En.Citatepedia^®.ro

In October (from Coradoba)

In October
Sweet love was in
With the moon in blue
And turning shadows

My window
Kept the cold outside
Of nearly frost earth
And shivering leaves

The birds have flown
To somewhere
And the bare branches
Are longing for next spring

poem by Peter S. Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Seasons

Spring, a symbol of rebirth
Starting another season on earth
New buds open to the sun
Now the spring has begun.

Summer once again is here
Sky is wonderful blue and clear
Growths of colour on display
That's a lovely summers day.

Autumn leaves go blowing by
Lifting high up to the sky
Soon they scatter without sound
Gently cascading to the ground.

Winter comes around with branches bare
A spiders web in the suns pale glare
Frost so cold that it burns
Awaiting 'till the spring returns.

Every season a different thing
Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring
Cut the grass, shovel the snow
Or bake in the sun 'till you glow.

© Hazel 2010

poem by Hazel Connelly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XVIII

HE LAMENTS THAT HIS LOVE IS DEAD
My love is dead, dead and in spite of me,--
Dead while I lived,--while yet my blood was rife
With hope and pleasure and the pride of life.
For my love ended unexpectedly
During the Winter, stricken like a tree
By a night's cold, and frozen to the blood,
Whose leaves fell off and never were renewed
By any promise of the years to be.
And, when the Spring came, and the birds, to mate
Among its branches, lo! they found it bare,
Though all around was Summer in the wood.
Yet they took heart awhile, incredulous
That such a tree should be for ever dead.
``'Tis early yet,'' they cried. ``The Spring is late.
It shall still be as in the days that were.''
But Summer came and went while the tree stood
Bare in the sun like a deserted house.
--Then the birds suddenly despaired and fled.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

January Morn

Bare branches of each tree
on this chilly January morn
look so cold so forlorn.
Gray skies dip ever so low
left from yesterday's dusting of snow.
Yet in the heart of each tree
waiting for each who wait to see
new life as warm sun and breeze will blow,
like magic, unlock springs sap to flow,
buds, new leaves, then blooms will grow. Like heart and soul in every man
who let their light grow ever dim
a spark still burns low within
longing to burst forth, to shine again.
Like bare branches on a January morn
don't feel cold don't feel forlorn.
Our Heavenly Father like warm spring sun
like gentle warm wind
when called upon
will make each light burn bright again.

poem by Nelda Hartman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Powdered Kaolin

Autumn’s closing in now,
leaves have dressed the ground.
Laying in heaped profusion,
so still, making no sound.

Reds and rusts are mingling,
beneath each skeletal tree.
Tumbling when the breezes blow,
off on their reckless spree.

Misty are the mornings,
bad weather’s moving in.
Frost will appear on branches,
like powdered kaolin.

October, then November,
Summer is no longer here,
Chilly days are approaching,
the last leaves disappear.

Autumn’s closing in now,
with blustery winds so cold.
But, whatever Winter brings,
Spring will again unfold.

poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sweet Fall

The leaves have already grown back
now that november is gone
The sweet november i met you
months go by and we grow farther apart
The cool gentle breeze blowing in my face
and now a lukewarm summers embrace
but as the seasons change so do we
not tied back, but not necassarily free
that sweet october
how sweet and kind it was
now love flourished and blossomed
now my heart misses the sweet fall
because summer has nothing waiting for me
almost like if in the season of nothing at all
and the branches on my tree now grow tall
with flowers and birds
but i still miss november, october and early december
moving on not being able to stall
i move on with your memory
and the memory of our
sweet fall

poem by Alma Estrella
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Told You

I told you the winter would go, love,
I told you the winter would go,
That he'd flee in shame when the south wind came,
And you smiled when I told you so.
You said the blustering fellow
Would never yield to a breeze,
That his cold, icy breath had frozen to death
The flowers, the birds, and trees.

And I told you the snow would melt, love,
In the passionate glance o' the sun;
And the leaves o' the trees, and the flowers and bees,
Would come back again, one by one.
That the great, gray clouds would vanish,
And the sky turn tender and blue;
And the sweet birds would sing, and talk of the spring
And, love, it has all come true.

