Cricket Ballad
Smooth green hills just short of touching the sky
White plastic fences seeming to try and out run the hills
Beautiful beast’s hooves pounding silently on the green as they play
The horse house set low down the hill near the sparkling cricks
Smell of manure and the sweet alfalfa
Drift up the hill to the porch wrapped palace of white
The crickets harmoniously sing their ballad
And the wooden porch seat swings gently in the breeze as if to plead, “Encore.”
poem by Jessica Burger
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Sestina
I have come, alas, to the great circle of shadow,
to the short day and to the whitening hills,
when the colour is all lost from the grass,
though my desire will not lose its green,
so rooted is it in this hardest stone,
that speaks and feels as though it were a woman.
And likewise this heaven-born woman
stays frozen, like the snow in shadow,
and is unmoved, or moved like a stone,
by the sweet season that warms all the hills,
and makes them alter from pure white to green,
so as to clothe them with the flowers and grass.
When her head wears a crown of grass
she draws the mind from any other woman,
because she blends her gold hair with the green
so well that Amor lingers in their shadow,
he who fastens me in these low hills,
more certainly than lime fastens stone.
Her beauty has more virtue than rare stone.
The wound she gives cannot be healed with grass,
since I have travelled, through the plains and hills,
to find my release from such a woman,
yet from her light had never a shadow
thrown on me, by hill, wall, or leaves’ green.
I have seen her walk all dressed in green,
so formed she would have sparked love in a stone,
that love I bear for her very shadow,
so that I wished her, in those fields of grass,
as much in love as ever yet was woman,
closed around by all the highest hills.
The rivers will flow upwards to the hills
before this wood, that is so soft and green,
takes fire, as might ever lovely woman,
for me, who would choose to sleep on stone,
all my life, and go eating grass,
only to gaze at where her clothes cast shadow.
Whenever the hills cast blackest shadow,
with her sweet green, the lovely woman
hides it, as a man hides stone in grass.
poem by Dante Alighieri
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The White Road Up Athirt The Hill
WHEN high hot zuns da strik right down,
An' burn our zweaty fiazen brown,
An' zunny hangens that be nigh
Be back'd by hills so blue's the sky;
Then while the bells da sweetly cheem
Upon the champen high-neck'd team
How lively, wi' a friend, da seem
The white road up athirt the hill.
The zwellen downs, wi' chaky tracks,
A-climmen up ther zunny backs,
Da hide green meads, an' zedgy brooks,
An' clumps o' trees wi' glossy rooks,
An' hearty vo'ke to lafe and zing,
An' churches wi' ther bells to ring,
In parishes al in a string
Wi' white roads up athirt the hills.
At feast, when uncle's vo'ke da come
To spend the da wi' we at huome,
An' we da put upon the buard
The best of al we can avvuord,
The wolden oons do ta'ke an' smoke,
An' younger oons da play an' joke,
An' in the evemen all our vo'ke
Da bring 'em gwain athirt the hill.
Var then the green da zwarm wi' wold
An' young so thick as sheep in vuold.
The billis in the blacksmith's shop
An' mesh-green waterwheel da stop,
An' luonesome in the wheelwright's shed
's a-left the wheelless waggon bed,
While zwarms o' comen-friends da tread
The white road down athirt the hill.
An' when the winden road so white
A-climmen up the hill in zight,
Da lead to pliazen, east ar west
The vust a-know'd an' lov'd the best,
How touchen in the zunsheen's glow
Ar in the shiades that clouds da drow
Upon the zunburn'd down below,
's the white road up athirt the hill.
What pirty hollers now the long
White roads da windy roun' among,
Wi' dairy cows in woody nooks,
An' haymiakers among ther pooks,
An' housen that the trees da screen
Vrom zun an' zight by boughs o' green,
Young blushen beauty's huomes between
The white roads up athirt the hills.
poem by William Barnes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On The Eastern Ghats On A Monsoon Day
a benevolent sky
a silken road
uplifting green on either side
the blue-grey hills move farther away
as i move closer to them
always standing on a hill
the other hill looked more welcoming
never there a high point
nor a lower point!
hills to the right
hills to the left
hills in front
hills behind
down in the valleys
green stretches of paddy
dotted by men, women
from the virgin ghats
a soothing breeze
blowing across the hills
covers them in a huge grey cloud
carefully led here from elsewhere
the hills appear hazy
the trees dance to a merry tune
all connive to release
a comforting shower
tip tap goes the music
lo, here’s the shower
and a little distance away
no rain, the rain at its
game of hide and seek!
rain and breeze blown through
the thick foliage of
coffee and creepers of pepper
winding the sky-kissing silver oaks
the smell of rain
the aroma of air-ripples
touch my cheek
i step on to the road
to be one with the unique
blend of all the earthy perfumes
hordes of unruly cattle and goats
having had their fill
trail back homeward
their keeper struggling
to discipline them
men under large palm-leaf-umbrellas
women giggling with the showers
clouds enveloping us
clouds chasing us
i slowly but reluctantly descend
still smelling of the blended scents
still smelling of raindrops…
21jul2010
13.25hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Spring Song
SING out and be happy!
