Ice Cut In The Air
Ice cut in the air
Where dried out stalks
Stick through
Boone Pond.
Cattail’s long, green,
Knife-edge leaves
Bends three feet
With wind.
Shaken pads fold
Dried rust color
Locust leaves like bells.
Frog jump
As I approach.
Hand size turtles
Warm themselves
At bank’s end.
Shells of mallard eggs
Grinned into the soil.
poem by David E. Patton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Turtles And Rabbits
for my sweet memories i like them to be turtles
i like them move so slow
as i recall them, i like them to linger
like soft fingers caressing the
cotton fields of my mind
for the bitter ones, i like them to be rabbits
i like them to jump away from me
i do not like them to pester me like a flea
i want them to be doves i like them to fly away
i do not want them to have a home
i like them to be rivers to flow into the sea
i like them all gone
to the bottom
i like them
rot in the ground, i like them dead
and then forgotten
i think, i am feeling better now
with turtles swiming in a pond
with green leaves on my bed
with rose petals on my head
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Facial Expression Redefining the Meaning of Love
Love
Like a raisin
Dried in the sun,
Hardened by time,
Sweet to a choke.
The difference
Between a grape
And its transform:
Liquidity.
Rape the juice
From a ripe grape,
You get extract
In solid form.
Sun toughens life,
Dehydrates cells,
Leaves leaves lacking
Cracking color.
Wrinkles written
On a surface
Rough of desire,
Size down to daunt.
It once ago
Was, no longer
Is its old self,
Just a raisin:
A sweet re-treat!
Contrary Theses (II)
One chemical afternoon in mid-autumn,
When the grand mechanics of earth and sky were near;
Even the leaves of the locust were yellow then,
He walked with his year-old boy on his shoulder.
The sun shone and the dog barked and the baby slept.
The leaves, even of the locust, the green locust.
He wanted and looked for a final refuge,
From the bombastic intimations of winter
And the martyrs a la mode. He walked toward
An abstract, of which the sun, the dog, the boy
Were contours. Cold was chilling the wide-moving swans.
The leaves were falling like notes from a piano.
The abstract was suddenly there and gone again.
The negroes were playing football in the park.
The abstract that he saw, like the locust-leaves, plainly:
The premiss from which all things were conclusions,
The noble, Alexandrine verve. The flies
And the bees still sought the chrysanthemums’ odor.
poem by Wallace Stevens
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linger
Have a walk my dear
I encourage you
Just beyond and into the shade purple
Under my sunset into a yawning moment
When your eyes are dried
you will hold close inside my heart
until the last thought
You remember me
More than this
Take apart and then relinquish
as I catch you in thoughts
under every sunset fragrance
In love in shadows of lavender familiar
long, narrow, pale-green eyes
in leaves and purple flowers mine
When dried, they keep their fragrance
leisurely, lingering of reluctance
for a long, long time.
poem by Joseph Nez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Leaves That Are Green
I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song
I'm twenty-two now but I won't be for long
Time hurries on
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither in the wind
And they crumble in your hand
Once my heart was filled with the love of a girl
I held her close but she faded in the night
Like a poem I meant to write
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither in the wind
And they crumble in your hand
I threw a pebble in a brook
And watched the ripple run away
And they never made a sound
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither in the wind
And they crumble in your hand
Hello, hello, hello, hello
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
That's all there is
And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither in the wind
And they crumble in your hand
song performed by by Simon & Garfunkel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A blooming flower without Petal
all come to whisper the perfume of sweet
fume dried like dune in the wind of the sun,
where all the raindropp falls into the ground of
waited wasted land; pasteurized in the moist
of sweeten halos of welcome
dried in the wind and capture the dew of the
morning midst; a no where to run but shadow
of the solid ground of strength, the wall behind
the lovely Daffodils in the oasis of truth; and
as it find the flavor of hope
scent the soft melody of the past and ring all
the bells that welcome the day of your forever
with me, the leaves kiss no more in the garden
of yesterday a honey comb of my stay; beats all
that step in the knocking door of where i will
always be true to what you say, thank you
find my dear heart, the flowers begins to bloom,
and the petal, never be gone in your memory it
will be done, let me wait until, my last touch in
your dried hand, and i will be lost forever in your
wishing dream
hold me not in your dreamy heart, bloom the
golden petal in the meadow of everlasting heart in
your wonderful hand, the palm of where i always
remember your memory, oh! my dream, as i stay
with you dear
i leave no regret and find my trouble heart no
more, for my hand is to cool to hold your stay....
