En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Sunset

The evening wind stirs
our high, green trees,
whispering down the westering sun,
as shadows scale our eastern fence.

The sun surrenders its May heat
to a cooling Suisun breeze,
while already looming
on the eastern horizon,
rising from the gentle green swell
of low delta hills,
the copper moon vaults
into the cobalt,
its ascendant mastery astonishing
even the wading, gazing egret,

as on the other side
of our slowly rolling planet,
the bleeding sun declines,
searching the sea for healing.

Thus, from conflict and transition,
come poise and redemption.

poem by Steven Federle
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In the spirit of Rumi-19

When the desert breeze blew
in the direction of Majnun’s tribal camp
Layla stood there hoping that
the wind rippling through her silken robe
would carry the scent of her love to Majnun

while Majnun stood there hoping
that the breeze would carry
from her forbidden encampment
the scent of Layla’s love
to meet his own and merge

When the north wind blows cold
with snow to blanket the shivering earth,
when the biting eastern wind
comes with the rising sun
that sparkles on the morning frost,
when the warm, scented southern breeze
comes with the sunlight bringing the earth to life,
when the gentle breeze from the west
blows briefly as the evening sun departs,

may I know you, My Beloved,
to be that fierce wind, that gentle breeze,
standing where they arise,
blessing me with silent air,
blowing my spirit towards that place
where there is no ‘to’; no ‘from’; and no ‘away’.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Travis Moonrise

Over barren trees
the tattered moon
ascends, barely clearing
dark hills
pausing, unwilling
to fall back
into cold, delta fog,

like the lumbering C-5
rising through the gloom
on bright thunderbolts
to December's
bleeding moon.

poem by Steven Federle
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A Ship Sails up to Bideford

A ship sails up to Bideford;
Upon a western breeze,
Mast by mast, sail over sail,
She rises from the seas,
And sights the hills of Devon
And the misty English trees.

She comes from Eastern islands;
The sun is in her hold;
She bears the fruit of Jaffa,
Dates, oranges and gold;

She brings the silk of China,
And bales of Persian dyes,
And birds with sparkling feathers
And snakes with diamond eyes.

She’s gliding in the starlight
As white as any gull;
The east is gliding with her
In the shadows of her hull.

A ship sails up to Bideford;
Upon a western breeze,
With fruits of Eastern summers
She rises from the seas,
And sights the hills of Devon
And the misty English trees.

poem by Herbert Asquith
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Diaspora

From this plains i see a diaspora
of brown butterflies fluttering towards
the western side of this little earth
where i am merely one of the stewards.

I could have told them to stay as I still
have a lot of red roses to offer but
they are not listening because the
song the green song of the west
is so enticing.

I ask the eastern wind to sing the songs
of the kabuki and the cebuano guitar
and the nose flute of my great sultans
and the agongs of the Malayan caravan,
but they're not listening

Now, the tides changed. The West wind
is harsh and the trees there too unfriendly.

I see the brown butterflies crushed to death.
Thousands of them.

I sit here weeping, singing the song of the
of the ever faithful eastern winds.
There is no one to blame.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Untitled Unfinished (The Flame That Lights Your Soul)

Take a look to the horizon
the moon is rising fast
through silhouettes and shadows
the hills and trees have cast.

Their empty branches rustle;
the autumn wind blows cold
and the stars begin to flicker
like the flame that lights your soul

poem by Jason Cline
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One Saturday Morning At The Mountain Top Inside The House

it is raining outside
it is the habitualness of the image that flows inside us
green grass and rolling hills and clouds a drifting
the sound of rain like footsteps of children playing under the shower from heaven
i sit upon a chair looking outside
i am not thinking about anything simply watching the rain
the green grass
the trees the sea and the horizon that extends more than what my eyes can see
more than what i can contain
this empty bowl with a wide mouth open
this hollowness that cannot speak because it does not have the exact words
to say

it seems to me that the correct existence that fills this void is nothing
but the silence of the trees, the grass, the hills and the far away seas

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To Tan-Ch'iu

My friend is lodging high in the Eastern Range,
Dearly loving the beauty of valleys and hills.
At green Spring he lies in the empty woods,
And is still asleep when the sun shines on igh.
A pine-tree wind dusts his sleeves and coat;
A peebly stream cleans his heart and ears.
I envy you, who far from strife and talk
Are high-propped on a pillow of blue cloud.

