Days of Purple Haze
In the month of April they arrive
Across fields they glide and dive
Thousands of insects they devour
Day after day, hour after hour
To and fro in the sky, they soar in hoards
They nest in communal houses and gourds
Their young they hatch and raise
All summer long they hunt under the sun’s blaze
Farmers best friends
Till the growing season ends
In August, millions gather from all the east coast
NJ’s Maurice River marsh is their host
At sunset birders come to see the sight
Of millions of swallows on homeward flight
Now overhead across the evening sky
We watch the birds and say Good Bye
Their long journey south they are startin’
Such is the life of the Purple Martin
poem by Nancy Chambers
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Related quotes
Millions of water drops
drops of water
millions of drops
Falling down the rocks
Millions of water drops
Glittering in the sun
Shining like pearls
Millions of water drops
Ending as a river
Finding way to ocean
Millions of water drops
Creating childrens happiness
Laughter and joyfullness
Millions of water drops
Soon will tide reach
White long shores
Millions of water drops
Animating Waves
into forming caves
Millions of water drops
splittering from above
till reaching top of the hill
Millions of water drops
Without them no sound
No whispers of the living
Millions of water drops
Watch the clearness
From crest to earth
Millions of water drops
For tribe’s best
Beware of waste
Millions of water drops
Treasured should they be
As belonging to all humanity
(march 2008, Switzerland)
poem by Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
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Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter
Soft fluffy Snow fresh on frozen ground,
Green grass, and newly blue blooming buds bulging from all around,
Days becoming longer, heat growing stronger,
Birds and animals making their beautiful sounds.
Trees becoming bald and brittle,
Swaying in the wind like evil puppets,
Children dressed in creepy, costumes.
The feeling of death creeping over everyone.
Lying on a frozen landscape,
Looking up at the falling white oblivion,
Millions marching in all working together to drowned the green army,
Giving up and going dormant realizing there is no escape,
Plants and animals, wrapped, chained, and bound.
Every Year, season, month, week, day, hour, minute, second, leading into the next, all the way till that last tick on the clock, when my pulse goes numb and faith is lost in an endless internal dark void.
Stop! Go back!
Every year, season, month, week, day, hour, minute, second, I will get to spend with the most beautiful girl in the world! Beauty unimaginable. Every second, minute, hour, day, season, year, decade, century, spent happily with her till the day my pulse goes numb and I drift off into a bright, white, light for eternity with my sweet lover in my arms!
That's my life season by season, spent in happiness, bliss, and virtue forever and ever! Forever and always! And I wouldn't have it any other way.
poem by Jacob Gifford
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Waterloo Sunset
Dirty old river, must you keep rolling
Flowing into the night
People so busy, makes me feel dizzy
Taxi light shines so bright
But I don't need no friends
As long as I gaze on Waterloo sunset
I am in paradise
Every day I look at the world from my window
Chilly, chilly is the evening time
Waterloo sunset's fine
Terry meets Julie at Waterloo Station
Every Friday night
But I am so lazy, don't want to wander
I stay at home at night
But I don't feel afraid
As long as I gaze on Waterloo sunset
I am in paradise
Every day I look at the world from my window
Chilly, chilly is the evening time
Waterloo sunset's fine
Millions of people swarming like flies 'round Waterloo underground
But Terry and Julie cross over the river
Where they feel safe and sound
And they don't need no friends
As long as they gaze on Waterloo sunset
They are in paradise
Waterloo sunset's fine (Waterloo sunset's fine)
Waterloo sunset's fine (Waterloo sunset's fine)
Waterloo sunset's fine (Waterloo sunset's fine)
Waterloo sunset's fine
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A tale of summer
Swallows catch insects on the wing
In the early morning sun,
And a cuckoo calls to tell us
That the summer has now begun.
The flowering meadow comes alive
With butterflies and the sound of bees,
Cherry blossom showers down like confetti
Carried on the summer breeze.
Swift and house martins arrive back from afar
Making a welcome sight,
And a nightingale sings on a summer evening
And on into the night.
The sweet smell of honeysuckle
Fills the evening air,
While fox cubs play on the edge of a coppice
The beauty of summer is everywhere.
A skylark sings high above
Fields of barley corn and wheat,
While on the lake swans with thier cygnets
Make the summer complete.
poem by Gordon Butchers
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Hidden watcher. For M'; lady Francesca
Hidden watcher.