poem by Antonio Liao
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Frog Prince
look at the frog so small and cute
top to tail in his green suite
never dry not always wet
every child wants one for a pet
only the newt for a friend
swim in the pond from end to end
deep under water breath held tight
look at him swim such a delight
hear him call all through the night
a prince in waiting a king by right
leaping high jumping long
for his size he is so strong
from lilly pads he loves to hop
as he hits the water plip plip plop
see him catch the fly swallow swallow
with a blink of his eyes gobble gobble
look at the frog so small and cute
top to tail in his green suite
poem by John Mc Cudden
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Frog Logic
Tell me is it fun to go to the beach
When the sky is all sunny and blue
Or go for a ride on a bicycle
Like millions of people do
And what is more fun on a warm sunny day
Then a friendly romp with a dog
Well I really don't know cause all i've been told
Is, its jolly to be a frog
Well they tell me that fun is the color of red
And that dreams are all gold and blue
And of all the hours there are in a day
Each one is a different hue
But wherever I go or wherever i've been
It's always the same old scene
Cause being a frog makes it different you know
It's always the same old green
But with all of your worries and all of your cares
You keep running round in a fog
So, i'll stay in this pond and i'll tell the whole world
It's jolly to be frog!
Being Green
(joe raposo)
One day, as I was walking through my garden, I saw a little frog lying on the ground. and I thought he was sick. so I picked him up and he wasnt sick at all. he was very sad, and he was crying.
I said: whats a matter with you, little frog? and he looked up at me with a lump in his throat, and he said: wribbit!
It aint easy being green
Having to spend each day the color of the leaves
When I think, I think it would be nicer being red
Or yellow or gold
You see, it aint easy being green
It seems to blend in with so many other ordinary things
And then, sometimes, sometimes people pass over you
Because youre not standing out like sparkles on the water
Or like the stars in the sky
But did you know that green is the color of spring
And green can be big like an ocean
And important like a mountain
And cool and friendly-like
Or tall and skinny like a tree
And me
But when green is all there is to be
It kind of makes you wonder why
Why wonder, wonder why?
Hey, Im green and I think itll do fine
cause green is just what I wanna be
cause green is beautiful, baby
Right on green
And anyway, moneys green
Wribbit
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Green Leaves Come again
WHEN green leaves come again, my love,
When green leaves come again,--
Why put on such a cloudy face,
When green leaves come again?
'Ah, this spring will be like the last,
Of promise false and vain;
And summer die in winter's arms
Ere green leaves come again.
'So slip the seasons--and our lives;
'T is idle to complain:
But yet I sigh, I scarce know why,
When green leaves come again.'
Nay, lift up thankful eyes, my sweet!
Count equal, lost and gain:
Because, as long as the world lasts,
Green leaves will come again.
For, sure as earth lives under snows,
And Love lives under pain,
'T is good to sing with everything,
'When green leaves come again.'
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beauty of Spring
it starts with the grass
slowly, blade by blade
growing, sprouting, covering
while more beauty is made
the green of the grass
then the green of the trees
slowly, but early showing
the small but budding leaves
the early flowers
pouring color and beauty
a still bland land
but now with color to see
the birds coming back
with their squawks and their tweets
the bround growing warm
beneathe my bare feet
the bunnies and the squirrels
the turtles and the snakes
the fish swimming free
in the thawing lakes
the beauty of Spring
with new life all around!
the coming of pure beauty
with the thawing ground
poem by Kellsey Hartmann
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Autumn Leaves
I still hearken a little deep
from the rolled out time
the last song of cuckoo
humming through the hot winds.
The scents of last spring-flower
still drift through
my dried up nasal lanes.
Today walking silently
over the crackling autumn leaves
I rue for the withered
bed of roses that once paved my way
towards a breathing heaven of verve.
The parched earth and naked trees
stand before me
like fossils
of the deceased last spring.
The desiccated bed
of my garden-pond
it seems,
has no tears to shed
at her robbed off
once brimming water wealth.
Where are those bunnies
and little squirrels that sprinted,
rollicked and rocked
over my grassy lawn?
Where's grass?
Where's lawn?
Under the searing Sun
where are smiles, glee, bliss and prank?
The dead autumn leaves
under my feet
whispered in husky, crackling tones
the secret of seasons:
"We're dead...interred we reach soon
our mother roots' bed.
We'll sprout again
as leaves tender, sleek and charming...
no death to us...
no dearth
for green-green wealth.
Every autumn is followed
by a new spring.
