Fern
This feathered leaf must have fallen from the hand
of the woman who turned around to see
if her child had strayed too close to the slope
of the fuming mountain or the hunting birds,
and left her footprint in ash that hardened
to rock. A spray of seeds released that noon
remains in the thick air, and this gift:
a leaf trapped between layers of mud
that volcanic fire baked into stone:
drained of light and green, long spasm,
breath dusted with pollen, a net
of veins splayed on an altar
where the river turns in its sleep
and an old woman lights a lamp.
poem by Ranjit Hoskote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Clay Woman
Clay woman, baked too long
Stone cold, deep red, stand
Clay woman, heat too high,
Brittle with the remnant demand
Too long in the kiln
Not set at bake but sear
Scorched beauty remains,
But not a breath be near
Can't breathe too hard,
Clay woman may turn to dust
Can't look too long
For clay woman may combust,
And above all else,
Do not touch her heart,
Her back will break,
Her wounds will smart,
Clay woman, baked too long
All hope and joy abstains,
Clay woman, heat too high
Can my tears salvage my remains?
poem by Eowyn Aurora
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Relaxation Of A Native Woman
the night is very cold here
on top of Mt. Malindang
the old woman sits on the ground
(there are no chairs here)
puts her arm on her knee
and begins to roll a
leaf which she dried under
the sun the whole day
she tears a small portion of the tobacco leaf
rolls it on the other leaf and then she
lights the roll on the gas lamp
she puffs her smoke
to the moon.
everyone understands
what silence is all about
there are no more stories
from exhausted bodies
the souls are rested
on top of wilted grass
and then everybody is
fast asleep
for tomorrow's same work.
i am new here and i
am beginning to understand
what is this big mountain
all about?
why is it here
and why the people are not
at all complaining?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Woman Is Fire
There was a time when Woman went out of house, house of wax was left by Woman, Woman with waxen complexion I was, I was fiery Woman, Woman's body was a wax, Woman's eyes a flammable paraffin, what Woman's mouth was: withered red apples when Woman was fired out of house. House was invisible when Woman took a fire lamp and went to cheer in the smell of fallen apples, scattered around house, our moldy house. In the cold night Woman molded her body in a candle mould to revive old fire and saw Man that gathered apple stalks from moldy apple trees. It was a lonely man, Man that made a fire with waxed paper and moldering apple stalks. Man that sat outdoors on a moldy wooden bench by that fire and drunk applejack.
Woman saw Man, Man that felt Woman's looks through apple shaped embers bursting out of fire when wet apple leaves dried. Fire was a necessity for Man, for Man made his living being a fire-eater. The fire-eater wanted fire that gives birth, of fireworks, exploding fire. Man moved a long green apple stalk through fire to burn fire more. Man took a dropp and swallowed it. Man took another dropp and spat it into the fire. Suddenly Man realized what he needed and waxed on a piece of paper: fire must drink applejack for fire is becoming moldy, and he spat what he drunk mingled with apple-tasting spit. House is moldy too, Woman remembered and woman's heart became a rotten apple.. Fire was quenching as Woman closed her eyelids, apple peels, longing for house. House may be moldy, but house is not empty. Woman molded house the like, house full of candle lights and fireflies. Woman left Man's fire quenched and remained an apple scented candle. House melts easily and hardens quickly, Woman too. Woman abandoned Man not to be melt. That is old fire in Woman, as she stalks on apple waxed earth toward house.
poem by Afrodita Nikolova
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A Woman & A Man
I took a walk today
To where the ocean meets the sky
I thought about the way
They always say love never dies
And as the sun went down
I saw a lovers silhouette
A woman and a man
In a dance I envied them
I thought of you
I loved you so
I dont know why
I let you go
A woman and a man
A love so close
Walk hand in hand
While Im alone
A woman and a man
A love embrace
He turned his head
I saw his face
Could it be you
Yes, it was you
A woman and a man
I had to turn away
I hoped you wouldnt see me there
I thought about the way
You used to say I didnt care
And as you walked on by
I pulled my scarf across my face
And I began to cry
For all the love Id thrown away
But there you were
Like in a dream
You were with her
And not with me
A woman and a man
A love so close
Walk hand in hand
While Im alone
A woman and a man
A love embrace
He turned his head
I saw his face
Could it be you
Yes, it was you
A woman and a man
A woman and a man
A woman and a man
A woman and a man
We were so close. baby
Guess you never know
Just how precious love is
til youve had it and held it
And let it go
A woman and a man
A love so close
Walk hand in hand
While Im alone
A woman and a man
A love embrace
He turned his head
I saw his face
Could it be you
Yes, it was you
A woman and a man
A woman and a man
A woman and a man
A woman and a man
song performed by by Belinda Carlisle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Banaba Leaf
this banaba leaf falls from its branch
a child gathers it
and hands it to me
and i keep it
on top of my study
each day i look at it
like it is something so different
from the rest of the leaves
time shrinks it
time browns it
until its cells begin
to show its veins
until it turns to thread
crumpled pieces
until it turns to dust
until it becomes like the sands
of the shore
nothing lasts
in such a short time
the leaf returns to ash
on its last day
i gather what remains are there
on my palm
outside i sprinkle the leaf that
returns to dust
to air back to the empty space
back to the nothingness
our place of final destination
the world is hungry for this
dusts and sands
death to everything living
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Envy....