I told you that sorrow would fade, love,
And you would forget half your pain;
That the sweet bird of song would waken ere long,
And sing in your bosom again;
That hope would creep out of the shadows,
And back to its nest in your heart,
And gladness would come, and find its old home,
And that sorrow at length would depart.

I told you that grief seldom killed, love,
Though the heart might seem dead for awhile.
But the world is so bright, and full of warm light
That 'twould waken at length, in its smile.
Ah, love! was I not a true prophet?
There's a sweet happy smile on your face;
Your sadness has flown - the snow-drift is gone,
And the buttercups bloom in its place.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

THE GALACTIC SPIRALS OF DEAD LEAVES...Part I

THE GALACTIC SPIRALS OF DEAD LEAVES

I

OCTOBER IS A GREGARIOUS MONTH

October is a gregarious month;

all things seeking shelter.

Watching the tidal ebb of twilight
drawing its last breath of birds,

I know winter is approaching;

Reversing the spin of planets
like baseballs, having arced since spring,

Gravity is returning, condensing,
like clouds in my eyes.

Twilight leaves the extremities...
fingers, cold to the touch.

Mothers walk, clenching the air
children’s voices cannot rise over.

Then, like a snow-globe shaken,

The elements of summer are preserved, like Amber
in the crystal flakes of the first frost, falling....

Copyright ©2007 John Thomas Tansey

poem by John Tansey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Spring Song III

HERE'S the Spring-time, Sweet!
Earth's green gown is new,
Lambs begin to bleat,
Doves begin to coo,
Birds begin to woo
In the wood and lane;
Sweet, the tale is true
Spring is here again!

I have been discreet
All the winter through;
Now, before your feet,
Blossoms let me strew.
Flowers, as yet, are few;
Will my lady deign
Take this flower or two?
Spring is here again

Make the year complete,
Give the Spring her due!
All the flowers entreat,
All the song-birds sue.
'Twixt the green and blue
Let Love wake and reign,
Let me worship you--
Spring is here again!

poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Winter Song

Turn to me with frozen lips
Your hands are icy cold
Your eyes burn bright
Against the frost lit sky
You never seemed more lovely than you do tonight
Pale on the horizon
Like leaves frozen in the snow
Two bodies merging seperately
Time stands still
If its pierced with cold
Chorus:
The moonlight hears
The moonlight knows
Whats simple is true
And I love you
Theres a warmth in my heart
It haunts me when youre gone
Mend me to your side
And never let go
Time knows nothing
Well never grow cold
The moonlight hears
The moonlight knows
Whats simple is true
And I love you
The twilight descends
On our sillouhettes
How soon spring comes
How soon spring forgets
I wanna stop time
Say itll never begin
Old man winter be our friend
Old man winter be our friend
The moonlight hears
The moonlight knows
Whats simple is true
Whats simple is true
And I love you
---------------
October 97 version
Turn to me with frozen lips
Your hands are icy cold
Your eyes so blue
Against the frost lit sky
You never looked more lovely than you do tonight
Pale on the horizon
Like leaves frozen in the snow
Two shadows merging seperately
Time stands still
Its pierced with cold
Chorus:
The moonlight hears
The moonlight knows
Its simple
Its true
And I love you
Theres warmth in my heart
It haunts me when youre gone
Mend me to your side
And never let me go
Time knows nothing
And itll never grow cold
The moonlight hears
The moonlight knows
Its simple
Its true
And I love you
Twilight descends
On our sillouhette
How soon spring comes
How soon spring forgets
I once talked of time
Saying itll never begin
Old man winter be our friend
Old man winter be our friend
The moonlight hears
The moonlight knows
Its simple
Its true
And I love you

song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Austere purity.

It’s autumn now; the trees discard
their final leaves in readiness
When winter comes times will be hard.
Their leafless branches suffer less.
From winter gales and hold less snow
Than they would in summer dress.
The time has come to let leaves go
Although bare branches don’t impress.
Mere silhouettes against the sky.
A tracery of black and white
They can still catch a poet’s eye
and may inspire him to write.
In praise of the simplicity
of winters cold sterility.

