Red Nature
Red tepid water
drains through building
blocks of slothful thought.
Thrust winds, rain, sleet build
red energy from lightning in
the sky moldering in deception.
A scented red rose with
long thickly sharp prongs
speak of gayety pride.
A red liquid imprint from
an old newspaper personal
dreary same sex ad.
A tornado battled winds blew
down the red old country barn
in depravity of old tired accusations.
Awakening death dreary dark
black clouds with tiers of
red voices speak of
despair, agony and fear.
Red sun rays piercing
confused signs of life of
a lustful inquiry.
Chilly air rips through
the wear and tear
of a red old
withered
jacket
beaten
and
denied.
poem by Angela Khristin Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Will winds come?
Sky was dark.
Holding thick bundles of rain inside
waiting for winds to
open bundles of rain,
take away heavy bundles
and free me to play with
white cool light clouds.
Sky was worried.
Will winds come and free me
from this dark bundles of rain
making me feel tired
making my knees paining?
When will those winds come?
How long I have to carry these dark bundles?
Waiting for winds
will I fall down
with tiring weakening bundles
of these dark clouds
in my hand?
Even the sun is moving down
with colour changing to red
going for rest for night.
When will these winds come?
Am I destined to fall down
tired and exhausted
with ever increasing burden
of these dark clouds in my hand?
10, September,2008
poem by Thomas Viruvelil
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tornado
Nature deadly twisters
War of winds strikes again
You live in a nice neighborhood
As nice as it will be after
They drop down from the clouds
Completely out man's control
Some day it's gonna catch me
The tornado is right behind
It picks me up to overseas
The tornado is right there
Cumulonimbus storms arrive
Lightning flashes a hundred miles around
Electrical collision course
Creates the elephant trunk
Creeping and looking for your home
Sucking anything from the ground
Go 25.000 feet in the air
The deadlist of all thunderheads
The strong winds and the vacuum
Are gonna take you to the heart of the storm
Moving and turning
No escape, you disappear
It rips you off, keeps you in
Rises you up and pushes you out
Into the guts of the tornado
Get high by the suction of the funnel
Spinning at 300 miles an hour
And trying to outwit this monster
Moving and turning
No escape, you disappear
It rips you off, keeps you in
Rises you up and pushes you out
The frontal attack, now is in the past
Is it finished, or is it coming back?
No one knows, where it goes
Am I safe ? Am I gone with it ?
Running scared !!
Do it quickly, if you see it
There is no time, for a warning
The tornado has struck, hope you have some luck
Dust will make you blind, nothing you can find
Running scared !
Tornado ! Tornado ! Tornado !!
song performed by by Voivod
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rainy Day
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Black Clouds
This is making me crazy
These black clouds following me
So I look for signs of light
But rarely I see them
I return to my shelter
And I crawl in a bottle
I'm losing my will for this
So over emotional
Black clouds
They rain down but
They can't kill the sun
Confession of depression
This life I'm second-guessing
Like ashes to ashes
I always seem to fall down
I'm tired of running
It's time to face my demons
Confession of depression
This life I'm second-guessing
My emotions are storming
And tears fall just like rain
Pain strikes like lightning
Despair is becoming my friend
I'm pushing myself to a point of self-destruction
Black clouds
They rain down but
They can't kill the son inside
song performed by by Papa Roach from Lovehatetragedy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Adapting To Global Warming Surge Storms
the earth is a degree warmly globally
an entire degree warmer in a century
meaning earth packs in more energy
into the atmosphere
meaning more evaporation
water in rain clouds
global warming means weather shifts
more rain faster harder causing floods
less rain more deserts causing famine
sea levels are coastline rising
glaciers ice caps are melting
means more frequent storm surges
so why build on frontline beaches coastline sand?
storms wind wave surges will inundate this land
move far inland rebuild on the solid rock mass!
won't take my advice fine
don't move stay storm blind
these words come to mind
'Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine
and puts them into practice is like a wise man
who built his house on the rock. The rain came down,
the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat
against that house; yet it did not fall, because it
had its foundation on the rock. But everyone
who hears these words of mine and does not put
them into practice is like a foolish man who built
his house on sand. The rain came down,
the streams rose, and the winds
blew and beat against that house,
and it fell with a great crash.' Matthew 7: 24-27.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Clouds Shall Pass
I see clouds
Whitish and feathery
Cotton white and feathery
Dark clouds, winds gather,
Winds howl, winds sweep the sky
Sun shines, coloured rainbow bows
little rain spatters, clouds,
Clouds shall clear, the sun winks.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A March
Dreary East winds howling o'er us;
Clay-lands knee-deep spread before us;
Mire and ice and snow and sleet;
Aching backs and frozen feet;
Knees which reel as marches quicken,
Ranks which thin as corpses thicken;
While with carrion birds we eat,
Calling puddle-water sweet,
As we pledge the health of our general, who fares as rough as we:
What can daunt us, what can turn us, led to death by such as he?
