Related quotes: I missed the Spring. I...

Sub Rosa

I missed the Spring.
I fell asleep under the shadows of my desires,
with mandolin sounds for lullabies
and my grandfather’s pipe,
in dreams dressed in herbal smoke and honey scents
and the beauty of my loved ones.

I missed the Spring.
I was late for my soul,
too late for a song,
deceived by the lotus flowers
and the smiles of the sirens,
their seductive bodies waving my sanity away.

I missed the Spring.
The ring of oblivion was Time’s gift,
a nursery rhyme’s forgotten curse,
here like now, absent like never,
a colourless rainbow reflection
on eyes of sadness.

I missed the Spring.
I woke up in the slumbers of my regrets,
by tribal drumbeats for breakfast
and my grandmother’s tales,
in a reality stripped of hope and home warmth,
well worth the loneliness of a poem.

I missed the Spring.

poem by Niko Tiliopoulos
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She Walks...

She walks in beauty in my Dreams
She dances across the shadows of my mind
As the moonlight beams
Upon two souls entwined

All through the day and into the night
She walks in beauty in my dreams
In my memory, I hold her tight
Safe in my arms, sheltered from the screams

In the shadows my mind does teem
My thoughts my dreams, she does invade
She walks in beauty in my dreams
Across my heart in an endless parade

Love cascading, exploding in a brilliant flare
Flowing like a mountain stream
Until I am left with my dreams and where
She walks in beauty in my dreams

JPM 2/11/2008

poem by Jim Milks
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Don't Go Chasing Shadows

Don't go chasing shadows
When the night is a lion
Into a night that goes
With the last of a lonely ion

The night is in my love song
Thru the dark and mist
All days that touches and long
That yearning have kissed
Day by day left behind
Morning weary waking eyes
To the light day shall find
In the mist of daybreak skies

Don't go chasing shadows
When the night is a lion
Into a night that goes
With the last of a lonely ion

All in heart of the deep
Blossoms growing in spring
What they felt in their sleep
As they turn around to sing
Tomorrow´s awaking call
Feelings torching like lullabies
Beautiful dreams for all
Making love and inner ties

Dreams will never come true
If you keep on going lonely
Never seeing them coming thru
Just being inside of you only

Don't go chasing shadows
Don't go chasing shadows
When the night is a lion
Into a night that goes
With the last of a lonely ion

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Mandolin

Oh Mandolin, oh mandolin
Waiting in the dark
Centuries passed down upon
Your smooth Venetian skin
Memories oh memories
Lay stains upon your heart
When lovers dance into the trance
You weaved by candlelight
Oh I saw a sunrise like never before
As mandolin played I cried for more.
Oh Mandolin, oh mandolin
Waiting in the dark
Centuries passed down upon
Your smooth Venetian skin
Incessant sound, incessant sound
That stirs the young and pure
Incestuous I kiss my hand
And play the calling drum.
The lover cried into the silk
Many years ago
Your voice laid comfort down upon
His European skin.
Oh I saw a sunrise like never before
As mandolin played I cried for more.
Oh I saw a sunrise like never before
As mandolin played I cried for more.
Oh I saw a runrise likenever before
As mandolin played I cried for more
Oh Mandolin, oh mandolin
Waiting in the dark
Centuries passed down upon
Your smooth Venetian skin.

song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For To See One More Spring

How marvellous to live for to see one more Spring
To feel the sun's warmth and to hear the birds sing
The sweet scents of Nature of pollen and hay
That wafts in the breeze of a beautiful day.

In search of water surface insects young ducklings are out
With their mums in the Townpark lake quietly swimming about
And the pipe of the shrike thrush is so pleasant to hear
In Nature Spring is such a nice time of year.

Were I a poet of such beauty I would write
A poem others would happily read and recite
Of Spring in her glory when flowers are in bloom
And the gardens are scenting of Nature's perfume.

Into the last month of Spring and young birds learning how to fly
And butterflies dancing in the sunny sky
I hear the familiar voice of the pee wee
And wild birds are whistling on bush and on tree.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Sleepless Symphony

The rain fell steady on the roof
While I lay awake next to her.
Her slumbered sounds while fast asleep
Had scored a midnight symphony:
Each dropp of rain from heaven fell
Made sounds like strings on violins
Each tightly strung and singly tuned
Awaiting for the slightest cue.
A flash, then thunder from the clouds
Commenced the orchestrally sounds
Of euphonic respiration's
And the strings of condensation
Played for an audience of one:
Dreamy arrangements envisioned.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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I Smoke My Pipe

I can't extend to every friend
In need a helping hand--
No matter though I wish it so,
'Tis not as Fortune planned;
But haply may I fancy they
Are men of different stripe
Than others think who hint and wink,--
And so--I smoke my pipe!

A golden coal to crown the bowl--
My pipe and I alone,--
I sit and muse with idler views
Perchance than I should own:--
It might be worse to own the purse
Whose glutted bowels gripe
In little qualms of stinted alms;
And so I smoke my pipe.

And if inclined to moor my mind
And cast the anchor Hope,
A puff of breath will put to death
The morbid misanthrope
That lurks inside--as errors hide
In standing forms of type
To mar at birth some line of worth;
And so I smoke my pipe.