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Benevolent Tears
Dark clouds scattered everywhere
Dried ponds, rivers, oceans
Par unquenched thirst of million birds, beasts, humans
Cannot bear the agony of nature
Thus a tribute to its melancholy pours down in torrents
Overfills everywhere
Green grass greets the grasshoppers
On green stalks fire red roses brightly dance
Green leaves attached to ripe yellow fruits
Hearts gladden, souls solace
The Descend of ecstasy, gaiety, charm
In the golden farms
The yellow light scattered everywhere
The air of fulfilment, solemnity, tranquility that's rare.
poem by Green Peace
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Travails of a Lab Attendant
I view
the homing Indian bull-frog
with pink thighs,
lying flat on the dissection table;
a flag pinned on it’s webbed hind foot,
says “Hoplobatrachus tigerinus”
the viscera looks
everything like the mangled cosmic whore
from the ancient gully I co-habited long ago.
I scoop the un-laid cluster of her eggs
and carefully mount
on the compound microscope
empowered with condenser lens,
the stage is prepared but
it takes time to focus a genuine specimen.
olive of color like a military strategist in uniform,
the frog missed her cue last evening
and fell into my ravenous net,
it’s the same frog, the consort’d escaped
by shrewdness of the sound of leaves
I trampled on;
I don’t study frogs
or animals for that matter
but animal psychology fascinates,
if not for the perverts of the curriculum
the pair would have had a long desirous night
which is what I keep thinking about,
I don’t do dirty things
like dissecting a frog
or check for the nuptial pads in their legs,
my occupation is to catch these obese models,
feed them for the night
and bring them to the lab,
today the lab is vacant, I capture
the mannerisms of the Prof,
it makes me feel good because he tips me well,
after twenty two minutes of screwing
the knob and the pipe up and down
I pull my eyes off in wetness,
the images of the eggs
stay in my vision
and throw up rapid flashes
of pictures of other female organs
hidden from the scrutiny of science
throbbing in silence.
Saranyan BV © Aug 2011
poem by Saranyan Bee
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Coyote and Frog (Native American)
Coyote and his friends walked to a pond
But found Frog and his clan now living there.
“This pond is small for all of us, ” Frog said.
“ Find water of your own. We cannot share.”
“If you will let us drink our fill and bathe,
I’ll get you a warm blanket and a blue stone
That’s bigger than your fist, ” Coyote offered.
When Frog agreed, Coyote went for them alone.
Frog took the gifts and led them to the pond.
Later as they left Frog laughed, “Good trade! ”
In fact, Coyote stole the gifts from Thunderbird,
Now furiously tracking prints the thief had made.
Coyote returned next day to find the Frog clan dead.
He took his people to the pond. “Good trade, ” he said.
poem by Chuck Toll
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Why Do I Write Such Silly Stuff?
the wind blows my window
i'ts near time to go
across the cold alley way
the dried leaves blow
outside every one's looking at me
but, their eyes look down; afraid to talk
is it them or me, my sanity or vanity
that makes them balk!
it's a San Francisco wind
blowing in
blowing the leaves around
i wanted to travel
but i'm locked in Chicago
with the Alburquerque blues
with all i have to lose
with the whole world from to choose
i'm back in my room, alone
with the any where i'm at, i'm still the same blues!
poem by Francis E.rudy
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Red Flower
you are a red flower
on red leaves
on red stalks
on red branches
on a red soil
fronting the
red mountains
and the red wind
you doubt
whether you have red eyes
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sleep, Then Awaken
When all the flowers have gone to sleep
my eyes will fill with sorrow.
When all the leaves have dried in fall
my eyes wait for tomorrow.
The cold of winter chills my bones
and brings dull pictures to see.
Stick-like forms like brittle bones
feel the chill like me.
Barren gardens devoid of color
await their chance to become
awakened in the month of May
with new flowers, one by one.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Basho's Predicament
old pond
dries up in long drought
skeletal frog
jump! jump!
if you can!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Road On The Other Side
first there is the glass jalousie window
misty, that is what they are,
no one opens it
but soon i will to see the bushes
and then beyond this is the road
a cemented road constructed by
a Korean Company
the name is Hanjen,
and then i hear two things
the thumps of a buffalo's feet
there are four
because it is tied to a big tree
and then the sounds of leaves falling
and this is a feat
of awareness
hearing the sound of the wind
interacting with the veins of the leaves
the stalks vibrating a sound
to the leaves
on the ground
the songs of the ants
love calls
of the robin on the twig of the gemelina tree
its roots slowly crawling
against the light
seeking refuge in the hollowness of the soil
hearing still the silence of the worms
asleep and full.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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