Friday,15 October 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Creatures Of The Night

Sigh like her long legs reaching for the river
Longing to know righteousness
Longing for jewels of the deep sleep
Taken from the side of morning
Taken from earth filled with stars

Deer walk to the fields
The moon rises with grace
Geese in the shadows of spring

Your fingernails are red like fire
Your voice like the call of fire
The bass plays like a mantra
Guitars born in the sun
The moon out my window
Let the drums be an army
Let the night flow like a lover
She makes my teeth chatter
Her sweetness like a wet forest
Everything bathed in moonlight
Ye creatures of the night come out

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

October Girl

I married an October girl
but met her in December's cold,
I remember well
that winter of our meeting
you could not say that it was swell
that frosty first time greeting.

I saw her a second time
October in the spring
when light shone from her face
and joined with my light within;
she blew a gentle breeze
with freshness in her haste
to meet again the man
who previously in December
she had not seemed
so keen to chase.

She blew into my life in spring
through summer and the fall
and swirled around the boughs
of my many outreaching branches,
until she bared me of all the leaves
I'd grown throughout my life
and pointed to the roots of me
that held me strong in strife.

October is a blustery girl
with many winds of change
sometimes with an angry squall
that bares wintered teeth
with lightening storms of rage,
but I never did meet a girl
with such a warm embrace.

I married that October girl
we married in the spring
and as I wait to see
what summer's breeze may bring
I know that October's girl
will shine her light within
as I soar up so very high
upon October's wind.

poem by David Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

While the woods were green

WHILE the woods were green,
'Oh I' she sang, 'my heart is new,
Leaping, longing, in my breast:
Let him come that loves me true,
Let him come that I love best,
I will tell him what I mean,
Now the wood-birds tell it too,
Now the woods are green.'

While the woods were bare,
'Oh I' she sighed, 'my heart is grey,
Shrinking, shivering, in my breast:
Love me, hate me, as they may,
None of them do I love best:
Let me be alone with care,
Now the wood-birds hide away,
Now the woods are bare.'

poem by Augusta Davies Webster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Winter

Autumn leaves blow around
slowly Winter creeps on forward
bringing an icy chill to the air.
Frost in the morning carpets the fields
above the Blue skies change to Grey
darkness moves on in early.
As winds whistle a song in the trees
below Squirrels squabble with birds over food
Snowdrops pop their heads out of the earth.
This is Winter the cold season
the prelude to Spring
to some harsh and bleak
others very beautiful.

poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Hymn To Life

The hair falling on your forehead
suddenly lifted.
Suddenly something stirred on the ground.
The trees are whispering
in the dark.
Your bare arms will be cold.

Far off
where we can't see,
the moon must be rising.
It hasn't reached us yet,
slipping through the leaves
to light up your shoulder.
But I know
a wind comes up with the moon.
The trees are whispering.
Your bare arms will be cold.

From above,
from the branches lost in the dark,
something dropped at your feet.
You moved closer to me.
Under my hand your bare flesh is like the fuzzy skin of a fruit.
Neither a song of the heart nor "common sense"--
before the trees, birds, and insects,
my hand on my wife's flesh
is thinking.
Tonight my hand
can't read or write.
Neither loving nor unloving...
It's the tongue of a leopard at a spring,
a grape leaf,
a wolf's paw.
To move, breathe, eat, drink.
My hand is like a seed
splitting open underground.
Neither a song of the heart nor "common sense,"
neither loving nor unloving.
My hand thinking on my wife's flesh
is the hand of the first man.
Like a root that finds water underground,
it says to me:
"To eat, drink, cold, hot, struggle, smell, color--
not to live in order to die
but to die to live..."

And now
as red female hair blows across my face,
as something stirs on the ground,
as the trees whisper in the dark,
and as the moon rises far off
where we can't see,
my hand on my wife's flesh
before the trees, birds, and insects,
I want the right of life,
of the leopard at the spring, of the seed splitting open--
I want the right of the first man.

