Dark spring
My mother
Foresaw deaths
And walked among
Chrysanthemums,
Winecolored,
Withe red rose,
The earthy blossoms.
My very breath
Disowned
In nights of study,
And page by page
I came on spring.
The rats run on the roof,
These words come hard---
Sadder than cockcrow
In a dreamless, earthen sleep.
The Christ, eternal
In the scented cold; my love,
Her hand on the sill
White, as if out of earth;
And spring, the sleep of the dead.
poem by Yvor Winters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
I have a Rendezvous with Death
I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air—
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath—
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.
God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear . . .
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.
poem by Alan Seeger
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Distant Spring
I who love the Spring so well
Shall be sleeping, some glad day,
When her hosts come back to dwell
In their old, familiar way.
I shall live, alas! no more
In some distant April hour,
When the Spring finds wide her door,
Calling leaf, and bloom, and flower.
I shall sleep--but I shall dream
In my home beneath the ground,
And my slumbering heart shall teem
With its visions deep, profound.
I shall know, ere you will guess
(Though with life I have no part),
What new golden loveliness
Stirs within the old earth's heart.
I shall hear the first soft sound
When the Spring is born anew,
And rejoice, beneath the ground,
At the bliss to come to you.
And the dreams that I shall dream,
In that Spring when I am dead,
May arise until they seem
Blossoms white and blossoms red!
poem by Charles Hanson Towne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rendezvous
I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air--
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath--
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.
God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear . . .
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.
poem by Alan Seeger
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ode to the worthy, earthy and free versey
Of what would Spring be
Of what pleasures to see
Were it not for the words
Of a poetic potpourri
A bouquet composed Of fresh
and e'er changing compositions
Of prose composed of flesh,
The heart, and earthy renditions
It's the blossoms of Raskin
Whom to me is a rose
In the pleasure in the reading
As is the scent to the nose
It's the petals Of JewelPhoenix
Which she scatters about
Wonders of her writing
Would be hard to be without
It's Iroconnell, s earthy scent
Of musk and of nectar
That's prosed forth and then spent
To delight those around her
Spring brings also weeds
Like myself and many others
Like thorny Raggindragon, Daddyotom
And many other of my brothers
But today this poem of Spring
Is given to poetesses
Who escape from the trite,
Mundane everyday excesses
Deign to be different
Who, like seedy, Mother Nature
Cast their blossoming thoughts
To the winds of poetic nomenclature
We all write poetry and
By and large we all do it well
But just a few…a favored few
Can gift us the taste, the feel, and the smell
Of not just free verse, nor even of rhyme
Nor so flowery, or convoluted, as often are mine
Just Simple, pure… unadorned…
sweet, honest and sublime
And always poetic, as is Mother Nature
(at least most of the time!)
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sleep Around
Do it like she like, do it like she like it {x4}
Chorus:
Do it like she like it
So your baby dont wanna sleep around
Give her what she want when she want
When it come 2 u, she down
Baby let me read her journal
Or should I say: she turned around and it was gone
The innuendo reads eternal
Or should I say: every other page Im on
When she come 2 cook your dinner
U can ask her if what I say is true
The secret will remain within her
But her shade of red will turn yours blue
Chorus
Maybe u recall last summer
When u saw her ridin in my car
A kiss or 2 later she was back in your bed
Smellin like a fallen star
Just because shes fine
U think she dont wine & dine with everyone u know
Oh, long as ure fooled, Im cool
She says she gonna put me in a video
U need 2...
Chorus
Oh yeah!
Sleep around, sleep around {x2}
Im the one who sent the herbs and a book on how 2 use them
Im the one who pointed out her fears and how 2 lose them
And if a difference love will make
This advice u oughta take
Baby let me read her journal
Or should I say: she turned around and it was gone
The innuendo reads eternal
Or should I say: every other page Im on
U need 2...
Do it like she like, do it like she like it (sleep around) {x3}
Do it like she like it, like it, like it...
Do it like she like it
So your baby dont wanna sleep around
Give her what she want when she want it
When it come 2 u, she down
Sleep around, sleep around
Do it like she like it
So your baby dont wanna sleep around
(Im watchin u, baby) (do it like she like it, do it)
Give her what she want when she want it
When it come 2 u, she down
(do it like she like)
Sleep around, sleep around
Do it like she like, do it like she like it {x4}
(sleep around) {x5}
Do it like she like {x5}
Do it like she like it
Do it like she like
Do it {x10}
Do it like she like it (sleep around)
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Christmas Lullabay
A Christmas Lullaby
Sleep, baby, sleep! The Mother
sings:
Heaven's angels kneel and fold
their wings.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
With swathes of scented hay Thy
bed
By Mary's hand at eve was
spread.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
At midnight came the shepherds,
they
Whom seraphs wakened by the
way.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
And three kings from the East
afar,
Ere dawn came, guided by the
star.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
They brought Thee gifts of gold
and gems,
Pure orient pearls, rich diadems.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
Thou who liest slumbering there,
Art King of Kings, earth, ocean,
air.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
Sleep, baby, sleep! The shepherds
sing:
Through heaven, through earth,
hosannas ring.