The Spring is at hand,
The grass green, and sappy
The trees o' the land.
Sing! for the breeze is
Rustling and silky,
And toys with and teases
Long blossoms and milky.
The root in the juices
Unfrosted drinks deep;
The loving wave sluices
The weeds as they sleep.
Sing out! for the bees in
Their quest of wild honey
Are haunting the trees in
Green places and sunny.
Distant blue reaches
And green hills invite,
Green hills and long beaches
And roads red and white.
Locked waters are calling
With many gold voices,
Where tides gently falling
Make soft liquid noises.
Broad-spreading sun-glamour
Wraps blossom and stream,
Gold-tinting the armour
Of beetles that dream.
Full-sunned on lit ledges
The bronze lizard dozes,
And painting proud ridges
Grow tiny pink roses.
Sing out! and let trouble
Another pursue:
It will burst like a bubble
And vanish for you.
Out, out on old Sorrow,
Who skulks in her sable!
Laugh gaily, and borrow
Gay laughs while you're able.
If any care rankles —
Away! and behold
Pink feet and white ankles
On beaches of gold,
And surf that runs after
To kiss clinging dresses,
And white teeth and laughter,
And wild clinging tresses!
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Rolling Down The Hills
(carly simon)
People who have bad times
Write hard luck songs
But when their days are green
They think about love
Sunshine, flowers in a garden
Did I bump you sir?
Im beggin your pardon
Have you seen such a day?
Lets begin it by startin -
And rollin down the hills with me.
People who have short hair
Write short hair songs
But when their hair gets long
They think about winding it around in daisy chains
Waitin for the showers
Just to wash it in the rain
Have you seen such hair?
Well let the wind play -
As youre rollin down the hills with me
People who have no hills
Write songs about plains
But if thats not what you want to do
Well you can jump aboard a bus
Or boat or wooden canoe
I know just the mountain
Thats been waitin for you
Too write songs about the peaks
And the beautiful views -
As youre rollin down the hills with me.
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The White Horse...
on that early dawn
they arrived. I will not tell you
exactly how many were they.
they brought the wild horse again
this time it is white and coy
they did not speak to me
my attention was focused on the
beautiful horse
i did not show that i liked it
i did not talk too
then they brought the horse inside
the house
and then the windows and doors
were closed
and then the white horse started to
dance
and i liked it more
it was then that i realized
what are they really
and why are they here bringing me
a beautiful white horse
will they take my antique chairs
made of rosewood?
will i bargain my house
for a horse?
just for a horse
and they whose names i do not really know
shall laugh
after they had finally taken the whole of what i have
just for a white horse whose talent is just
to dance?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Uphill Rythm
A running poem for grinding up those hills.....hope it helps!
Got to get those feet moving first....
1-2-3-4
Up-hill Rhy-thm
1-2-3-4
Up-hill Rhy-thm
1-2-I've got no respect for pain,
My willpower's high octane,
I'm steaming up this hill like a supercharged train.
I'm in the physical commotion,
Of human locomotion
I have legs that are powered by internal combustion
I drink kerosene,
I sweat petroleum,
There's nothing ever been
That can break my uphill rhythm
1-2-3-4
Up-hill Ry-thm
1-2-3-4
Some call me flunky,
'cause I'm a running junky,
I don't snort coke
I don't do heroin,
But I get high on respiration and I shoot adrenaline
Pounding, pounding, pounding
Deep into my soul
I'm not stopping
It's time for cortisol.
1-2-3-4
Up-hill flunk-y
1-2-3-4
Up-hill Junk-y
I don't want to join your team
I don't need to win your race
I run my own dream
I set my own pace
Running, running, running
Until I have an aneurysm
But don't bet your money that will break my uphill rhythm
That's i t: -)
poem by Mike Michaels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Horse and Rider
The prairie blows the grasses
And whips the horse’s mane.
