The Highways
The road that these tyres run,
Ends nowhere, straight and long,
The drizzle at the windscreen,
The wipers move fast to clean.
The teak trees on the north south highway,
Grown thicker year by year, bougainvillea,
At the divider dwarfed to bloom as required,
Genetically modified plants, shrubs and flowers.
Push that button to open the window,
The fragrant wind enters and rejuvenates,
The sun hides behind the mountain range,
Sprinkles the free gold dust everywhere.
Looking through the sunshade and sunglass,
The fire ball glows as the thirsty lass,
To tie her beautiful fringe and fire logs,
Curved seven colors of ribbon plot.
Miles of palm plantation have young plants,
Red fruits of palm cluster hang to be cut,
The foreign workers travel in the lorries,
To work in the vegetable farms, snoring,
At the rattling of the engines, have peace,
And hope of having money from this land.
The snakiest roads are straightened,
No more hair pin bends and windings,
Universal sign boards on the highways,
Hidden by the trees that planted.
When we go up the hill,
We can feel the pain in the ears,
When we come to the flat land,
Pain will go and we will be stunned.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Her Letter Dated July 1,2008, To Me, It Is Poem By Itself
I wonder how many more poems related to me I've missed.
I also wonder if you're a mind-reader.
Every springtime when the cherries bloom,
I do think of fire trees dotting Mt. Makiling
and lining the highways of Los Banos.
When wisterias bloom here,
I think of the jade vine in Makiling forest.
The pink, red and white flowers of azalea are pretty when they bloom in April to May,
but they can't compare with the explosion of colors of bougainvillea flowers trailing over the terraces of the buildings of IRRI where I used to work years ago.
I wonder if they are still there.
I did ask my father to plant ylang-ylang or sampaguita years ago,
because in Dipolog,
I can hardly find them anymore.
But father preferred palm trees, orchids, and anthurium.
Yes, I'll always miss the land of my birth.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Memories Of The Pacific Coast
I know a land, I, too,
Where warm keen incense on the sea-wind blows,
And all the winter long the skies are blue,
And the brown deserts blossom with the rose.
Deserts of all delight,
Cactus and palm and earth of thirsty gold,
Dark purple blooms round eaves of sun-washed white,
And that Hesperian fruit men sought of old.
O, to be wandering there,
Under the palm-trees, on that sunset shore,
Where the waves break in song, and the bright air
Is crystal clean; and peace is ours, once more.
There Beauty dwells,
Beauty, re-born in whiteness from the foam;
And Youth returns with all its magic spells,
And the heart finds its long-forgotten home,--
Home--home! Where is that land?
For, when I dream it found, the old hungering cry
Aches in the soul, drives me from all I planned,
And sets my sail to seek another sky.
poem by Alfred Noyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sometimes, as is the case of peach and plum trees, which are often dwarfed, the plants are thrown into a flowering states, and then, as they flower freely year after year, they have little inclination to make vigorous growth.
quote by Robert Fortune
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where Does my Inspiration Lie
As I drive my truck each day I wonder what it is I will see today?
Each day brings something new for my eyes and ears
From state to state, from coast to coast what new things will I see this day?
The sunrises from my front window to my back from day to day
The colors are different each and every day from that sunrise
The scenery is never the same even though I’ve been here dozens of time
Where does my inspiration lie?
Some people have to get up to go to work and it is the same old thing day after day
But here in my old truck things are not that way.
I look forward to the days drive and the sites I’ll see and just what’s ahead of me
I have been very lucky to be able to travel and see this most beautiful land
The seasons change and I drive from season to season for just that reason
The seasons are never quite the same the colors are very bright with the changes
Where does my inspiration lie?
The people I meet, the things I’ve seen God you have blest me through my travels
Snow on the mountain peaks, creeks where fish are seen, great rivers miles long
Mother bears teaching her young to fish, deer’s, antelopes, long horned mountain goats
Flowers in a field of gold, windmills that you make go fast in the breath of your wind
Craters that have fallen from the sky large enough to make a hugh bright blue lake
Cactus that bloom in the hot desert sun, sand storms that scared us to death
Where does my inspiration lie?