Trans. by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk (1993)

poem by Nazim Hikmet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Far More Pretty Than The Flowers Hanging On The Branches

Far more pretty than the flowers hanging on the branches,
more glamorous than the sun in the blue sky,
much closer than the birds in their flight
you come into my life by your own will,

you bring comfort to the daily longing
and constantly return from work.
Far more pretty than the flowers hanging on the branches,
more glamorous than the sun in the blue sky,

the depth of our love sometimes scares me;
for getting hurt these feelings are sometimes renowned
but our love makes my humanity lustrous
and constantly you are
far more pretty than the flowers hanging on the branches,
more glamorous than the sun in the blue sky.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Spring Lovers

Love comes like a rose-vine clinging upward
Grasping for that first cool breeze of spring air
With a kiss of sunrise to its beauty’s reward
Fragrance burst out from its eminent bud’s lair.

When withered tree stands upon winter’s bliss,
And a snow shimmers on its branches’ content,
Love comes in spring for new leaves then to hiss,
Till this season’s course breakthrough its intent

When castles of clouds assent playful birds
Glide high and low beyond their leafy shrines
And the sunset’s amber blush oceans’ greens,
Spring is from the hearts of many sky’s herds

When the prairie cast its colors from the distant,
Unfold their leaves to dance with the windward,
And the cattle begins to sheave in a wide verdant
Spring spread love to the land of the shepherd

When the sun gives the moon a tranquil light
To the faintest stars throughout sky’s height
And the wind chimes playing a great harmony
Under the moon is where spring lovers stay

poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Spring Spring Dance

Spring spring dance
Away from all loneliness
Come here in your trance
And give of its caress
Sweet light of grace
That comes with daybreak
In shadowed tint plays
When the air is awake

Spring be now sweet
In all your endeavor
Every adore so neatly treat
From winter’s cold war
O love of heavens blue
That gives the clearest view
For light to come thru
To bring on prosper true

Spring of beginning life
Mother of seedlings low
How much you must strife
To give the morning its glow
For blooms to grow high
And increase leaves to green
Opening up sunshine sky
Where summer has been

Spring be now sweet
In all your endeavor
Every adore so neatly treat
From winter’s cold war
O love of heavens blue
That gives the clearest view
For light to come thru
To bring on prosper true

poem by Peter S. Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Witness A Raven

When the moonlight fractures the patterned frost,
in fragments chiseled into the glass,
shattering and refracting its battery
of light, in silent solace through my window,
I witness a raven through eyes
thick and glazed with sleep.
The night hermit probes his feast

of carrion, picking at entrails, a solitary
meal devoured beneath the round moon’s
undaunted glare, refracting the criss-cross
claw marks on the crust.
The boughs and branches
are furred with frost, casting their shadows
upon dunes of snow. He lifts his hollow

wings, a rancid clump of meat in his beak,
and springs upon a limb, scattering
the snow that’s sprinkled there;
the moon wears a ring
of diffused blue, foretelling snow in the morning,
replenishing the chill in the wind.
The stars that cut the blue-black sky sing

like crystals, but are dulled to wet parchment.
The hesitant dawn is inching its hazy throat
toward the horizon, and the raven, a lone witness
to the dying night. The black pearls of his eyes
shine with a cold luster, untouched
by the palls of weather,
toughened by the glint of his harsh feather.

poem by Caroline Misner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Winter's Come

Sweet chestnuts brown like soling leather turn;
The larch trees, like the colour of the Sun;
That paled sky in the Autumn seemed to burn,
What a strange scene before us now does run--
Red, brown, and yellow, russet, black, and dun;
White thorn, wild cherry, and the poplar bare;
The sycamore all withered in the sun.
No leaves are now upon the birch tree there:
All now is stript to the cold wintry air.

See, not one tree but what has lost its leaves--
And yet the landscape wears a pleasing hue.
The winter chill on his cold bed receives
Foliage which once hung oer the waters blue.
Naked and bare the leafless trees repose.
Blue-headed titmouse now seeks maggots rare,
Sluggish and dull the leaf-strewn river flows;
That is not green, which was so through the year
Dark chill November draweth to a close.

Tis Winter, and I love to read indoors,
When the Moon hangs her crescent up on high;
While on the window shutters the wind roars,
And storms like furies pass remorseless by.
How pleasant on a feather bed to lie,
Or, sitting by the fire, in fancy soar
With Dante or with Milton to regions high,
Or read fresh volumes we've not seen before,
Or oer old Burton's Melancholy pore.

poem by John Clare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!