They travel, horse and rider,
Through the sea of amber grain
Hills roll by, and clouds pass
But steady are the horse’s hooves
Upon the wind blown grass
As they travel, horse and rider
There is no trail that they follow
No path that can be seen
There they travel, horse and rider
Upon the endless blowing green
poem by Horse Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paco De Lucia In Guitar Strings
the guitar strings of paco de lucia
are not new to me
the sound of his spanish guitar
strumming on my mind
they were with me
in my childhood
with my friends
we get a smooth
long and strong
coconut palm
take it on top
of a hill
covered with green
carabao grass
and we ride
on the palm
slide it
on the hill
and
yehey
yehehey
yehey yehey
we laugh
so hard
my little
brown friends
that
the foreign
white visitors
call monkeys
we take
the coconut palm
on top of the hill
we ride on it
and we slide
on the
hill
green
with
carabao grass
grass
yehey
yehehey
yehey
we tumble
and roll
when we
reach the
foot of the hill
covered with
green
carabao
grass
we
crash
there may
be some bruises
on our arms
and
legs
but we
laugh
we enjoy
the sliding
the falling
the crashing
on the green
green
carabao
grass
we
crash
yehey
yehehey
yehehey
we are
the happy
little brown
monkeys
yehey
yehehey
yehey
we are
happy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dream comes true!
The hills are the status,
to the rich and powerful,
so I wanted to live on a hill,
with spacious garden and guard dogs.
If I stay on a hill,
I can touch the clouds,
be closer to moon and stars.
I wanted to stay on a hill.
The hills always belong to people,
who possess the hard cash and metal,
so I am put in an apartment,
that is built as high as a hill.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nurse's Song (Innocence)
When voices of children are heard on the green
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast
And everything else is still
Then come home my children the sun is gone down
And the dews of night arise
Come come leave off play, and let us away
Till the morning appears in the skies
No no let us play, for it is yet day
And we cannot go to sleep
Besides in the sky, the little birds fly
And the hills are all covered with sheep
Well well go & play till the light fades away
And then go home to bed
The little ones leaped & shouted & laugh'd
And all the hills echoed
poem by William Blake
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Horse and Rider
The prairie blows the grasses
And whips the horse’s mane.
They travel, horse and rider,
Through the sea of amber grain
Hills roll by, and clouds pass
But steady are the horse’s hooves
Upon the wind blown grass
As they travel, horse and rider
There is no trail that they follow
No path that can be seen
There they travel, horse and rider
Upon the endless blowing green
Nurse's Song
When the voices of children are heard on the green,
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast,
And everything else is still.
‘Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,
And the dews of night arise;
Come, come leave off play, and let us away
Till the morning appears in the skies.’
‘No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,
And we cannot go to sleep;
Besides, in the sky the little birds fly,
And the hills are all cover'd with sheep.’
‘Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,
And then go home to bed.’
The little ones leapèd, and shoutèd, and laugh'd
And all the hills echoèd.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Innocence (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Black Hooves, White Snow
black hooves, white snow
candlewax dripping,
water from a rusted spicket.
brass doorknobs,
forbidden rooms,
where spider webs cover
forgotten books.
and the chant of the ancients
rolls like thunder!
strike the bell, mountains quiver!
somewhere the gods of old
walk deserted streets,
while the shepherd kings
raise their flutes and play.
and the old mad monk
walks into the hills,
never to be seen,
or heard again.
black hooves, white snow
the taste of blood,
the smell of need.
bows drawn tight,
the archers wait
for the sun to rise
in a blackened sky.
the wheel turns
in the desert sand
(nothing ever stays the same)
water wears down stone
until it finds it's way.
while trees fall in
a desolate forest,
and the hawk flies alone
down through the gorge.
black hooves, white snow
till we find our way!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hills of the Planet
May hills form from illness of the planet,
Erosion of landforms make them of the planet.
Exposure to the elements will kill your substance,
May hills find fault with you and condemn the planet.
May winter know the rock of the Earth,
Whilst roundness of the hill is like a diadem of the planet.
Expose the hills to torture of the weather
By constructing mountains with a gem called the planet.
My hill is grand and openly small as well,
I live it and my house and my family and my poem that is the planet.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Gippsland Hills
The hills of Gippsland were so green but that was in September
And songbirds piping happy songs as well I might remember
But now the Gippsland hills are gray since sun changed the grass colour
And though the sun shines hot today this countryside looks duller.
The Gippsland hills were green in Spring and grass growing winds were blowing
And all along the sunlit hills the wildering flowers were showing
And bell magpie piped his joyful notes and butcherbird was singing
And through those hills those happy hills the bushlark's voice went ringing.
The Gippsland hills the sunburnt hills grown lonelier and quieter
And like the shades of old man's hair they've turned a gray type whiter
The nearby creek in trickle flow, the birds have lost their voices
And not one of Nature's minstrels now on Gippsland hills rejoices.
The Gippsland hills the sunburnt hills have lost their Spring like colour
And though the sun shines hot today the Gippsland hills look duller
But Spring bring green to Gippsland hills Spring rains and soft winds blowing
And birds will sing on Gippsland hills and Gippsland creeks fast flowing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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House Carpenter
Well met, well met, my own true love
Well met, well met, cried she
Ive just returned from the salt, salt sea
And its all for the love of thee
I could have married a kings daughter there
She would have married me
But I have forsaken my kings daughter there
Its all for the love of thee
Well, if you could have married a kings daughter there
Im sure youre the one to blame
For I am married to a house carpenter
And Im sure hes a fine young man
Forsake, forsake your house carpenter
And come away with me
Ill take you where the green grass grows
On the shores of sunny italy
So up she picked her babies three
And gave them kisses, one, two, three
Saying take good care of your daddy while Im gone
And keep him good company.