My inspiration lies in you God where all that is, you have made each and every day
My inspiration lies in you my Lord for what I’ve seen you have made
My inspiration lies in your grace and beauty your love and mercy that you give me
My inspiration lies in the songs I hear from the morning dove that coos by my window
My inspiration lies in the evening skies as it bids us good night with the colors so bright
My inspiration lies in your son God who came here so we would be able to see your face
Where does my inspiration lie?
poem by Gloria Comingore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Driving past Van Reenens pass
It’s as if the dark grey sky
slowly folds up around the car.
The windscreen wipers
fights a loosing battle,
while the car’s tyres
slides across the road.
I stop for a moment
and take photos,
of the winter snow landscape.
Outside it’s freezing cold
and soaking wet
and I feel snowflakes,
falling softly against my cheek.
Everywhere a white cloak is spread
and over brown fields of grass,
the fuel station and houses
and as far as I can see
there’s a white magic land.
It looks as if the road
runs to the horizon
into the whiteness
and the ice cold wind stings,
while I stand shivering.
The snow grinds under the tyres
and the car slips a little
when I drive away
and I feel like
staying in a lodge for a while.
.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In A Foreign Land
It was a matter of fact that when I paid all my tax
I held my world in the palm of my hand
And all of my debts were causing me to defect
To a land of bananas and sand
So I ran, yes I ran, yes I ran to a foreign land
Here I am, here I am
Here I am in a foreign land
Im so glad we made it
I thought wed never land
I grabbed all my cash
And decided to dash far away
Far away, far away to a foreign land
Here I am, here I am, here I am in a foreign land
Goodbye to all of the rich mans daughters
Goodbye to my debts now Im way cross the water
Far away, far away in a foreign land
Here I am, here I am here I am in a foreign land
La la la la la la
La la la la la la
Please tell my mother and all my ex-lovers
That Ive finally made the grade
Please tell my debtors and the money collectors
That all of my bills will be paid some day
Im away, Im away, far away in a foreign land
Goodbye champagne and caviar set
I wanna slum and drink all the rum I can get
Im away, Im away in a foreign land
Here I am, here I am, here I am in a foreign land
But Im all out of my jack and I cant go back
Im away, far away, far away in a foreign land
La la la la la la
La la la la la la
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Romance of Canada
An English youth to Canada came,
A labourer, John Roe by name;
His little wealth had made him bold-
Twenty sovereigns in gold,
He was industrious and wise,
And e'en small sums did not despise ;
He added to his wealth each year,
For independence he loved dear.
He knew a labourer he would be
Forever, in the old country ;
His forefathers had tilled the ground
And never one had saved a pound ;
On beds of down they did not lie,
And frugally their goods did buy,
Their one luxury around the door
A few choice flowers their garden bore ;
But never hoped to own the soil,
But serve as hinds to sweat and toil.
To work and toil, for him had charm,
He hoped, some day, to own a farm ;
So he hired with Rueben Tripp,
The wealthiest man in the township.
Tripp's only child, his daughter Jane,
He sought her love, and not in vain ;
As Jacob served for Rachel, dear,
So John he served, year after year-
Till, rich enough to buy bush farm
For to chop down with his strong arm.
The truest nobleman of all,
He lives not in ancestral hall,
But sheltereth family from harm
By logs rolled up with his strong arms
In this young glorious land, so free,
Where each may rear his own roof tree ;
And the chief glory of old days,
Broad fire place, where big logs did blaze-
As much as two strong men could handle-
They served alike for heat and candle.
He his young oxen did adorn
With fine gay ribbons on each horn,
And to his home with joy and pride
he did bring sweet, blooming bride
Such happiness is seldom seen,
Happier far than King or Queen ;
She helped him in the fields to reap,
And span the wool from off their sheep,
And from the yarn she wove the cloth,
All they required, they had for both,
And she was a good tailoress-
Did make his coat and her own dress.
The golden butter that she made
Was of the very finest grade ;
Each grace and virtue she possess'd-
Where 'ere she was that spot was blessed.
And, though they did not have stove then-
Neither did they own an oven-
She filled large pot with well knead dough
And baked fine bread 'mong embers glow.
He each winter the forest trees
Did quickly hew them down with ease ;
For, he to work had a desire
And the skill did soon acquire ;
But, 'round great giants hewed a ring,
Then storms would soon them prostrate bring
For many a time the furious breeze.
Would quick o'erthrow the girdled trees,
And sometimes they would kill the cows .
When they did feed on grass or brouse.
