Chicago in February
Even the skyscrapers
on Lake Shore Drive
somehow look
desolate and desperate
as they peer across
ice floes in the lake
toward April blossoms
somewhere in the neighborhood
of southern Mississippi
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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Related quotes
A Soul Dies
Sky overcast, moon was sad.
Ashes were sent to the lake.
Who killed the bird in morning rain?
Ashes were sent to the lake.
A hidden slaughterman did not die.
Ashes were sent to the lake.
The good old name now spells the doom.
Ashes were sent to the lake.
I will call you in pitch-dark night.
Ashes were sent to the lake.
Ascending gods have ruined my life.
Ashes were sent to the lake.
A child was stolen from a mother’s bed.
Ashes were sent to the lake.
poem by Satish Verma
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The Price Of Water
The little lake, not far from the houses, has been
dry for years and is full of thistles and rubbish.
By, what was its shore, the sad rest of a rowboat
I remember it was blue, and someone had nicked
its oars; for firewood I take it. I used to row in
this lake in the evening catching trout.
When the moon made the lake into shimmering
silver my heart got quite wobbly by the beauty.
Last week I crossed the lake on my scooter, it was
not easy I lost my balance and was badly stung,
gasped for air, felt as drowning in a dry lagoon.
In the future the new commodity will be water.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Butterfly
(clarke / hicks / nash)
We met on the shore of a lemonade lake.
Weeping willows looked down where we lay.
Orange blossoms I smell in your hair.
Butterfly, flutter by, butterfly by.
Waterfalls send your ripples to us
Here on the shore of the lemonade lake.
Pond lilies play hide and seek with the fish.
Rabbit run, run rabbit, rabbit run by.
Roaring mountain is standing close by,
Covered with snowdrops and glistening with dew.
I hear the sound of a small hummingbird.
I took your hand and I waltzed off with you.
Come to the top of the mountain with me.
Jump on a cloud and well float to and fro.
Seeing the countryside covered with grass
And the top of the mountain with candy-floss and snow.
Butterfly lazily drinking the sun,
Lavishly sprinkled and painted with gold.
Here in the land of the mist and the lake,
Me and my true love will never grow old.
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Across The Lake Unto The Sky
Across the lake
Unto the sky
There bloomed a rainbow
To feast my eye
That late afternoon
After a brief spell of rain
When my heart was still
Entangled with the lake's heart
There the sun rushed in
Leaving the lake half-thirsty
The archer hiding deep under the lake
Aimed and shot an arrow
At the unruly sun and left
His bow across the sky
As if telling the sun 'beware! '
Lo, vanished the sun in fright
The lake had its fill!
Do you hear the clouds applaud?
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Across the Lake Unto the Sky
Across the lake
Unto the sky
There bloomed a rainbow
To feast my eye
That late afternoon
After a brief spell of rain
When my heart was still
Entangled with the lake's heart
There the sun rushed in
Leaving the lake half-thirsty
The archer hiding deep under the lake
Aimed and shot an arrow
At the unruly sun and left
His bow across the sky
As if telling the sun 'beware! '
Lo, vanished the sun in fright
The lake had its fill!
Do you hear the clouds applaud?
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Like the lake a Chinese poet sits beside in a painting
Who cares about
the weight of a lake?
Who would care to weigh it?
Who cares about
the colour of a lake
without the light of the sky
to reflect in it?
Who notices its modesty,
reflecting all, but silent of itself?
Who observes that the lake
remains unaffected,
not pained by loss,
not pleased by gain?
Who notices its wisdom,
obeying every law?
Who names its generosity,
among the fish, the birds,
the animals who drink?
Who knows whether the tree
leaning over it, sees its own reflection?
Who notices its love?
It bonds with earth,
It flows when needed,
as love does.
Who asks where the lake came from,
seeing it there?
Who wonders how old that lake is?
It is without age today.
Who wonders whether the lake
knows itself water,
or if water knows itself lake?
Who does not go to seek it,
for its stillness, for its silence,
as if it understands the mind’s needs,
the heart’s nourishment?
He is like that.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I was born on Wellington Avenue and my family that remains lives in the Lake Shore Drive area.
quote by Bob Balaban
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Port Stanley
Lines composed on an excursion to port Stanley, 1883.
In winter time 'tis sad and dreary
For to gaze on stormy Erie,
But here in summer time this port
It is fashionable resort,
For then it is always cheery
For to gaze upon lake Erie.
Or on the steamer you can sail,
All independent of the gale.