Eversley, 1848.
poem by Charles Kingsley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fast Winds
Fast and slow, faster than the wind,
This gale upsets the laughter of my soul.
The winds upset this smaller joy,
And continue to beleaguer my sons and daughters.
They run in the rainy storm like children,
But turn older through the seasons
Only to become monsters of the death.
The storm shall rage on, saving nobody
Like me or my children,
The storm then turns into a tornado
And swallows my wife and my children
And everything has disappeared.
The winds speak such death,
But I survive to tell of the tale.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mariana
WITH BLACKEST moss the flower-plots
Were thickly crusted, one and all:
The rusted nails fell from the knots
That held the pear to the gable-wall.
The broken sheds look'd sad and strange:
Unlifted was the clinking latch;
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch
Upon the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
Her tears fell with the dews at even;
Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;
She could not look on the sweet heaven,
Either at morn or eventide.
After the flitting of the bats,
When thickest dark did trance the sky,
She drew her casement-curtain by,
And glanced athwart the glooming flats.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
Upon the middle of the night,
Waking she heard the night-fowl crow:
The cock sung out an hour ere light:
From the dark fen the oxen's low
Came to her: without hope of change,
In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn,
Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn
About the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "The day is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
About a stone-cast from the wall
A sluice with blacken'd waters slept,
And o'er it many, round and small,
The cluster'd marish-mosses crept.
Hard by a poplar shook alway,
All silver-green with gnarled bark:
For leagues no other tree did mark
The level waste, the rounding gray.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
And ever when the moon was low,
And the shrill winds were up and away
In the white curtain, to and fro,
She saw the gusty shadow sway.
But when the moon was very low,
And wild winds bound within their cell,
The shadow of the poplar fell
Upon her bed, across her brow.
She only said, "The night is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
All day within the dreamy house,
The doors upon their hinges creak'd;
The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse
Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd,
Or from the crevice peer'd about.
Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors,
Old footsteps trod the upper floors,
Old voices call'd her from without.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,
The slow clock ticking, and the sound
Which to the wooing wind aloof
The poplar made, did all confound
Her sense; but most she loath'd the hour
When the thick-moted sunbeam lay
Athwart the chambers, and the day
Was sloping toward his western bower.
Then, said she, "I am very dreary,
He will not come," she said;
She wept, "I am aweary, aweary,
O God, that I were dead!"
.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Growth of a Rose
A rose has been planted in it's place
Waiting to begin it's life as a beautiful flower
A shower of rain falls on the rose
Awakening the rose from it's long slumber
Beneath the ground where this flower is planted
It's roots have started to grow out from the rain
Soon the rain has stopped and the sun shines
The warmth of the sun's rays help the rose grow
Seeing the bright rays shine from it's source
The rose begins to reach out to the sky
Finally escaping the cold dark place the flower was in
It has at last faced the bright world for the first time
Revealing it's beauty and experiencing the feeling of pure happiness
poem by Sarah Bruun
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Long Black Veil
Ten years ago on a cold dark night
Someone was killed beneath the townhall light
There were few at the scene, but they all agreed
That the slayer who ran looked a lot like me
She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me
The judge said son, what is your aliby?
If you were somewhere else, then you wont have to die.
I said not a word, though it meant my life,
For Id been in the arms of my best friends wife.
Oh, she walks these hills in a long black veil.
She visits my grave when the night winds wail.
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.
Oh, now the scaffold is high, eternity is near
She stood in the crowd and shed not a tear
And sometimes at night when the cold winds blow
In a long black veil she cries over my bones.
She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.
Oh, she walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail
Nobody knows, nobody sees, nobody knows but me.
Nobody knows. nobody knows, but me.
Nobody knows but me.
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stories from the Grave...
Stories fom th' grave, speak their tales....on winds of faith
Methodically, we lay our wreaths and sweet moon orchids
Standing o'er the steel-grey rock, with conscientious hope
Our whispered prayers somehow touch th' soul we beckon
Death's voice...cannot be qualified 'less you've been there
Yet, i've heard premonitions voice......choirs with credence
Of Sunday stories taught by men in black with white collars
An' faith, born of fear, as to when our winds of Death come
Stories from th' grave, shed no light upon th' deep unknown
Still, we follow olde traditions, in hopes to find new answers
We'll speak to steel-grey stone, upon......soft, unleveled soil
In hopes that all these stories olde......be blessed with truth
Perhaps, somewhere beyond th' winds....lay all th' answers
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Speak to Me
Speak to me
speak soft my love.