But after reckoning damage all,
A benefit was each windfall ;-
Though good fortune now he sees
Might have been got from walnut trees.
But trees were foes, in his hurry,
All were slain, both oak and cherry,
And to this day he doth incline
To mourn o'er slaughter of the pine,
And reflects how he did o'erwhelm
Many a maple, beach and elm,
And each summer day did toil,
With his steers, drawing logs in pile.
These giants of the forest dead,
Fire did reduce to an ash bed,
And soon potatoes, wheat and corn,
They did the rugged stumps adorn.
And Jane did help him with the hoe,
And well she did keep up her row-
No organs then they had to play,
But she could work and sing all day.
In spring he did live maples tap,
To draw from them the luscious sap ;
He gathered it in big log trough,
Then boiled it down and sugared off
Enough the household for to cheer,
With all its sweets, for the whole year.
And no such thing those times were seen,
As the swift raising stump machine,
And where main road was low and damp
With logs he built a road through swamp.
But a smooth ride could not enjoy
While it was naught but corduroy-
Each year added earth and gravel,
Now smoothly o'er they can travel ;
For, it doth make an excellent road
For John and Jane to go abroad,
And it is now a great highway
Where hundreds travel every day.
There were no roads in early days,
But bridal path, their guide the blaze,
And mills and marts so far away
They never could return same day.
Log school house served as church for all
Of various creeds, and for Town Hall.
These scenes to youth do now seem strange,
So wondrous quick hath been the change.
O'er paths where oxen only trod,
Cars quickly speed o'er the railroad,
And every way, both up and down,
There has sprung up a thriving town.
No more he fights with Forest trees,
But both enjoy their wealth and ease.
Long since the old folks both are gone,
And left the whole to Jane and John.
The log house, too, hath passed away
With all its chincks filled in with clay,
And in its place fine house of stone,
With lawn where choice shrubs are grown,
With sons and daughters they are blest-
The young men say they'll move north-west.
This gives their mother some alarm,
She wants them still on the home farm,
But father will not have them tarry-
They can plow so quick on prairie-
And they find coal makes a good fire
And build their fences of barbed wire ;
They would not be forever gone,
As they could talk by telephone,
poem by James McIntyre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Red Palm
You're in this dream of cotton plants.
You raise a hoe, swing, and the first weeds
Fall with a sigh. You take another step,
Chop, and the sigh comes again,
Until you yourself are breathing that way
With each step, a sigh that will follow you into town.
That's hours later. The sun is a red blister
Coming up in your palm. Your back is strong,
Young, not yet the broken chair
In an abandoned school of dry spiders.
Dust settles on your forehead, dirt
Smiles under each fingernail.
You chop, step, and by the end of the first row,
You can buy one splendid fish for wife
And three sons. Another row, another fish,
Until you have enough and move on to milk,
Bread, meat. Ten hours and the cupboards creak.
You can rest in the back yard under a tree.
Your hands twitch on your lap,
Not unlike the fish on a pier or the bottom
Of a boat. You drink iced tea. The minutes jerk
Like flies.
It's dusk, now night,
And the lights in your home are on.
That costs money, yellow light
In the kitchen. That's thirty steps,
You say to your hands,
Now shaped into binoculars.
You could raise them to your eyes:
You were a fool in school, now look at you.
You're a giant among cotton plants.
Now you see your oldest boy, also running.
Papa, he says, it's time to come in.
You pull him into your lap
And ask, What's forty times nine?
He knows as well as you, and you smile.
The wind makes peace with the trees,
The stars strike themselves in the dark.
You get up and walk with the sigh of cotton plants.
You go to sleep with a red sun on your palm,
The sore light you see when you first stir in bed.
Tonka Series-cycle
CYCLE
North-wind undress trees
Leaves fertilize lands
Rains feed the seeds to
Bloom plants in summer warmth
South –wind swings in bright flowers
rajkumar@kolkata/13-01-2010/@R ajkumar Mukherjee
poem by Rajkumar Mukherjee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The July Sky
The sky is pouring all day long,
Water from it's pitch dark pot.
The trees, plants and shrubs so got
Relieved from that scorching hot.
Ah! they said to each other-
Rain is blessings, is not it?
How could one live, happily,
In such painful burning heat?
They all chat and smile and crackle.