Or here the youth can ply the oar
And view the fast receding shore,
And be happy with his dearie
On the bosom of lake Erie.
No one here need ever weary
On the borders of lake Erie,
With quadrille parties at Stanley
And games and sports all so manly,
Or bathe in waves with friends near thee,
You fear not storms of lake Erie.
poem by James McIntyre
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O'Donohue's Mistress
Of all the fair months, that round the sun
In light-link'd dance their circles run,
Sweet May, shine thou for me;
For still, when thy earliest beams arise,
That youth, who beneath the blue lake lies,
Sweet May, returns to me.
Of all the bright haunts, where daylight leaves
Its lingering smile on golden eves,
Fair lake, thou'rt dearest to me;
For when the last April sun grows dim
Thy Naiads prepare his steed for him
Who dwells, bright lake, in thee.
Of all the proud steeds that ever bore
Young plumed Chiefs on sea or shore,
White Steed, most joy to thee;
Who still, with the first young glance of spring,
From under that glorious lake dost bring
My love, my chief, to me.
While, white as the sail some bark unfurls,
When newly launch'd, thy long mane curls,
Fair Steed, as white and free;
And spirits, from all the lake's deep bowers,
Glide o'er the blue wave scattering flowers,
Around my love and thee.
Of all the sweet deaths that maidens die,
Whose lovers beneath the cold wave lie,
Most sweet that death will be,
Which, under the next May evening's light,
When thou and thy steed are lost to sight,
Dear love, I'll die for thee.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Qinghai Lake
Qinghai, Qinghai Lake,
Largest salt lake in China
Blue colour water
Blue clear skies.
Birds fly near the Birds island
During spring times.
Stand high and tall at 3,600 m
Weather according to season
Sunrise at dawn
Sunset at dusk near Qinghai Lake
beautiful colourful lake
seen from hill top
Many cattle of yaks and sheep at the hills top
with the nomadic Tibetans and their tent
The lake full of beauty and colour
beyond compare
Qinghai Hu,
Many fishes and plants.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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Toyboat
Im waiting for a boat to help me out of here - mm,
Waiting for a boat to help me out.
The boat that reached my shore was a toyboat - mm,
Waiting for a boat to help me out.
Im dreaming of a lake Ive never seen before - mm,
Im dreaming of a lake Ive never seen.
The lake Ive seen last was a picture lake - mm,
Dreaming of a lake Ive never seen.
You who are,
You who are,
Help me out, help me out, help me out of here.
Im thinking of a castle on a top a hill - mm,
Thinking of a castle on a top a hill.
The castle Ive been to was full of flies - mm,
Thinking of a castle on a top a hill.
You who are,
You who are,
Help me out, help me out, help me out of here.
You who are,
You who are,
Help me out, help me out, help me out of here.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fire Lake
Words and music by bob seger
Whos gonna ride that chrome three wheeler
Whos gonna make that first mistake
Who wants to wear those gypsy leathers
All the way to fire lake
Who wants to break the news about uncle joe
You remember uncle joe
He was the one afraid to cut the cake
Who wants to tell poor aunt sarah
Joes run off to fire lake
Joes run off to fire lake
Who wants to brave those bronze beauties
Lying in the sun
With their long soft hair falling
Flying as they run
Oh they smile so shy
And they flirt so well
And they lay you down so fast
Till you look straight up and say
Oh lord
Am I really here at lost
Who wants to play those eights and aces
Who wants a raise
Who needs a stake
Who wants to take that long shot gamble
And head out to fire lake
Head out
Who wants to go to fire lake
And head out
Who wants to go to fire lake
Head out
Out to fire lake
Whos gonna do it
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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September
IT is september again
the sun is yet high shining
even the lovers
love affairs
seem dead
at the lake side
looks lı ke isolated
desolate
and in solitude
several girls
and women
are lying
awkward
aimless
and clumsily on the sun
baking
all alone
they clutch their cell phones strongly
talk talk talk aND TALK
NOBODY KNOWS
if their cell phones
are their lovers
or their lovers
are their cell phones
faal is
just going to step on the lake
the lake
with mosses
and with weeds
at its sides
fall is
embracing the waist of the summer
a breeze is blowing lightly
is it the sixth or seventh of september
ı cannot guess
it seems
only your and my love
is left on the earth
ı am swimming in the lake
water lukewarm
some gulls
and herons
aproaches me
and lands on the water
to catch fish
sometimes dive
a dog looks at me
the kind you love
and asks me
where you are
she is not here ı answer
stubborn
does not accompany me
ı tooo stubborn
swim im youyr blue green florescent eyes
ı miss you very much
even if ı cannot see you
in my dreams
oh my love
where are you
evgerything is useless
without you
fall is just
goı ng to step on the lake
hurry
before it changes our fate
or else
we would be very late
hurry
fall is is just
going to pound on the lake
poem by Metin Sahin
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When I sell liquor, it's called bootlegging; when my patrons serve it on Lake Shore Drive, it's called hospitality.
