En.Citatepedia^®.ro

November

No sun - no moon!
No morn - no noon -
No dawn - no dusk - no proper time of day.
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member -
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds! -
November!

poem by Thomas Hood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No sun - no moon! No morn - no noon -
No dawn - no dusk - no proper time of day.
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member -
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
November!

Thomas Hood in No!
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No!

No sun--no moon!
No morn--no noon!
No dawn--no dusk--no proper time of day--
No sky--no earthly view--
No distance looking blue--
No road--no street--no "t'other side this way"--
No end to any Row--
No indications where the Crescents go--
No top to any steeple--
No recognitions of familiar people--
No courtesies for showing 'em--
No knowing 'em!
No traveling at all--no locomotion--
No inkling of the way--no notion--
"No go" by land or ocean--
No mail--no post--
No news from any foreign coast--
No Park, no Ring, no afternoon gentility--
No company--no nobility--
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member--
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds--
November!

poem by Thomas Hood
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The Tree of Life

Dandy youthful summer step in.................
flowers delighted.
birds, butterflies,
bees and hornets fly for delicacy.
seasons change as usual
never try to stop them.
Autumn comes in a faint shadowy trace
and ripen fruits vanished.
flowers no more, birds and butterflies too.
faded leaves falling one by one.
the skeleton tree stands alone
and facing the bitter reality.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Never is she shut #never is she shut

You are my Sun.
You are now set.
You brought me dawn
Everyday at ten.
You sent me dusk
Everyday at five.
Weekend two days,
You left me in dark.

You shone on me for brief,
But heavily, brightly
And deeply with warmth.
That referred warmth
Spread all the night.
I felt the shine of my Sun,
Off the dusk, at full night.
My night is brightly lit.

Now my sun is set.
Where is my dawn?
Where is my dusk?
Where is the sunny day?
Where is my beauty?
Who will there be to lit
My night-full day?
And dreaded night?

You be a Moon, now on.
Waxing and waning,
Be always on horizon
So that there comes
Once a while a full-moon,
To imbue me with life.
My day-less night
Is lit with Moonlight.

You be my stars, farther.
You twinkle and twinkle
At me high from horizon!
With your news, beckon!
With your heart, command!
I am in the bath of starlight.
My night-full day is lit.

My sun, though, is set,
No dark is there at night.
She is there as Moon.
She is there as Stars.
Though she is set as Sun.
I’m now a nocturnal.
She can never be set
Out of my heart and soul.
11.06.99

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Working Man

I am a working man
up from dawn to dusk.
I till the fields to keep my family fed.
The soil is not my right,
but a gift to me.
If I handle it with care,
crops every year it rewards me.

I am a working man
and when my day is done,
the warmth of my family
fills the place I call home.
Every morning I see
the wonders of the rising sun
and as night approaches,
I watch the moon come up.

My life is sometimes hard,
but I know satisfaction of a job well done.
It is our daily bread,
where our money comes from.
God blessed me with this land
and I look after it for him.
For I am a working man
up from dawn to dusk.

26 November 2007

poem by David Harris
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Knowing time in ancient time

‘Get up! be ready! time for prayer.'
Today, clock alarm chants to ears.

When Tessa's grandma was twelve years old,
her grandma counted age, the springs rolled.
Heavenly bodies sun, moon and stars
used to tell time to her forefathers.
When planets will set and when will rise
naturally guessed time they were so wise.
Day divided, morning, noon, evening
dusk, mid-night, dawn; the nights.
Shadows displayed; noon, fore or after
stick stuck in ground evolved sundial.
Doodle-doo said dawn is going to break
chirping birds yelled get up from the bed.