Li Po
tr. Waley

poem by Li Po
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Sun Setting.....

Blazen with an orange hue,
The sun started setting,
As if the running clouds
Are on fire, the trees
Gently swaying in the wind,
Birds roosting, after
Their feeding and happy flights,
Darkness started setting
On the eastern horizon,
With the mountain haloing
With the gently setting sun,
Stars dawning from the east
To the west of sky,
Bats strarted their
Daily evening prowls,
The sun said aduie
To one more daylight,
To star on the horizon
On the other side of earth,
Night softly landing after
The sun enduring daylong.

poem by Ravikiran Arakkal
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Ancient Season

eastern wind blows kissing plants
feeling something new but memorable

it is a brand-new day and way
I have never met you but there is something memorable
I rethink what it is

I felt myself being in a long winter
someone said

When winter comes, something good would come along next

eastern wind blows me again
take all the things considered
watching all trees covered in pink
sitting under one of the trees

the wind comes provoking me into rethinking of what is going on
what must be spring

poem by Wabi Sabi
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The Life I Live

It has been said that blue is the color of the sky although others may say
Blue is an emotion when someone is close to tears-
Sad, melancholy and disheartened-
I look upwards toward the sky on a sunny day when
I don’t feel sad and blue.
Green is the color of the leaves upon the trees, although
I have heard others say they are jealous- green or envious-
I enjoy the trees, especially in the summertime,
Blown about in a gentle and cooling breeze-
The same leaves turn yellow, gold and orange in the autumn and
Fire blazes a bright red in color-
It is the fire of my spirit that burns
When anger plagues my troubled mind-
Rain falls and puts out the fires but
The rage inside of me is a shade of red that will not be tamed.
I look upward towards the sky on a sunny day,
As the leaves upon the trees rustle in the wind-
I pray for the rain to fall to quench the fury that burns my soul-
I don’t feel melancholy blue or jealous-green-
I have days when I enjoy the colors of the autumn foliage-
But the color red of rage defines the life I live.
Today I glance upward toward the blue sky and the leaves upon the trees-
Today I feel sad and blue and close to tears because
Of the pain that the fire inside of me that is always burning-
If the sun and the trees could laugh and send me good vibrations perhaps
They would cheer me and I could capture the colors blue, green, orange and yellow-
And perhaps even red as being bold and beautiful-
And with these colors I could paint a rainbow upon my horizon and
There would be no reason for anger to smolder my heart again-
I could laugh with the sun at the splendor of the rainbow against the sky of cobalt blue- And glad to say that raging fire of resentment
Is behind me now and I never feel sad and blue because
I have repainted my world with colors of joy, happiness and eagerness
To live my new life beneath that rainbow of contentment.-

Claudia Krizay

poem by Claudia Krizay
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Keep On Keeping Moving

From the eastern horizon,
The sun slowly unblinks
From the top of the mountains,
Casting rays of light towards
The west.

As ligth spreads all over the land.
Dunes of sand clearly seen,
So empty and lifeless;
So vasty and selfish that it dinies
Life to all creatures.

Slowly the sun rises and soon takes over
control of all earths' activities.
The desert as early as breakfast time;
It gathers enough heat........

The heat so blazing that it scoches my skin,
My lips cracked like mud dried instantly.
My throat chocked and my saliver was like paste.