the woman
undresses herself
like a river
the man
falls like a leaf
and floats there
and then the river
foams
and the leaf
flows with the
river
and then
the moon fades
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Globule on the Colocasia Leaf
All unite, then one remains,
And now it vibrates
On the colocasia leaf
In the light noon wind.
It’s serene soon, and spreads a
Rainbow on the leaf
In the light sunshine.
It’s a tiny spectrum, which
Sparkles and fades as the
Sun rays come and go.
It’s a transient miracle, which
None can put on the palm
Without losing it’s splendour.
It’s the purest rain globule,
On the colocasia leaf,
Like a thought drop, which
None can put on the palm
poem by Fabiyas M V
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heart Turns To Stone
The days and nights you sit around wondering where can
She be
Hoping that she might appear, out of nowhere
But you fail to see
All the hurt inside, the wounded pride
Ooh what she went through for you
You cheated and lied, as her love slowly died
And her heart just broke in two
When she was with you, all along
Behind you right or wrong
She tried to hold on, hold on
But you went too far, and shes gone
And now its over and her heart turns to stone
No time for pity, when her heart turns to stone
She cries a little as her heart turns to stone
Shes that kind of woman
Shell do fine on her own
What you thought was a game
A game you were winning
Wouldnt go your way
Now youve lost what you had
And your back to the beginning
Its the price you have to pay
When she was with you, all along
Behind you right or wrong
She tried to hold on, hold on
But you went too far, and shes gone
And now its over and her heart turns to stone
No time for pity, when her heart turns to stone
She cries a little as her heart turns to stone
Shes that kind of woman
Shell get by on her own
She hides the pain
But her heart turns to stone
No time for pity
When her heart turns to stone
She cries sometimes
As her heart turns to stone
Shes that kind of woman
Shell get by on her own
Yeah its over
And her heart turns to stone
Dont look for pity now
When her heart turns to stone
Listen to her cry
Listen to her cry
Shes a woman now
Ooh its a sad thing to see
To see a heart turn to stone
The heart of a woman
A heart turned to stone
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Caterpillar
Under this loop of honeysuckle,
A creeping, coloured caterpillar,
I gnaw the fresh green hawthorn spray,
I nibble it leaf by leaf away.
Down beneath grow dandelions,
Daisies, old-man’s-looking-glasses;
Rooks flap croaking across the lane.
I eat and swallow and eat again.
Here come raindrops helter-skelter;
I munch and nibble unregarding:
Hawthorn leaves are juicy and firm.
I’ll mind my business: I’m a good worm.
When I’m old, tired, melancholy,
I’ll build a leaf-green mausoleum
Close by, here on this lovely spray,
And die and dream the ages away.
Some say worms win resurrection,
With white wings beating flitter-flutter,
But wings or a sound sleep, why should I care?
Either way I’ll miss my share.
Under this loop of honeysuckle,
A hungry, hairy caterpillar,
I crawl on my high and swinging seat,
And eat, eat, eat—as one ought to eat.
poem by Robert Graves
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A Second Spring
The dew indiscriminately
wept for all things living and dead
on this early autumn morning.
Its cold droplets caressed the leaves
while lingering sap-starved leaf stems
clung precariously above
and each dying leaf shed teardrops
for and onto their fallen kind.
One by one they released their hold
falling silently, gracefully
in their final unique fashion:
Some swayed. Others pirouetted;
and many more, somersaulting
into their final resting place.
Sunbeams from an October star
spilt rippling puddles of warm light
on their multicolored remains
amid the vibrant wildflowers.
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
Albert Camus
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Fading Shades of Gray
An autumn leaf descends toward a fire—
Slowly, like a feather in the soft wind.
Dehydrated, its orange body is crisp
And brittle enough to crumble in hand.
In the past few weeks, the branches above
Have grown barren—so quickly they have thinned—
And the brisk air has become harsh and cold
As if to say nature's warmth must expire.
What was once green covers in the thick smoke
That pillows up from the crackling land.
The smolder of time takes each fading shade.
Orange becomes red and black edges expand
‘Til the veins flow gray. The leaf, ashen-skinned,
Becomes the dust of seasons to transpire.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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She Is A Woman!