(C) S. D. Tiwari

poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Seasons Turn

He lived summer internally.
It fed and warmed him
On the cold gray days of winter.
He turned to green the trees
That stood denuded of leaves.
Imagined the gardens bare earth
Filled with Floras beauty.
The bright paint of nature
To touch leaf and flower.
In his minds eye flighty butterflies
Spread out their jewelled wings;
Uninhibited to catch of suns warmth.
He envisaged the drowsy drone of bees
Taking pollen to deposit in their hive.
Recalled to memory the birds
Whose symphony woke him at dawn.
This sustained him as he waited
For the first finger of warmth.
And springs cavalry arrived.

poem by Paul Brookes
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07. Love, what is Love?

love, oh what is love?
flowers in so many shapes and hues
giving sweetness to butterflies and bees
in so many shapes and hues
in the field, a buzz, a joy, these insects
help create another world
another paradise, warm colourful flower garden
for lovers of the world
help spread cheers everywhere
with the sweetness the flowers
where the flowers are, the butterflies, the bees are
where there is love, joy spreads
wide as the field
just look at the butterflies and the bees
how they cheer up the field with their songs and dance

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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We Decided To Cut Some Trees

we planted the seeds together
we were thinking of fruits
for our children
we were thinking of the shade
where they can
in the future play

then the fruits in bounty came
mangoes loaded
and some water apples
shining on the twigs

the fruits ripen and some birds
came and ate them
the fruits ripen and some fell
on the ground and some
worms came and ate them

the trees get tired finally of the
seasons
flowering, fruiting, falling and
rotting and trying to
repeat the cycle all over
again
for years and years

we got old of waiting for something
new and exciting
we got bored of the fruits
the children of the neighbors
got married and left the place

we got old and tired and this day
we decided to cut the trees
some for the first time
we are too shaded
we want to see light come
we want to know what sunshine is

again, after all those years
of coldness and darkness under
the shady trees

perhaps, this is something new now
light and sun and another way to look
at our lives
something exciting something to open

to see blue skies to see the full moon
to feel warmth to let the worms sing
to see some precious stones
hidden all these years in our common paths

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Where Are the Birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei

‘The skies are empty and grey at dawn,
They’re empty and brown at noon,
Where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
Deep in the afternoon?
Even at dusk when the air is still
Or the cool breath heaves from the sea,
I wait for the beat of wings then, Bei Bei
Rushing to comfort me.’

‘The birds were once when the paddy fields
Ran down by the river tides,
When the sky was blue and the air was clean
And the trees reached up to the stars.
The birds were here when the skies were clear
No buildings blocked the view...’
‘But where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
Why have they gone from you? ’

‘They left when the smog came rolling in
And the insects died on the ground,
When the grass turned white and the acid rain
Caused all the trees to drown.
They left when the river turned yellow mud
And the fields died under the road,
When men built towers of thirty floors,
They left the town in droves.’

The skies are empty and grey at dawn,
They’re empty and brown at noon.
‘The birds of Wenzhou took their nests
And travelled to old Hangzhou.
They went to live by a wondrous lake
That tales will tell, is blue...’
‘Where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei...
Have they forsaken you? ’

8 November 2005

poem by David Lewis Paget
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Sonnet: the Drumstick Tree

The drumstick-tree I thought was dead and gone
Is fully clothed by green leaves and flowers;
The bees are active and some fruits are born;
The tree awaits August’s Monsoon showers.

I see the tree growing so fast each morn;
My eyes perceive not the blossoming act;
How well does Nature heal its parts much torn;
Human beings are blind with eyes- the fact.

So, numerous small birds visit the tree,
To eat the flowers that gets dropped nearby;
The tree makes the backyard look so lovely;
Some Millipedes remain and will not die!

The tree looks resurrected, simply great!
God gave a new lease and a newer date.

7-31-2000

poem by John Celes
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The Old Tree

My flowers are not scented
and the strong odor butterflies don't like.
That's why I think they flew away.
My fruits are not ripen
and the bitter fruits birds don't like.
That's why I think they flew away.
My root is not so deep.
That's why the wind came
and fell me to the ground.