Sleep, baby, sleep!
poem by Akingbehin Daniel Murphy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blossoms and My Love
The unusual winter warmth,
Has brought the spring fever in the nature and in my heart,
The pink, purple and white blossoms are blooming all around,
just reminding me of your warm and sensuous loving heart.
How can I compare your beauty with the spring blossoms?
In red blossoms, I see your luscious red lips,
In white blossoms, I see your beautiful body,
The purple blossoms, reminds me of the depth of your eyes,
Closer I get to the blossoms,
closer I get to the God's intricate creation,
Closer I get to your loving affection,
closer I watch the heavenly smiles on your lips.
Under the blossoming tree I walk,
the fragrance fills my love yearning heart,
When I hug you with my sincere love,
your sweet 'I love you' words, fills me with eternal love.
poem by Jay P Narain
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
How Can I Sleep?
How can I sleep when the nights are long,
too long to be in bed?
The pull of the pen is calling me,
too many words in my head.
There's not enough time. Why waste it on sleep?
too many things to write.
I hear the words call out to me
too often in the night.
But what care I about the time?
It's the words I care about.
For the body when tired can always sleep
and my thoughts would probably doubt
my sincerity to this purposeful quest
to connect my mind with the page.
I have dedicated my waking hours
too often as I age.
How can I sleep when the nights are long,
too long to be in bed?
That can be left for a future time
when I've nothing left to be said.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spring Fever
(words & music by giant - baum - kaye)
A little bird, he told me so
He said come on, get on the go
Open your eyes the sky is full of butterflies
The blossoms on the trees stir up the honey bees
Spring makes my fever right
Spring fever, spring is here at last
Spring fever, my hearts beating fast
Get up, get out spring is everywhere
Well if you feel the wanderlust
Just grab a car or hop a bus
In every town theres excitement to be found
So much is happening
Dont miss the joy of spring
The worlds in love just look around
Spring fever comes to everyone
Spring fever, its time for fun
Get up, get out spring is everywhere
Spring fever, its spring fever time
Spring fever, watch that fever climb
Get up, get out spring is everywhere
Spring is everywhere
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Other Side of the Page
I pass to the other side of the page.
-Pablo Neruda
On the other side of the page
where the last days go,
where the lost poems go,
where the forgotten dreams
breaking up like morning fog
go
go
go
I am preparing myself for death.
I am teaching myself emptiness:
the gambler's hunger for love,
the nun's hunger for God,
the child's hunger for chocolate
in the brown hours
of the dark.
I am teaching myself love:
the lean love of marble
kissed away by rain,
the cold kisses of snow crystals
on granite grave markers,
the soul kisses of snow
as it melts in the spring.
On the other side of the page
I lie making a snow angel
with the arcs
of my arms.
I lie like a fallen skier
who never wants to get up.
I lie with my poles, my pens
flung around me in the snow
too far to reach.
The snow seeps
into the hollows of my bones
& the calcium white of the page
silts me in like a fossil.
I am fixed in my longing for speech,
I am buried in the snowbank of my poems,
I am here where you find me
dead
on the other side of the page.
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ode 314
Those who don't feel this Love
pulling them like a river,
those who don't drink dawn
like a cup of spring water
or take in sunset like supper,
those who don't want to change,
let them sleep.
This Love is beyond the study of theology,
that old trickery and hypocrisy.
I you want to improve your mind that way,
sleep on.
I've given up on my brain.
I've torn the cloth to shreds
and thrown it away.
If you're not completely naked,
wrap your beautiful robe of words
around you,
and sleep.
A Sleep of Dreams
Travelled road ~ rough and worn
I've walked with ease on many morn
Down your path of known delights
I've trodden through on many nights
To sleep a dreamless sleep
My footsteps echo not within
Within the paths where I have been
Oh, how I crave my soul's respite
To dream of life within this night
To sleep a sleep of dreams
Oh, travelled road ~ you're all I've known
But fever deep inside has grown
To walk the walk that others might
And realize a dream tonight
To sleep a sleep of dreams
This trodden path is worn and long
Each day does bring a seasoned song
That's sung till light has turned to night
And dulls the life with no delight
To sleep a dreamless sleep
I see a field of emerald green
No foot has passed ~ nor ever been
Down unseen path toward dawning light
I'll stay until the sweetest night
To sleep my sleep of dreams....
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sex and After.