Flowers let out sweet fragrance,
The faded greenness then chuckle-
As raindrops start their ballet dance.
We should take rest, can work no more-
The Nimbus clouds discuss with friends,
They labored hard throughout the day.
The lightning, mapping all clouds' ends,
Taking metal scale, he rubs on sky,
Announces-all clouds must take a row.
Whose tasks are left, they stay for now,
The white ones make queue, you can go.
Hearing these words, clouds do the same.
Drizzle starts and blows soothing breeze.
Clouds go back, ending their long game,
The earth, shakes hand with smiling trees
poem by Nilakshi Das
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Eat For Three
Seventy palm trees,
Twelve wells of water;
Life is like a romantic night by the fire place.
Oh bread of heaven,
Come up to me on the mountain!
Oh pots of meat,
Come and put me in shape;
Life is like a romantic night by the fire place.
From Ur to Rome,
From Rameses to Succoth,
From Accra to New York,
From Lagos to Bahamas,
I am a stranger in a foreign land.
Fire, wine, husband and wife;
Life is like a romantic night by the fire place.
To eat for three matters to me,
To learn for three matters to you,
I am in a new world learning how to speak!
With my eyes darker than wine,
With my teeth whiter than milk,
Like a strong donkey lying down by two saddles.
This is the joy that i bring to you,
This is the muse of a journey to eat for three;
Life is like a romantic night by the fire place.
Pots of meat,
Bread of heaven,
Of my teeth whiter than snow;
I am a stranger in a foreign land.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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July Sky
The sky is pouring all day long,
Water from it's pitch dark pot.
The trees, plants and shrubs so got
Relieved from that scorching hot.
Ah! they said to each other-
Rain is blessings, is not it?
How could one live, happily,
In such painful burning heat?
They all chat and smile and crackle.
Flowers let out sweet fragrance,
The faded greenness then chuckle-
As raindrops start their ballet dance.
We should take rest, can work no more-
The Nimbus clouds discuss with friends,
They labored hard throughout the day.
The lightning, mapping all clouds' ends,
Taking metal scale, he rubs on sky,
Announces-all clouds must take a row.
Whose tasks are left, they stay for now,
The white ones make queue, you can go.
Hearing these words, clouds do the same.
Drizzle starts and blows soothing breeze.
Clouds go back, ending their long game,
The earth, shakes hand with smiling trees.
ORIGINAL
poem by Nilakshi Das
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Blue Rose!
Genetically modified flower blue rose is unique!
Rose colour gives hope of future by its very look;
Red rose is unique among flowers as it is queen
In the flower world nobody can deny having it!
Yellow rose shines bright in the long green garden
Full of many trees and other flower plants broad!
Pink rose flowers are many everywhere as border
Mainly in the botanical garden of hill stations here!
Blue rose, a new addition in the flower kingdom
Among lavender, blue bells and rare kurinjis of
Light blue, violet and ink blue colours everywhere
Stands majestic and having healing touch to all!
Rose is rose by whatever name it is called and also
Rose is rose by whatever colour it is produced ever!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fire Spirit
(gun club)
I can see clearly from my diamond eyes
Im going to the mountain with a fire spirit
No one will accept all of me, so the fire will stop
And for the straights that got fire cars
Im going to the mountain with a fire spirit
No one will take all of me, and the fire will stop
I will be cheating the whole ritual
Im going to the mountain with a fire spirit
No one will accept all of me, and the fire will stop
Someone weird read: pen down a circle
Yeah, someone left on a burned out world
Someone knows Im dead as hell
Where the old north wind blows through southeast hell, yeah
And then john was betrayed by the machine
A proper circuit was a promise to me
Im going up to the mountain to see
How blessing will set me free, yeah
I had to do something
I was wearing down
I was going down
Why can no one ever touch a fire spirit?
Why can no one ever hold a fire spirit?
Why can no one ever feel a fire spirit?