For Dave.......with affectionately.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Goat Hill

Goat Hill

Walking out the door that man told me to go to hell
My son asked mommy where’s Goat Hill
I said I don’t know son it must be through the valley
My son said mommy lets go there
Up to goat hill
I bet it’s on top of the mountain
I bet there is waterfalls, birds, trees, pretty flowers for all the butterflies and honey bees
I said son if we could I’m sure we would
Most definitely go up to goat hill
I’m not ever going to take you where that man said to go
That place is an internal melting pot
And its way to hot
There’s no mountains with snow on top
No waterfalls trees birds butterflies or honey bees in the place that man said to go
Son I know you are good
Some day together I believe we will find the place called Goat Hill
You found somewhere in your mind
Where life is gentle and Kind
Everyday and every night all the time
Son I bet up on Goat Hill we will only see Gods will being done by the Father and the Son

poem by E.Marie AldrichCreasy
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Ease. 1914

The iron is hidden in forgetfulness.
A smoothness comes to men and lies on lands.
Women of peace arise in lustred dress,
and hold aloft their sleek and perfect hands.
the birds are in the morn, the bees in the noon.
The eve has song and sleep and slow repose.
A lazy Ease treads soft on feathered shoon
that leaves no sign to show the way she goes.
Soft cheeks there are; and Guile with coiling hair
smiles at the earth and croons within her chair.
The slow leaves fall, and rustling Night begins
Her reign of furriness. the slinking feet
Of half-seen things and thoughts bring brushing sins
and warmths of fog that touch a smouldering heat.

poem by Leon Gellert
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Touch of Autumn

It is blowing, it is getting cold
Birds are chirping, birds are resting!
The long sunny day is gone
replaced by the sudden onset of night!

Leaves from trees, fruits like apples,
peaches, berries and grapes fall down.
My beans and squash seem ready
to sleep and abort the budding of flowers.

The green colours turn golden and
cover the living soil and ground.
September, October and November,
the golden long autumn months
of fallen leaves from windy heights.
___________

poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Autumn Is Brown!

The colour of Autumn is brown
Like the leaves of Spring are crown!
The colour of Winter is white
Like the Summer heat at its height!

Falling dry leaves are symbol of Autumn
After flowers of Spring with bees hum!
Autumn is the symbol of wisdom ever
After rich growth of fruits in Spring sure!

Rain in Autumn is joyful as in heaven
Just as for the birds trees are haven!
Autumn ever denotes mental maturity
Just as fully grown flowers of beauty!

poem by Ramesh T A
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Trimming The Trees, Pruning The Twigs....

on the tree of life
there will be more leaves
and twigs and flowers
on spring
and more luscious fruits
for eating

there is somehow a
need for trimming
what excesses are there
twigs that go awry
leaves that lush for too much
shade
and so we do just that
cut some twigs
take a look and cut some
more
remove some leaves
for sacrifices
for us to some more
and some time
see heaven for once.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Least You Expect It

it is at the time when you least expect it
that things happen in your life
that people come to you

for help.
bad luck, and events come bringing
you all the regrets.

mosquitoes and ants, and termites,
and snakes...

imagine, butterflies and birds and bees and flowers.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Cannot See

I cannot see the flowers
if you're not with me.
I cannot even smell them.
Their perfume is lost on me.

I cannot see the birds fly
if you're not with me.
Their wingless flight escapes
along with their melody.

I cannot see the butterflies
if you're not with me.
The beauty of their colors
are only a memory

of when I saw all these things
and love was in full bloom
when the flowers, birds and butterflies
lifted my lonely gloom.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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On the open plain (Catena Rondo)

Some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds,
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun;
on this earth so it's been since time begun,
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds,

blooms appear with heads searching for the sun
they rejoice over a day that is new
are fresh with the glistening morning dew;
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun

they rejoice over a day that is new
as bees and butterflies flutter along
birds do sing the happiest kind of song
they rejoice over a day that is new,

as bees and butterflies flutter along
wild deer graze at the soft tender green grass
while they in massive herds do slowly pass
as bees and butterflies flutter along

wild deer graze at the soft tender green grass
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds
grow to strength in a world full of big weeds,
wild deer graze at the soft tender green grass,

some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds,
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun;
on this earth so it's been since time begun,
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds.

poem by Gert Strydom
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