Well, they were sailin about two weeks
Im sure it was not three
When the younger of the girls, she came on deck
Sayin she wants company
Well, are you weepin for your house and home?
Or are you weepin for your babies three?
Well, Im not weepin for my house carpenter
Im weepin for my babies three.
Oh what are those hills yonder, my love
They look as white as snow
Those are the hill of heaven, my love
You and Ill never know
Oh what are those hills yonder, my love
They look as dark as night
Those are the hills of hell-fire my love
Where you and I will unite
Oh twice around went the gallant ship
Im sure it was not three
When the ship all of a sudden, it sprung a leak
And it drifted to the bottom of the sea
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Quiz Poem
I arrived at the party:
a) in my innocent night white dress
b) to deny the rumor I heard, moi a little nerd
c) in the hottest lingerie(God forbid all the guys to be gay)
d) with a ray of mum's perfume: the play of day, the day of smell,
the smell of grass, the grass of green yard behind my house,
the house of my home had a dome of flowers, flowers of her mouth
Everybody looked:
a) at me
b) in tune with Prodigy, jolly, junky
c) not as sad as the girl who said:
, , his ex is still his best sex on X'
d) strange sensations seeped in my mouth,
sour as wine, never drank by my dad, violet-red, as my doll's hair,
her thighs, eyes, curls, hushed the fairest hair.
I went to the bar:
a) though a little bit tipsy
b) hoping the barman would imagine me nude
c) because my boyfriend told me not to
d) to hide beneath the wooden warmth
that wantonly hailed childhood, up the hill, the lively spots of fields
and sticks in the ray, hidden prey, grandma whispering won't you
I left:
a) untouched & chaste
b) in the morning, unable to walk
c) there being no talk, but a hand around my waist
d) and left them, unmelted on the purple rag,
green leaves his palms hollow, moist lens,
the softest cream of farewells…
poem by Afrodita Nikolova
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Lavender Hill
I want to walk eternity,
In through the land of make believe.
And watch the clouds roll over me,
And let the sun shine down on me.
The only place that I wanna be,
Lavender hill for me.
Wish I could live on sugar and milk,
Then I could live on lavender hill.
Then I could raise my head to the sky,
And let the sun saturate me with love.
I wanna walk you up lavender hill,
Everybody loves lavender hill.
Even the bird that sits in the tree,
Seems to sing sweet melodies.
Even the breeze is whispering,
Lavender hill for me.
While people eat their biscuits with tea,
They dream of daffodils that sway in the breeze.
And every sunday afternoon,
Tidy ladies shine their shoes.
And every little lady dreams,
Lavender memories.
Lavender hill for me.
Lavender hill for me.
I wanna walk you up lavender hill.
I wanna walk you up lavender hill.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Broadford Bazaar
Dirty white caravans down our road, sailing.
Vivas, cortinas, weaving in their wake.
With hot, red-faced drivers, horns flattened, fists whaling,
Putting trust in blind corners as they overtake.
And its ''all come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the back of your new motor-car.
Theres home-dyed woolens, and wee plastic [cuillins]
[blessed? ] [cuchulains? ]
[cuchulain == mythical irish hero --- wee plastic cuchulains? ]
[[email protected] (jo lobb) explains: broadford is a town on
Skye (where the road that passes dun ringill leaves the main
Road, incidentally) and skyes famous cuillin hills are nearby.
I suppose tourists could be expected to buy wee plastic models
Of spectacular hills .... also, the cuillin hills are ''also
Known as the coolins or cuchullins, possibly after an ossianic
Hero..., so maybe wee plastic model heroes do make sense, after
All.]
The day of the broadford bazaar.
Out of the north, no oil-rigs are drifting.
And jobs for the many are down to the few.
Blue-bottle choppers, they visit no longer.
Like flies to the jampots, they were just passing through.
And its ''all come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the back of your new motor-car
Where once stood oil-rigs so phallic
Theres only swear-words in gaelic
To say at the broadford bazaar.
All kinds of people come down for the opening.
Crofters and cottiers, white [wild? ] settlers galore.
[crofter == farmer renting land]
[cottier == farmer renting land]
And up on the hill, theres an old sheep thats dying,
But it had two new lambs born just a fortnight before.
And its ''all come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the back of your new motor-car.
Well take pounds, francs and dollars from the well-heeled,
And stamps from the green shield.
The day of the broadford bazaar.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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