She knows one day
Sex will be a memory,
A nightly séance with
Her dead self. Hardwick
Will still be just one of
Her many lovers, pissing
His pants in some old folks
Home, dribbling over his
Shirt, forgetting her as he
Turns to go numbly to sleep.
She inhales her cigarette,
Watches the smoke rise,
Sees in the corner of her
Room, a spider hanging.
Hardwick is due at seven.
He will bring white wine,
Foreign food, the hot sexy
Movie they both want to
See, then to bed, sex, sleep.
She exhales the smoke, holds
The cigarette to one side, her
Naked body sensing warm
The sheets. Suzie he'll say,
Putting the wine and food in
The fridge, placing the movie
On, can we try that position on
Page 35? Last time it was page
32, the position not much fun,
Too much work, quite hard to do.
Mother'd turn in her grave to
See her thus. Naked at four in
The afternoon, smoking French
Cigarettes, thinking of hot sex,
Wanting old age to stay away.
She sits up, stubs out the cigarette.
Mother died of cancer, too soon,
Too much, no answer. Hardwick
Will bring and expect the same:
The wine, the food, the sex after
The movie, the sleep after in her
Double bed, and all the time that
Humming of her mother in her head.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spring has broken
Spring has broken!
Spring has broken!
Spring has broken!
I can feel it in the air,
I can feel it within me,
The rays of morning sun is warming,
The cold freezing world is now behind,
And the burst of renewals are everywhere seen,
The new buds are peeping,
And the cherry blossoms will soon be bursting,
Leave this sadness behind and breath the freshness in.
See again the birds are chirping,
and the little playful squirrels are jumping.
Spring has broken!
Spring has broken!
Spring has broken!
Again this renewal of life must begin.
poem by Spiritual Seeker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Tea Leaf Prophecy
Words by joni mitchell
Music by larry klein and joni mitchell
Study war no more
Lay down your arms
Study war no more
Lay 'em down, lay 'em down now
Study war no more
Lay down your arms
Study war no more
Newsreels rattle the nazi dread--
The able-bodied have shipped away--
Molly mcgee gets her tea-leaves read--
You'll be married in a month they say
"these leaves are crazy!
Look at this town--there's no men left!
Just frail old boys and babies
Talking to teacher in the treble clef."
She plants her garden in the spring
She does the winter shovelling
Tokyo rose on the radio
She says she's leavin' but she don't go
Out of the blue--just passin' thru
A young flight sergeant
On two weeks leave--
Says "molly mcgee--no one else will do!"
And seals the tea-leaf prophecy.
Oh these nights are strong and soft--
Private passions and secret storms
Nothin' about him ticks her off
And he looks so cute in his uniform
She plants her garden in the spring
He does the winter shovelling
But summer's just a sneeze
In a long-long-bad-winter cold
She says, "i'm leavin' here" but she don't go
"sleep little darlin'!
This is your happy home
Hiroshima cannot be pardoned!
Don't have kids when you get grown.
Because, this world is shattered
The wise are mourning--
The fools are joking
Oh--what does it matter?
The wash needs ironing
And the fire needs stoking."
She plants her garden in the spring
He does the winter shovelling
The three of 'em laughing 'round the radio
She says "i'm leavin' here" but she don't go
She plants her garden in the spring
They do the winter shovelling
They sit up late and watch the
Johnny carson show
She says "i'm leavin' here but she don't go
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Winter's Whitest Spurts
Although John Clare declared that he
saw spring in winter’s whitest spurts,
for many this is hard to see
when, freezing, all our body hurts,
and winter’s direst discontent
makes cold blasts pierce the frozen soul.
We wonder where the summer went
when icy winds exact their toll,
and whistling toll for all of us
on nights we wish would be more silent.
each blast a blaring blunderbuss
that’s aimed to make us all an island,
disconnected from the spring
and summer, fall, that we remember
when we for warmth our cold arms fling
around each other in December.
Inspired by John Clare’s “The Winter’s Spring”:
THE winter comes; I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own
The winter is the spring.
No flowers to please-no bees to hum-
The coming spring's already come.
I never want the Christmas rose
To come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,
Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;
'Tis but the winter garb of spring.
I never want the grass to bloom:
The snowstorm's best in white.
I love to see the tempest come
And love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to cling
O'er snow-white meadows sees the spring.
I love the snow, the crumpling snow
That hangs on everything,
It covers everything below
Like white dove's brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,
A vast expanse of dazzling light.
It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring-the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,
That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,
Nature's white spurts of the spring.
12/24/09
poem by Gershon Hepner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Armenian Folk-Song--The Stork
Welcome, O truant stork!
And where have you been so long?
And do you bring that grace of spring
That filleth my heart with song?
Descend upon my roof--
Bide on this ash content;
I would have you know what cruel woe
Befell me when you went.
All up in the moody sky
(A shifting threat o'er head!)