The salt marsh stretches endlessly
and forms a perfect habitat
Where migrant birds nest in safety
to brood and raise a family.
Few hunters ever venture here,
because they fear the boggy ground
That’s noted for its treachery.
So most prefer to hunt elsewhere.
Bird watchers come the whole year round.
They only shoot with cameras
and they avoid the boggy ground
They know that rare birds can be found.
In the salt marsh beside the sea.
It is a twitcher’s paradise
They record meticulously
each and every bird they see
The salt marsh lies beside the sea.
As it has done since time began.
A panorama of rare beauty
That is changing constantly.
It changes as the seasons change.
I does not stay the same for long.
Nature can and does rearrange
to make the landscape look quite strange.
An eerie place and frightening
when covered by a dense sea fret.
When you can see and hear nothing
above the roar of waves breaking.
There’s nowhere I’d prefer to be
Than esconced in my favourite hide.
To watch the birds in secrecy
I can see them They can’t see me.
Sunday,15 August 2010.
Http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Gliding In The Air
A bird is wrestling the wind with its feathers,
Even then the flight is smooth, as smooth as the air.
Best of the eagles are against the flight of others,
Eventually they look like a mouth, as smooth as the air.
A strange spectacle has been captured in the rain,
After a bird, not reptile, does fly south, as smooth as the air.
When strangers bespeak a multifarious journey through the air,
I gather it is more than just levitation or youth, as smooth as the air.
I love the young journey to the east,
A happy rhythm up north, as smooth as the air.
Why do we hesitate to look powerful?
When we glide in the sky, as smooth as the air.
poem by Naveed Akram
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In July Far away
The pleasant natural aroma of meadows mown for silage or hay
Come wafting to my memory from places far away
And the sun at intervals shines through the gray clouds of the sky
And cattle in lush fields chew their cuds at ease in the warmth of July
Young birds chirping in the hedgerows near where the stream goes babbling by
And dark winged swallows chasing flying insects above the valley fly
It does not seem that long ago or a long gone yesterday
Since I walked in the old grassy fields in July far away
In the knee high rushes hidden from view the male pheasant cuck and crow
And dipper the dark brown river bird with breast as white as snow
Is singing in the babbling stream that flows down from the lake
His scratchy notes familiar once heard one cannot mistake
And white butterflies flitting in the breeze make for a pretty sight
Above the wildflowers in the fields in the Summer sunlight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Eagle Spirit
eagles soar
on high thermals
fly through
such wonderous
freeborn skies
a multiversality
kaleidoscopic
sensual
spiritual
ever changing
seasons
nest on highest
most noble
sun eclipsed
inaccessible crags
or vibrant
living temples
trees raising
towards heaven
growing upwards
into host life
giving light
range soar
across desolate
canyons
holy places
where Native
Americans
built pueblo
adobe houses
care houses
upon spiritual
sun paths...
piercingly
beautiful
sky images
celebrating
auras
earth heat
thermal
energy fields
keen eyes
pierce heat
waves
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
The four individual elements of this mosaic concept are also posted separately as the poem ‘Eagles Soar On High Thermals’, ‘Eagle Eyries’, ‘Eagle Flight’ and ‘Eagle Sight’.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Swallows
AH! swallows, is it so?
Did loving lingering summer, whose slow pace
Tarried among late blossoms, loth to go,
Gather the darkening cloud-wraps round her face
And weep herself away in last week's rain?
Can no new sunlight waken her again?
'Yes,' one pale rose a-blow
Has answered from the trellised lane;
The flickering swallows answer 'No.'
From out the dim grey sky
The arrowy swarm breaks forth and specks the air,
While, one by one, birds wheel and float and fly,
And now are gone, then suddenly are there;
Till lo, the heavens are empty of them all.
Oh, fly, fly south, from leaves that fade and fall,
From shivering flowers that die;
Free swallows, fly from winter's thrall,
Ye who can give the gloom good-bye.
But what for us who stay
To hear the winds and watch the boughs grow black,
And in the soddened mornings, day by day,
Count what lost sweets bestrew the nightly track
Of frost-foot winter trampling towards his throne?
Swallows, who have the sunlight for your own,
Fly on your sunward way;
For you has January buds new blown,
For us the snows and gloom and grey.
On, on, beyond our reach,
Swallows, with but your longing for a guide:
Let the hills rise, let the waves tear the beach,
Ye will not balk your course nor turn aside,
But find the palms and twitter in the sun.