Woman is made great in gentleness
Woman is tender and soft in her acts
Woman speaks with deep sincerities
Woman expresses herself in kind ways
Woman assures everything is alright when it is not
Woman stands for her poise though there is doubt
Woman loves passionately like there is no end to it
Woman comforts even when a situation turns worst
Woman always stood for her precious
Woman always choose to be generous
Woman never point fingers at her betrayer
Woman never says no to a pleading stranger
She is a woman who remains anonymous
She is a woman who is indeed magnanimous!
poem by Jeline Loh
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Child Woman, Woman Child
Orbison/dees
Coo coo, thats you, wonder why I love you, you do voodoo, thunder clouds above you
Crazy, kooky, lazy spooky, oh what a clown, always around
And I have found youre a woman. child woman. woman child
Long legged woman when I see you walking you look good
Hey little woman when I hear you talking you sound good
Child woman, woman child youre driving me wild child woman woman child
Youre into my mind then youre out of my mind child woman
You wind and unwind my mind, time after time child woman ooh child woman, yeah child woman
Flying uptight, dont know where youre going, trying your kite when the wind is blowing
Funny lady, sunny, shady off to the fair, sun in your hair
Oh, youre aware youre a woman child woman, woman child
Strong minded woman when you start groovin you look fine
My kind of woman when you start movin you look fine
Child woman, woman child youre driving me wild child woman woman child
I dont see you there, I see you everywhere child woman
I dont even care -yes, I really do care child woman, ooh child woman,
Hey child woman child woman, woman child
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Leaf
to a non-poet a leaf is just a leaf
and when it falls
on the ground, there is nothing but a
fall
but to us who claim this art
a leaf is not just a leaf
but it can be you or i
falling and when i reach the ground
you feel the heart of the leaf
beating
for its falling, its failure as a leaf,
its surrender to a certain death
its claiming a portion of this earth
to rest and be part of this
world, it rots, and it speaks some line
before it rots
a poem, a valediction on an anthill,
an eulogy of the other leaves that
fell before the great falling
it can be a story of humanity written
on the lines of its face, it will have flesh
on its layers, some mouths on its
seams, and it will tell too
about the tree where it comes from
how the clouds drifted so close to its stalk
how the sun kissed it on top of everything
a leaf is a world. just as a poem is.
we live inside it. Through it. Even
outside it. Even in circles.
we make understanding so complicated.
yet we are so simple as you see us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A New leaf
There’s a new leaf upon the Tree
A thousand, thousand have been before
In the life of this great tree
Yet, the Tree rejoices, and is glad
For there is a New Leaf upon the tree
The roots are deep, and hidden
Tis one tree from root to branch
And lives in and through each leaf
The hearts’ smile resurrected
Through the New leaf upon the tree
Like the stars of heaven
New leaves have been many
And so they all are One
For they all share the same root
Bless the New leaf upon the tree
Perfection in the Blessing
Joy released in tears of love
The strength in life will comfort
From root to God above
A New leaf upon the tree
Beauty, Truth, and life
Complete from root to branch
When life’s cycle turns
Leaves fall to nourish roots
And behold, a New leaf upon the tree
poem by Adrian Wait
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June Sick Room
The birds' shrill fluting
Beats on the pink blind,
Pierces the pink blind
At whose edge fumble the sun's
Fingers till one obtrudes
And stirs the thick motes.
The room is a close box of pink warmth.
The minutes click.
A man picks across the street
With a metal-pointed stick.
Three clocks drop each twelve pennies
On the drom of noon.
The birds end.
A child's cry pricks the hush.
The wind plucks at a leaf.
The birds rebegin.
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unfolding!
listen!
in every voice
something familiar!
in every face
something that
reminds you...
in every flower
that blooms.
in every cloud,
in every leaf
blowing in the wind.
in every child
that's born...
in every old person
that you bury.
in every man
working with his hands.
in every woman
raising her children.
in every mountain
standing silent...
in every river
flowing free...
the song of living,
the dance of darkness
and light....
the universe unfolding
in your hands!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Oral Poetry
my tongue searches
through the layers of petals,
each curve on the way down;
knowing each cosmos,
and the depth of forever,
coming back to the mouth
of the river again...
lighting the fire,
rubbing sticks together....
till it bursts in flame,
and consumes the darkness...
then slowly bathing
the child, and the old woman...
the poetry of my hunger
screams through your veins!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In spring and summer winds may blow
In spring and summer winds may blow,
And rains fall after, hard and fast;
The tender leaves, if beaten low,
Shine but the more for shower and blast
But when their fated hour arrives,
When reapers long have left the field,
When maidens rifle turn'd-up hives,
And their last juice fresh apples yield,
A leaf perhaps may still remain
Upon some solitary tree,
Spite of the wind and of the rain . . .
A thing you heed not if you see.
At last it falls. Who cares? Not one:
And yet no power on earth can ever
Replace the fallen leaf upon
Its spray, so easy to dissever.
If such be love, I dare not say.
Friendship is such, too well I know:
I have enjoyed my summer day;
'Tis past; my leaf now lies below.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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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
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