They were breaking the snow and bidding it go
Cover the beautiful dead.
Came snow on garden spot,
Came snow on mere and wold,
Came the withering breath of white robed death,
And the once warm earth was cold.
Stork, the tender rose tree,
That bloometh when you are here,
Trembled and sighed like a waiting bride--
Then drooped on a virgin bier.
But the brook that hath seen you come
Leaps forth with a hearty shout,
And the crocus peeps from the bed where it sleeps
To know what the noise is about.
Welcome, O honest friend!
And bide on my roof content;
For my heart would sing of the grace of spring,
When the winter of woe is spent.
poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Mother
I
IT was April, blossoming spring,
They buried me, when the birds did sing;
Earth, in clammy wedging earth,
They banked my bed with a black, damp girth.
Under the damp and under the mould,
I kenned my breasts were clammy and cold.
Out from the red beams, slanting and bright,
I kenned my cheeks were sunken and white.
I was a dream, and the world was a dream,
And yet I kenned all things that seem.
I was a dream, and the world was a dream,
But you cannot bury a red sunbeam.
For though in the under-grave's doom-night
I lay all silent and stark and white,
Yet over my head I seemed to know
The murmurous moods of wind and snow,
The snows that wasted, the winds that blew,
The rays that slanted, the clouds that drew
The water-ghosts up from lakes below,
And the little flower-souls in earth that grow.
Under earth, in the grave's stark night,
I felt the stars and the moon's pale light.
I felt the winds of ocean and land
That whispered the blossoms soft and bland.
Though they had buried me dark and low,
My soul with the season's seemed to grow.
II
From throes of pain they buried me low,
For death had finished a mother's woe.
But under the sod, in the grave's dread doom,
I dreamed of my baby in glimmer and gloom.
I dreamed of my babe, and I kenned that his rest
Was broken in wailings on my dead breast.
I dreamed that a rose-leaf hand did cling;
Oh, you cannot bury a mother in spring!
When the winds are soft and the blossoms are red
She could not sleep in her cold earth-bed.
I dreamed of my babe for a day and a night,
And then I rose in my grave-clothes white.
I rose like a flower from my damp earth-bed
To the world of sorrowing overhead.
Men would have called me a thing of harm,
But dreams of my babe made me rosy and warm.
I felt my breasts swell under my shroud;
No star shone white, no winds were loud;
But I stole me past the graveyard wall,
For the voice of my baby seemed to call;
And I kenned me a voice, though my lips were dumb:
Hush, baby, hush! for mother is come.
I passed the streets to my husband's home;
The chamber stairs in a dream I clomb;
I heard the sound of each sleeper's breath,
Light waves that break on the shores of death.
I listened a space at my chamber door,
Then stole like a moon-ray over its floor.
My babe was asleep on a stranger's arm,
'O baby, my baby, the grave is so warm,
'Though dark and so deep, for mother is there!
O come with me from the pain and care!
'O come with me from the anguish of earth,
Where the bed is banked with a blossoming girth,
'Where the pillow is soft and the rest is long,
And mother will croon you a slumber-song–
'A slumber-song that will charm your eyes
To a sleep that never in earth-song lies!
'The loves of earth your being can spare,
But never the grave, for mother is there.'
I nestled him soft to my throbbing breast,
And stole me back to my long, long rest.
And here I lie with him under the stars,
Dead to earth, its peace and its wars;
Dead to its hates, its hopes, and its harms,
So long as he cradles up soft in my arms.
And heaven may open its shimmering doors,
And saints make music on pearly floors,
And hell may yawn to its infinite sea,
But they never can take my baby from me.
For so much a part of my soul he hath grown
That God doth know of it high on His throne.
And here I lie with him under the flowers
That sun-winds rock through the billowy hours,
With the night-airs that steal from the murmuring sea,
Bringing sweet peace to my baby and me.
poem by William Wilfred Campbell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poetica
Spring is here
And I think spring is here to stay
The cold days of winter God took away
And winter is resting away for the summe
But now spring is working hard
Than when summer arrive spring will be able to rest all through the Summer
The nights are beautiful during the spring because they are mild
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Forsaken
'sleep was my first love'
and it meant a lot to me
it waited me so patiently
every time I walked out of the lobby
when hundred moons wiggled on my palms
and billion of stars carol to my eyes
Sleep walked with the thin clouds
Touched me, caressed softly my mind
From the nights I made him wait till dawn,
I took him for granted and he lost his patience
He escaped from the night’s wing
And bloomed to sun’s ranching over the continents
O how I miss his kiss when night fall tease
My bed is empty without sleep
Cold nights are broken, silence forsaken my world
Without my first love……….. sleep
Inspired by the poem: SLEEP – Ratnakar Rout
poem by Catrina Heart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!