And well for them whose eager wings have won
The longed for goal of flight;
But what of them in twilights dun
Who long, but have no wings for flight?
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Swallows in the summertime
Swallows in the summertime
The swallows have returned again,
Reminding me of those halcyon days of my youth,
Many years have passed since those blissful days,
I would spend many happy evenings watch them dart around.
The swallows always return each summer,
Spreading their joyful wings over England's green and pleasant land,
Every summer I wonder how many more times will I see the return,
Although it's summer again, I ‘am approaching the winter of my life.
When the swallows return again next year again,
I wonder if I will still be here to see them again,
Flying on the wing under the clear blue skies of summer,
If I ‘am, I will sit by the babbling brook and watch their dance once more.
If I see the swallows return once more,
I will remember those summer days of long ago,
When I was a lad and the countryside seemed to go on forever,
And in my mind I will be young again.
By Christopher Tye
poem by Christopher Tye
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Midsummer's day
Fairies' power is its strongest,
When the day is at its longest,
Around the flames of a bonfire,
The night's magic will transpire,
Our thanks gets given to the sun,
Before long summer will be done,
Long summer days we will soon miss,
Sunlight ebbs past the summer solstice,
Once the sun appears in the East,
It's time to ready for a feast,
Stay out long into the evening,
There's festivities and dancing,
Spent within the warm evening air,
There are smiles to share everywhere,
It's light close to the midnight hour,
Making shine many a flower.
poem by Christian Lacdael
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April Again
April again! the willow wands are yellow
Rose-red the brambles that the passing wind knows,
Comes a robin's note like the note of a 'cello,
And across the valley, the calling of the crows,-
'April again!'
April again! and the marsh birds swinging
Over the rushes that belong to yester-year;
Silver shines the river, and young lips are singing
Songs as old as Eden-as old and as dear;
'April again!'
April again! with a wet wind blowing,
And along the western sky a pathway of gold;
Sounds a call to follow the road we're not knowing,
A new road-a wild road-o'er fairy lands unrolled,-
'April again!'
April again! with its wonder of gladness,
April with its haunting joy, and swift-stinging tears,-
Month of mist and music, and the old moon-madness,
Month of magic fluting, the spirit only hears,-
'April again!'
poem by Virna Sheard
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The Lost Statesman
AS they who, tossing midst the storm at night,
While turning shoreward, where a beacon shone,
Meet the walled blackness of the heaven alone,
So, on the turbulent waves of party tossed,
In gloom and tempest, men have seen thy light
Quenched in the darkness. At thy hour of noon,
While life was pleasant to thy undimmed sight,
And, day by day, within thy spirit grew
A holier hope than young Ambition knew,
As through thy rural quiet, not in vain,
Pierced the sharp thrill of Freedom's cry of pain,
Man of the millions, thou art lost too soon!
Portents at which the bravest stand aghast, —
The birth-throes of a Future, strange and vast,
Alarm the land; yet thou, so wise and strong,
Suddenly summoned to the burial bed,
Lapped in its slumbers deep and ever long,
Hear'st not the tumult surging overhead.
Who now shall rally Freedom's scattering host?
Who wear the mantle of the leader lost?
Who stay the march of slavery? He whose voice
Hath called thee from thy task-field shall not lack
Yet bolder champions, to beat bravely back
The wrong which, through his poor ones, reaches Him:
Yet firmer hands shall Freedom's torchlights trim,
And wave them high across the abysmal black,
Till bound, dumb millions there shall see them and rejoice.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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As Long As...
As long as their is water in ocean, as long as their is brightnes in sun, as long as moon brighting the night, as long as millions of birds cannot overshadow the brightness of d sky, as long as their is beauty in nature, as long as their is colour in rainbow, as long as their is not limit to the sky, as long as days follow the nite, as long as sunset is pretty, as long as diamon is to be precious, as long as secret are to heart, as long as pictures are meant for memories, as long as human are meant to be born, to live and die! my love for you will never die, my fillings for you will never fade, as long as i'm still breathing, i can never stop loving you.
poem by Tijani Adebowale Destiny
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Lunch Break: Peak Hour
I see it all through my window it seems
Never failing like millions of bees
All that is wrong
No time will be won
All they need to do-o-o-o
What can be done?
