, sudden, all Love's words seemed vain
In that calm temple of the Spring.
Our god hears fair and tuneful words,
And splendid flowers his altars bear;
With choric song of leaves and birds,
Another god was worshipped there.
Silent, we passed the woodland, through
The coloured maze that Springtime weaves--
The light leaves dancing to the blue,
The sunlight dancing to the leaves;
I could not speak. I touched your hand
At the green arch that ends the wood:
'Ah--if she should not understand!'
Ah--if you had not understood!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Even the Wind
Even the wind
in high, silent trees
waits for motion.
Leaves hang, eager to drop
into cold sunshine
as empty chairs 'round the small table
wait for the conversation to begin;
but fern and rose
have nothing to say.
Shadow fills this still
autumn day.
poem by Steven Federle
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Georgian Nina
Aquarian passion from the sea,
a joy to hold was thee,
you filled my heart with love and
laughter, since unknown to me.
You graced my life on moonlit nights,
with whispered words of love,
as angels danced upon the trees,
a choir sang above.
I long to hear your georgian voice,
in ecstasy once more,
as waves of passion from the sea,
come crashing to the shore.
If natures trees will shed their leaves,
in Douglaston this fall,
Then we will meet and love again
at Aphrodites ball.
poem by Joseph Coyle
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Give and Free It Up On The Rough Stuff
When I was hard,
It wasn't enough.
The sensitive and warm nice guy,
I had to give with no hint of the tough stuff.
I was the one who supplied the tenderness,
With touches.
Supplied I did the sweet kisses too!
You want it tough and rough and ready,
Through the weekends.
And all week until we get through too!
The sensitive and warm nice guy,
I had to be with no hint of the tough stuff.
You want it tough and rough and ready,
Through the weekends.
And all week until we get through too!
You've got to give and free it up on the rough stuff.
I like to get it and receive it with a tender touch.
I like to feel it getting heated with a whispered love.
I like to get it and receive it with a tender touch.
I like to feel it getting heated with a whispered love.
You've got to give and free it up on the rough stuff.
Free it up to give it up!
That rough stuff.
Free it up to give it up!
That rough stuff.
Free it up to give it up!
That rough stuff.
That rough stuff.
That rough stuff.
You've got to give and free it up on the rough stuff.
I like to get it and receive it with a tender touch.
I like to feel it getting heated with a whispered love.
I like to get it and receive it with a tender touch.
I like to feel it getting heated with a whispered love.
You've got to give and free it up on the rough stuff.
I was the one who supplied the tenderness,
With touches.
Supplied I did sweet kisses too!
You want it tough and rough and ready,
Through the weekends.
And all week until we get through too!
You've got to give and free it up on the rough stuff.
You've got to give and free it up on the rough stuff.
Free it up to give it up!
That rough stuff.
Free it up to give it up!
That rough stuff.
Free it up to give it up!
That rough stuff.
That rough stuff.
That rough stuff.
Supplied I did the sweet kisses too!
Free it up to give it up!
That rough stuff.
Free it up to give it up!
That rough stuff.
Free it up to give it up!
That rough stuff.
That rough stuff.
That rough stuff.
You've got to give and free it up on the rough stuff.
You've got to give and free it up on the rough stuff.
When I was hard,
It wasn't enough.
The sensitive and warm nice guy,
I had to give with no hint of the tough stuff.
You've got to give and free it up on the rough stuff.
Free it up until it's nuthin'...
That rough stuff.
Free it up until it's nuthin'...
That rough stuff.
You've got to give and free it up on the rough stuff.
You've got to give and free it up on the rough stuff.
Free it up until it's nuthin'...
That rough stuff.
Free it up until it's nuthin'...
That rough stuff.
You've got to give and free it up on the rough stuff.
You've got to give and free it up on the rough stuff.
Free it up until it's nuthin'...
That rough stuff.
Free it up until it's nuthin'...
That rough stuff.
You've got to give and free it up on the rough stuff.
Free it up to give it up!
That rough stuff.
Free it up to give it up!
That rough stuff.
Free it up to give it up!
That rough stuff.
That rough stuff.
That rough stuff.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Leaves Compared with Flowers
A tree's leaves may be ever so good,
So may its bar, so may its wood;
But unless you put the right thing to its root
It never will show much flower or fruit.
But I may be one who does not care
Ever to have tree bloom or bear.
Leaves for smooth and bark for rough,
Leaves and bark may be tree enough.
Some giant trees have bloom so small
They might as well have none at all.
Late in life I have come on fern.
Now lichens are due to have their turn.
I bade men tell me which in brief,
Which is fairer, flower or leaf.
They did not have the wit to say,
Leaves by night and flowers by day.
Leaves and bar, leaves and bark,
To lean against and hear in the dark.
Petals I may have once pursued.
Leaves are all my darker mood.
poem by Robert Frost
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Nature - mother of all creations......
When the morning sun rises in the sky
When the new day is born as beautiful
When the dew drops rolls down the leaves
When the garden of flowers hugs the nature
and shower its fragrance and makes nature proud
When the trees leaves oxygen for mankind
starts dancing to the tune of wind
When the birds sits on top of the trees and
singing to the nature's choir with happiness
When the fauna in the jungle sets free to live proudly
When the stream water gurgles from the mountain
and when wet earth makes barren land fertile
When the farmers glorify the nature with happiness
and start to cultivate food for the nations
When the sun sets behind the green mountains
and the moon start to light the nation
When the nature forgets its vastness
Then the God show his creation on his earth.
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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The Snow Man
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Gothic Wuthering Heights In Ghost Nights
Gothic souls roam
eternal moors spirit
passion birth land
beauty etched
in tempest mist
weathered soul banshee land
wind etched
into trees our youth love bent
into passions land
heather hues red
yellow green mist
purple blue moor moves land
skies cloud lit
dying red crimson yellow soul
rainstorm bound
wild places silent
haunting soul
music is centuries echo in ghost land
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Whispering Wind
Standing amid the forest trees
I feel so insignificant.
Small and unimportant can be
Very humbling among the plants
And underbrush that are dwarfed by
The regal, deciduous trees.
Quiet is defined by the sigh
Of the wind breathing through the leaves
And serenity thrives beneath
This lushest leaf-green canopy.
I walk along an ancient path
Once tread by aborigines.
Then, out of the blue, the soft wind
Whispered, ” you're home again my friend.”
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Passion
Passion does not have Culture's or
level's of studies passion comes
from the heart, how one sees life
from inside the soul, passion is like
a savage animal, that does not
understand or knows what he
feels; but has inside him the
passion that awakes his instinct
of savage love, Passion has nothing
but a soul and a desire to love.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Until they lose everything
In the Springtime
The wind beats the trees
Until they lose
Their most beautiful flowers
In the Summertime
The wind beats the trees
Until they lose
Their most beloved fruits
In the Autumn time
The wind beats the trees
Until they lose
Their most painful leaves
In the Winter time
The wind beats the trees
Until they lose
Their hope.
And the wind beats again those trees
Until they lose
Their most important spring buds
Again and again
Until they lose their sap
Moreover
The wind beats the trees
Until they collapse down
To the ground.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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