But i had to move on...........
To keep on moving on,
The wind from opposite side of me
coming with great velocity,

While in resistance with me;
It leaves me with fine dust in my eyes,
Then it goes behind me with a fading melody;
But i kept on keeping moving

poem by Moffat Mbuzi
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When dusk creeps through the windows

When dusk creeps through the windows
with the big old oak tree etched against the sky,
the eastern horizon gleams outside,

the morning star hangs is a beacon that bridges the night,
while the golden moon fades away
with the big old oak tree etched against the sky

the night is driven away, chased
by the sun rising burning
while the golden moon fades away,

the morning is fresh like an unfolding flower
while the birds, the insects, the animals are woken
by the sun rising burning

with blinding white light, stretching out its rays
and I am getting awake
while the birds, the insects, the animals are woken

and the day has already belted its gleaming chord.
When dusk creeps through the windows
and I am getting awake
the eastern horizon gleams outside.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Green.

Green are the valleys
green are the fields
green are the forests and long rolling hills
green like the shamrock and eyes with a smile
green as old Ireland
The emerald isle.

poem by Charles M. Moore
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Gentle Winds

Green fields edged with hedgerows,
Wild flowers enticing the bees,
Yellow buttercups and daisies,
Undulate in the evening breeze.

Small shrubs and dark dense thickets,
Trees so tall, with branches stout,
Even they can move with alacrity,
When the air currents are about.

These gentle winds are refreshing,
And stir all nature's wondrous art,
They cool the heat of the evening,
And calm the beat of the heart.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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Delta Rain

Soft rain
on dark oaks

Clustered green
curving canyons rise
to velvet crease.

Thick mists consume
stoic cattle,
slowly climbing
verdant slopes.

Meadows gather
new-born lakes.

Delta birds -
grebe and pensive loon,
goldeneye and pintail,
ibis and snowy egret
slowly wade.

With flashing beak
they break
black waters.

poem by Steven Federle
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The Light in November

The light in November slants low.
It fills my eyes as I glance
askance through amber trees
and see the leaves descend in
gold flashes
past my open window.

The autumn sun skirts
my low Suisun hills
casting deep shadows
along the ebbing marsh

where wading egrets probe
still, black waters

and finding their prize
rise to blue heaven,
white, slender wings
elegantly beating
the softly falling sun.

poem by Steven Federle
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In The Shade Of The Green Wood

In the shade of the green wood
The holly does grow,
While in soft rays of sunlight
The wild roses glow,
And I smell their sweet perfume
That gently floats by,
Past trees strong and mighty
That reach to the sky,
The pathway of gold autumn
Leaves still remain,
As I walk through the green wood again.

In the shade of the green wood
This bright sunny morn,
That's so cool in the shadows
A new day is born,
All the birds in the treetops
Are singing for me,
Sweet songs of the summer
Which fill me with glee,
And know from its beauty
I never shall part,
For the green wood does live in my heart.

In the shade of the green wood
A soft gentle breeze,
Now caresses the branches
And whispers through trees,
A sound reassuring
Shall carry me to,
All the scenes that exist
In each marvellous view,
It's here that my spirit
Shall always now stay,
And the green wood is guiding my way.

poem by Andrew Blakemore
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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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Flow

It flows
over highways
dripping down
lamp-posts
through gutters,
pounding
storm drains,
filling
narrow lanes,
past dark houses,
past high-tension
wires, driving
through
constraining fence,
unfettered
it fills
the green hills
and rolls
through folding slough, past
low bridge and causeway,
ever lower
down to Suisun Bay,
unstoppable
like a swimmer’s blood
pulsing through throbbing vein,
reaching for gate of gold
to break free,
to become
one with
One.

poem by Steven Federle
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Zenith of Absurdity

Oh, how reposeful it is at dawn
Elated, I thought as I sat in my lawn.
Watching the Sun rising on the eastern horizon
And the blue canopy spangled pink and vermillion.

The crows and birds seemed to welcome
The daylight with a loud chorus
And orchestra. Dainty butterflies
With amazing patterns on their wings,

Gently alighted atop the upturned flowers.
It is the most magical and enchanting hour.
There was a gentle, caressing breeze,
Leaves were dancing on the trees.

I was reminded of Pippa’s song
All is well and nothing can go wrong.
But in my heart I knew better,
This feeling will last until I open the newspaper.

The universe works with such amazing synchronicity
Where human mind has reached the zenith of absurdity.

poem by Mamta Agarwal
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