Whisper tenderly
from your heart.
If I am far from your side.
Let your words
travel on the winds.
Guide me safely back to you.
When I am hurting my love.
Speak to me.
Take away my pain
by the sound of your voice.
Chase away dark clouds
with the brightness of song.
Open the door to my heart
pour in your love.
Speak to me with your heart
and I will answer.
By telling all the world
of our love.
poem by Kurt Hearth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Weather Maker
The Weather Maker reigns above, creating all weather we speak of,
The One and Only True Creator, from both the poles to the equator,
Over this planet that we call earth, He’s the Only One who can birth,
All the weather that men shall see, upon all the lands and every sea.
God alone hides the day’s light, with ominous clouds dark as night,
And whether it is snow, hail or rain, it is The Lord, Who does ordain,
All earth’s precipitation, as it falls, while, God’s mighty thunder rolls,
With piercing lights from the sky, as His lightning catches every eye.
All the winds blow where they may, whether it is the night or the day,
Winds blowing, as The Maker wills, as His purpose, The Lord fulfills,
God stirring up many angry waves, in an ocean that rants and raves,
Or moving wind on desert sands, creating dust storms on the lands.
Hurricane winds, by Him, are spawn, as their path, by God, is drawn,
With tornados, also cutting their path, from God’s destructive Wrath,
This as the very Finger of God, scores the very ground that we trod,
As The Lord God shows His Power, both day and night, at any hour.
This is The Creator, known by some, showing to all, what is to come,
Upon this earth, created by Him, that has been tainted, by man’s sin,
For soon, He’ll purge from this world, all of the evil, sin has unfurled,
Filling it with eternal joy and mirth, when our God makes a New Earth.
(Copyright ©05/2010)
The Parting (2)
1
The lady of Alzerno's hall
Is waiting for her lord;
The blackbird's song, the cuckoo's call
No joy to her afford.
She smiles not at the summer's sun,
Nor at the winter's blast;
She mourns that she is still alone
Though three long years have passed.
2
I knew her when her eye was bright,
I knew her when her step was light
And blithesome as a mountain doe's,
And when her cheek was like the rose,
And when her voice was full and free,
And when her smile was sweet to see.
3
But now the lustre of her eye,
So dimmed with many a tear;
Her footstep's elasticity,
Is tamed with grief and fear;
The rose has left her hollow cheeks;
In low and mournful tone she speaks,
And when she smiles 'tis but a gleam
Of sunshine on a winter's day,
That faintly beams through dreary clouds,
And in a moment dies away.
It does not warm, it does not cheer,
It makes us sigh for summer days
When fields are green, and skies are clear,
And when the sun has kinder rays.
4
For three years she has waited there,
Still hoping for her lord's return,
But vainly she may hope and fear
And vainly watch and weep and mourn;
She may wait him till her hairs are grey,
And she may wear her life away,
But to his lady and his home
Her noble lord will never come.
5
'I wish I knew the worst,' she said,
'I wish I could despair.
These fruitless hopes, this constant dread,
Are more than I can bear!' --
'Then do not hope and do not weep,
He loved thee faithfully,
And nothing short of death could keep
So true a heart from thee;
Eliza, he would never go,
And leave thee thus to mourn,
He must be dead, for death alone
Could hinder his return.'
6
'Twas thus I spoke because I felt
As if my heart would break,
To see her thus so slowly pining
For Alzerno's sake.
But more than that I would not tell,
Though all the while I knew so well
The time and nature of his death.
For when he drew his parting breath
His head was pillowed on my knee,
And his dark eyes were turned to me
With and agonised heart-breaking glance,
Until they saw me not --
O, the look of a dying man
Can never be forgot --!
Alexandrina Zenobia
1837
poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flute-Priest Song For Rain
Whistle under the water,
Make the water bubble to the tones of the flute.
I call the bluebirds song into the water:
Wee-kee! Wee-kee-kee!
Dawn is coming,
The morning star shines upon us.
Bluebird singing to the West clouds,
Bring the humming rain.
Water-rattles shake,
Flute whistles,
Star in Heaven shines.
I blow the oriole's song,
The yellow song of the North.
I call rain clouds with my rattles:
Wee-kee-kee, oriole.
Pattering rain.
To the South I blow my whistle,
To the red parrot of the South I call.
Send red lightning,
Under your wings
The forked lightning.
Thunder-rattles whirl
To the sky waters.
Fill the springs.
The water is moving.
Wait -
Whistle to the East
With a magpie voice.