A Chinese Takeaway - for David with thanks
The ancient sage, beset with too many thoughts
for one human lifetime,
chooses carefully the place to sit
beside the lake,
under the even more ancient twisted pine
with the view of distant cliffs
where the stork’s cry echoes;
gathers his thoughts.
Out of mercy,
the breeze gently ruffles the surface
of the lake;
the sage, reminded by the ripples
of the stillness of the lake,
smiles from a mind that’s now the lake
reflecting the blueness of the sky;
reflects, beyond the blue,
the space in which immortals live.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Reflection of God
Thoughts are like ripples,
gently flowing over
the surface of the mind.
Deep inside us
we bear the image of God,
the ripples of thought break that image
into fragments.
It is as if you are looking in
a lake full of ripples-
It is a full moon night,
and the lake is reflecting
the beautiful moon.
But the lake is full of ripples
You cannot gather the moon together;
the moon goes on splitting
into a thousand fragments.
The whole lake seems to be
spread over by the moon-
the silvery beauty, softly broken apart;
many a fragments is seen floating-
all around.
Then the wind stops,
the ripples disappear:
those fragments start falling into one moon.
The silver that was spread
all over the lake,
now becomes more concentrated
into one place - into one moon.
When the lake
is completely without ripples,
the moon is reflected perfectly.
God is reflected perfectly
when there is no ripple in you.
poem by Nazmul Haque
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Portrait of a Lady
Your thighs are appletrees
whose blossoms touch the sky.
Which sky? The sky
where Watteau hung a lady's
slipper. Your knees
are a southern breeze -- or
a gust of snow. Agh! what
sort of man was Fragonard?
-- As if that answered
anything. -- Ah, yes. Below
the knees, since the tune
drops that way, it is
one of those white summer days,
the tall grass of your ankles
flickers upon the shore --
Which shore? --
the sand clings to my lips --
Which shore?
Agh, petals maybe. How
should I know?
Which shore? Which shore?
-- the petals from some hidden
appletree -- Which shore?
I said petals from an appletree.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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Voodoo Lake
(johnny vanzant -- chris eddy -- bob britt)
Way down yonder you can hear the wind blow
Through the tall grass growing in the old bayou
The old bayou
Theres a dark haired woman that looks so fine
Wearing hand me down clothes, drinking homemade wine
No one ever knew who her daddy was
The people down here say its all because
Shes the daughter of the devil, the sister of a snake
The keeper of souls down on vodoo lake
Theres a city boy across the county line
Came looking for the legend of the girl so fine
Well the stories that he heard, well they had to be lies
But he found out different when he looked inher eyes
Well he tried to run away but she had control
Hes findin out now what everybody knows
He knew it was over when she started to shake
Now theres one more soul down on voodoo lake
Theres an eerie silence at the break of dawn
A chill in the air, something wrong
When a shadow crosses the ground
Those long lost souls never make a sound
Youd think by now theyd realize
Shell never break her bayou ties
Shes the daughter of the devil, the sister of a snake
The keeper of souls down on voodoo lake
Voodoo lake, voodoo lake
Daughter of the devil, sister of a snake
Voodoo lake
Down on voodoo lake, down on voodoo lake
You can see her down on voodoo lake
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bison
How great a front is thine
A lake of majesty!
Assyria knew the sign
The god-incarnate king!
A lake of majesty
The lion's drowns in it!
And thy placidity
A moon within that lake!
As if thou still dost own
A world, thou takest breath
Earth-shape and strength of stone,
A Titan-sultan's child!
poem by Padraic Colum
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The Fisherman
He sits by the shore
all day long casting his bait
line after line
into the lake fishing
hoping for that bite
the kind that makes his day
but nothing comes
he sits there alone
only thoughts for company
what goes through his head
while he sits there
watching cold eyed
the open lake before him
is he at peace
or making plans
who could say
he just sits there alone
watching
poem by Matthew Holloway
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