I am going to the mountain
Yeah, I can see clearly from my diamond eyes
Im going to the mountain with a fire spirit
And no one will accept all of me, so the fire will stop
With too much patience and too much pain
Im going to the mountain with a fire spirit
To make amends for all of me, and the fire will stop
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Road I Travel
The road I travel is windy and unsafe
Filled with road blocks and things to slow me down
Constantly seeing a stop sign
One day the signal will turn green and I will push my foot on the gas
For now my safest way to travel is on the highway
Very little stops
Only a straight path to keep going
There is room to be both slow and causious and fast and furious
Depending on the day and what obstacle I face will dictate my speed and my destiny
As I travel the highway I see nothing but black top
It is just me and nothing but road to travel
Needing to realize that there are so many paths to choose
I am my own destination
But for now the road I travel on is windy and unsafe and filled with road blocks
poem by Anne Jones
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Green And Red
Colors we love and make
Most prominent are
Green and Red
Since we are made from
the green of plants
filled with chlorophill
and we made
Of haemomoglobin
Deriving from fruits
Nuts and grains of plants
And the birds and animals
Who eat them, we cannot
Survive without the green
In this blue planet
Full of trees, plants and grass
To end up in them
Through the soil
Which feeds all colors
So dear to eyes and brains.
Ravikiran Arakkal
poem by Ravikiran Arakkal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It is Spring Time
It is Spring Time
It is spring time.
I can smell it in the air.
I can smell the flowers.
I can smell the grass.
I can touch the grass.
I can touch and taste the vegetable growing in the garden.
The weather is changing.
The weather is warming up.
The trees are blossoming.
The flowers are blossoming.
It is spring time.
Easter has passed.
Beltane has passed.
Spring and May is here.
This is the time to tend to your garden and planted some flowers.
Some people pray to God to protect their garden.
Some people pray to Mother Nature for protect.
I do both and I thank God for this planet.
It is Spring Time.
The animals and bugs come out to play.
The frogs jump around the pond.
The wildflower comes out.
The sky is clean and blue.
The sun is shining.
The horses are running free.
The sunflowers are growing.
When seasons the earth also changes it is a beautiful way.
Nature is every where.
It is spring time.
There is rain and storm.
The trees have leaves and it arms.
The trees are ancient.
An apple falls down from the trees.
This is what thinks spring time is for me.
Spring time is beautiful.
Spring time is when nature is beautiful.
It is spring time.
Spring time is here.
The rabbits come out, and hop round.
The bees are collection honey for us.
The tulips are blossoming.
The roses are blossoming, and looking so beautiful.
The lavender is purple and bright.
Spring time is a time to celebrate.
Spring time is a time to clean our environment.
It is spring time.
Spring time is a time when rain falls.
Spring time is the time when the seasons changes.
Spring time is when the plants grow.
Spring time is my favorite season.
Spring time is the time to be happy.
It is spring time.
poem by Crystal Chown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Is How A Road Gets Made
Somebody walked on a virgin (land).
Someone else saw their tracks and followed them, leaving a path.
It seemed as though I were looking down the hill when I first saw it,
But, as I waled on, I realized I was going up.
Somebody whistled behind and turning round, they seemed far below.
Then I came to where there had been a fire and was shaded
From the sun by the trees.
Figure of eight. its our year, it always was.
Credentials:
Made of earth,
Drinks water,
Breathes air,
Makes fire.
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kill The Evil
It’s a beautiful land
It’s a home for many
Many lived with peace
Lived with unity and love
With smiles on each face
Children play with its mud
Farms dance with its soil
Rivers flow on its bed
Flowers glow all around
Nature loves that land
Life is very simple there
Children go to school
Men and Women work
Old ones enjoy life
People lived happily
People pray in church
People pray in mosque
People pray as they wish
It has different beliefs
But all are united
Its unity is questioned
Questioned by an evil
Its name is ‘WAR’
It bombed that land
And killed everything
Destroyed homes of many
Many lived in fear
Many cried in pain
In pain of lost ones
Taken away by evil
Some can’t kick football
Some can’t write proper
Some tears can’t run down
Many got wounded
Wounded by the evil
Schools got bombed
Books got burned
Playground in silent
Kids didn’t grow up
Evil axed even tulips
Farms caught fire
Fruits weren’t picked
Rivers flowed red
Water wasn’t tasted
Evil ruined the nature
Church bells stopped ringing
Mosque no longer stands
Culture no longer rejoiced
Beautiful land is ragged
In the hands of evil
Evil, who’s name is WAR
Its only aim is blood
Blood of many innocent lives
Life is the gift of god
God’s message is peace and love
So let’s spread his message
And kill this evil forever
And free this world forever
Forever from its bloody hands
Into the hands of peace forever
poem by Kranthi Pothineni
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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