Peak hour, peak hour, peak hour
Minds are subject to what should be done
Problem solved, time cannot be won
One hour a day
One hour at night
Sees crowds of people
All meant for flight
Peak hour, peak hour, peak hour
It makes me want to run out and tell them
Theyve got time
Take a step back out
And look in at their debt
And their time
Minds are subject to what should be done
Problem solved, time cannot be won
One hour a day
One hour at night
Sees crowds of people
All meant for flight
Peak hour, peak hour, peak hour
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Waterloo Sunset
Dirty old river, must you keep rolling
Flowing into the night
People so busy, makes me feel dizzy
Taxi light shines so bright
But I dont need no friends
As long as I gaze on waterloo sunset
I am in paradise
Every day I look at the world from my window
But chilly, chilly is the evening time
Waterloo sunsets fine
Terry meets julie, waterloo station
Every friday night
But I am so lazy, dont want to wander
I stay at home at night
But I dont feel afraid
As long as I gaze on waterloo sunset
I am in paradise
Every day I look at the world from my window
But chilly, chilly is the evening time
Waterloo sunsets fine
Millions of people swarming like flies round waterloo underground
But terry and julie cross over the river
Where they feel safe and sound
And the dont need no friends
As long as they gaze on waterloo sunset
They are in paradise
Waterloo sunsets fine
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why the silence?
Why the silence? Is it the hour of sunset?
Or the eyes may straggle and it's the hour of dreams
Or the mind may have been displaced and it's hour of reflections
Or the heart has been busy and it's hour of the groans
Why the silence? Is it the hour of sunset?
Or the words have got lost in the midst of ideas
Or silence now become the language of the times
Or the tongue tie with a sunset
Why the silence? Is it the hour of sunset?
Or now no need for my presence
Or now I am a hidden friend
Or now I am not who I was
Why the silence? Is it the hour of sunset?
Or... And the story continue silently
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
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Few Can Resist The Autumn
Few can resist the Autumn.
And...
This season with changes upon them.
Few can resist,
The picturesqueness...
Of the Autumn.
With the color of the leaves turning bright,
To their delight.
Red and yellow with orange in sight.
From Sunrise until twilight.
Few can resist the Autumn,
When...
Autumn falls.
And...
Few can resist the Autumn,
When...
Autumn calls.
And the East Coast comes to host,
Them all...
Winter, Spring, Summer and again the Fall.
Few can resist the Autumn.
Hoping that Summer stalls.
Few can resist the Autumn.
Few can resist the Autumn.
Hoping that Summer stalls.
Few can resist the Autumn.
And the East Coast comes to host,
Them all...
Winter, Spring, Summer and again the Fall.
Few can resist,
The picturesqueness...
None at all.
Few can resist the Autumn.
Hoping that Summer stalls.
Few can resist the Autumn.
None at all.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sarah In The Summer
Ive driven this road as a stranger
Ive driven this road as a friend
Ive driven this road as a slack-jawed tourist
And Im drivin on it once again
It might be cold and long and lonely
But shes waiting on the other side
And Im an hour closer to sarah in the summer
And joyfully I ride.
I climb through georgetown, silver plume
The tunnel at lovelands cove/cold?
The lake on the left is a little low
Route 9 is the breckenridge road? ?
Theres a sign right below copper mountain
Telling wheter independence runs free/where the weather & independence run free
And Im an hour closer to sarah in the summer
And thats where I wanna be
In the evening shadow of red butte
Up the lane from the slaughter house bridge
The first cabin the moonlight strikes as it crests the cleft in hunter crick ridge
Up frombetween old red and smuggler
Rising high on a piano bench there
And Im an hour closer to sarah in the summer
And what lies between beware
What lies between, beware
And the red sandstone sentinels rising high on either side
As I follow the eagle valley
Through the canyon where the saints reside
In mt snowmasss majesty south
And east out of glennwood springs
And Im an hour closer to sarah in the summer
Where the roaring river sings
Where the roaring river sings.
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Peak Hour
I see it all through my window it seems.
Never failing, like millions of eels.
All that is wrong,
No time to be won.
Only to do
What can be done.
Peak hour,
Peak hour,
Peak hour.
Minds are subject to what should be done.
Problem solved, time cannot be won.
One hour a day,
One hour a night
Sees crowds of people
Home-aimed for flight.
Peak hour,
Peak hour,
Peak hour.
It makes me want to run out and tell them
They've got time.
Take a step back out and warn them
I've found out I've got time.
Minds are subject to what should be done.
Problem solved, time cannot be won.
One hour a day,
One hour a night
Sees crowds of people
Home-aimed for flight.
Peak hour,
Peak hour,
Peak hour.
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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