Wee-kee! Wee-kee-kee!
Call the storm-clouds
That they come rushing.
Call the loud rain.
Why does it not come?
Who is bad?
Whose heart is evil?
Who has done wickedness?
I weep,
I rend my garments,
I grieve for the sin which is in this place.
My flute sobs with the voice of all birds in the water.
Even to the six directions I weep and despair.
Come, O winds, from the sides of the sky,
Open your bird-beaks that rain may fall down.
Drench our fields, our houses,
Fill the land
With tumult of rain.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chilly Winds Dont Blow
H. krasnow, b. lovelock
Going where the willows weep no more, darlin baby,
Going where the willows weep no more,
Chilly winds dont blow along my shore, oh baby,
Where the chilly winds, the chilly winds dont blow.
Going where my father waits for me, oh baby,
Going where my father waits for me,
Going there cause there Id rather be, oh baby,
Where the chilly winds, the chilly winds dont blow.
Yes there will be red roses round my door, darlin baby,
There will be red roses round my door,
Going where theyll welcome me for sure, oh baby
Where the chilly wind, the chilly wind dont blow.
Chilly winds, chilly winds, the chilly winds dont blow.
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beneath The Snow
’Twas near the close of the dying year,
And December’s winds blew cold and drear,
Driving the snow and sharp blinding sleet
In gusty whirls through square and street,
Shrieking more wildly and fiercely still
In the dreary grave-yard that crowns the hill.
No mourners there to sorrow or pray,
But soon a traveller passed that way:
He paused and leant against the low stone wall,
While sighs breathed forth from the pine-trees tall
That darkly look down on the silent crowd
Of graves, all wrapped in a snowy shroud.
Solemn and weird was the spectral scene—
The tombstones white, with low mounds between,
The awful stillness, eerie and dread,
Brooding above that home of the dead,
While Christmas fires lit up each hearth
And shed their glow upon scenes of mirth.
Silent the weary wayfarer stood—
The spot well suited his pensive mood,
And severed friendships, bright day-dreams flown,
Thronged on his thoughts in that moment lone.
“Yes, happiness-hope,” he murmured low,
“All buried alike beneath the snow.”
“O, for the right to lay down the load
I’ve borne so long on life’s dreary road,
Heavily weighing on heart and brain,
And as galling to both as a convict’s chain;—
No more its strain shall I tamely bear
But join the peaceful sleepers there.”
His head on the old wall drooped more low,
Whilst faster came down the sleet and snow,
Sharply chilling the blood in his veins,
Racking his frame with rheumatic pains;
“No matter,” he thought, “I’ll soon lie low,
Calm—quiet enough—beneath the snow.”
Ah! hapless one, thus thine arms to yield
When nearly won, perchance, is the field.
After long struggling to lose at last
The price of many a victory past,
Of many an hour of keen, sharp strife,
Mournfully spent in the war of Life.
But, hark! on high sound the Christmas bells,
Of hope to that mourner their chiming tells,
Of the sinless hours of childhood pure,
Of a God who came all griefs to cure;
And, leaving, he prayed: “O my Father and Friend,
Grant me strength to be faithful to the end!”
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Air Was Scented
The tryst with path,
was full of voices of silence,
confronting its wrath & revenge.
Nothing was new, soft matter divided the winds,
arithmetic of energy,
faced up to its agony of spent life.
Decently artful,
you manipulated the clouds, its music,
the bluebells went into trance.
The shower laden
leaves started dancing.
Half solemn, half smiling
you preached the immortality
of a sick downloaded wisdom.
The golden days had
yellowed vision of time, but mutation was complete.
The masts were broken.
The air was scented with
punch & humility.
Adjectives had the
advantage over nouns.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Doubting Heart
WHERE are the swallows fled?
Frozen and dead,
Perchance, upon some bleak and stormy shore.
O doubting heart!
Far over purple seas
They wait, in sunny ease,
The balmy southern breeze,
To bring them to their northern homes once more.
Why must the flowers die?
Prison’d they lie
In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain.
O doubting heart!
They only sleep below
The soft white ermine snow,
While winter winds shall blow,
To breathe and smile upon you soon again.
The sun has hid its rays
These many days;
Will dreary hours never leave the earth?
O doubting heart!
The stormy clouds on high
Veil the same sunny sky,
That soon (for spring is nigh)
Shall wake the summer into golden mirth.
Fair hope is dead, and light
Is quench’d in night.
What sound can break the silence of despair?
O doubting heart!
Thy sky is overcast,
Yet stars shall rise at last,
Brighter for darkness past,
And angels’ silver voices stir the air.
poem by Adelaide Anne Procter
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