The subtle stings misfortune flings
Can give me little pain
When my narcotic spell has wrought
This quiet in my brain:
When I can waste the past in taste
So luscious and so ripe
That like an elf I hug myself;
And so I smoke my pipe.

And wrapped in shrouds of drifting clouds,
I watch the phantom's flight,
Till alien eyes from Paradise
Smile on me as I write:
And I forgive the wrongs that live,
As lightly as I wipe
Away the tear that rises here;
And so I smoke my pipe.

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Dreams and Desires

So much has been said
So little has been said
So much remains to be said
Or does it

Which is better
To act out one's desires

Or keep them to oneself

Hidden in one's dreams

How to know

Which deisres, when acted on,

Will bring more pleasure than pain

More good than grief

How to know

Which desires should be kept

Safely tucked away

Deep inside dreams

Desires versus dreams

Dreams and/or desires

That is the challenge

To balance the two

To live in the sunshine

To limit the what ifs

To limit the regrets

To live a life one can believe in

poem by MacGregor Tagliaferro
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My Search For Beauty

I went in search of beauty
and with feeling looked around,
I noticed much in my path
where beauty could be found.

It went above human appearance
and feelings that run deep,
it wasn't just in my dreams
when I got my beauty sleep.

The beauty was felt inside
in a divine and blessed way,
it was in the growing flowers
and the nice things that we say.

I found beauty in the sunshine
and in the clouds up high,
the rain that fell upon the earth
and the lightning in the sky.

It twinkled in the stars at night
and the moon at every phase,
righteousness and gratitude
showed beauty in other ways.

It appeared in the shadows
and the kindness that we share,
I found that beauty was hiding
and some didn't see it there.

Beauty is in good memories
and times spent with a friend,
there are signs of beauty
in the messages we send.

Beauty is seen differently
for some it's in disguise,
but we cannot see true beauty
through another person's eyes.

poem by Shelley Williams
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Herbal Tea

I need some inspiration
Sat here with this cup of herbal tea
Tell me what's your problem
Why do you always bother me?

I've told you it's all over
I need some space
What is your problem?
You crazy headcase

I need some TLC
Sat here with this cup of herbal tea
I could do with something stronger
But i'm all out.....

Out of vodka
Out of love
Fallen from heaven
With a bump

I need some diagnosis
Sat here with this bleeding herbal tea
Now because of you
I'm a crazy headcase too

I need to get my head back in the clouds
Fly away from here
Far away
And go back home

poem by Lucy Vernezze
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Spring Begins (Terza Rima Sonnet)

I hear the music, magic all around,
the little birds are singing in my dreams,
ah, how I missed this pleasant, joyful sound.

I feel the freshness of the crystal streams.
White snowdrops gently say the Spring is here.
Through puffy clouds, the sun so happy gleams,

the rain has stopped; the sky is blue and clear.
Pink tulips wake up early from the snow,
Spring is indeed the best time of the year.

The gardens missed the old romantic glow.
Blue angels dance; the world in wonder spins.
The Winter cries. She's sad and has to go.

She shows, last time, her irritated grins;
The Spring has won again the Spring begins!

poem by Marius Alexandru (February 2022)
Submitted by anonym
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Grandfather, Grandfather

Grandfather, Grandfather,
what do pandas say?
Grandfather, Grandfather,
as among the rocks they roll
and rather sadly play
a game that seems
to do with dreams
of places far away.
Grandfather, Grandfather,
what do pandas say?

Grand-daughter, Grand-daughter,
when the pandas play
rather sadly in the rocks
this is what they say
to one another as they seem
to remember in a dream
those places far away:
'Let us tell no one
the word that we say
softly to one another
as we roll and play.
For if they ever heard it,
the tall two-legged Understanders
who always want to know what pandas
like us love to say,
yes, if they ever heard it
they would take it away.'

poem by George Barker
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My Version Of T'was The Night Before Christmas

So...
While the children were sleeping,
Snug in their beds...
A fat man dressed in a red suit,
Trimmed in white fur...
Began to sneak around the house.
And your very protective grandfather,
Got his favorite baseball bat...
And began to beating that fat man in the head.

The policemen arrived,
And took your grandfather away.

When the children awakened,
Not a toy was in sight.
And all the children living in the ghetto,
Got a reality check.
Learning to go to sleep...
Without believing they will hear reindeer,
On the roof...
The night before Christmas.

'Honey?
Why are our grandchildren crying? '

~I read them my version,
Of T'was The Night Before Christmas.
They are too old to be thinking,
They will be getting something for free.
When we have spent our retirement money,
To keep them fantasized.~

'Couldn't you have found a better way,
To break the news to them? '

~No! ~

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Big Fun

LYRICS BY LORRAINE FEATHER
MUSIC BY EDDIE ARKIN
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The night is glamorous
The weekend is ahead of us
And were ready for it honey
Big Fun
And were ready for it honey
Big Fun
Well I can hardly wait
The skyline shines like heaven's gate
And were ready for it honey
Big Fun
And we're ready for it honey
Big Fun
Here comes Big Fun
Im steppin out with a special one
Here comes Big Fun
Got through the week somehow
Well kiss like this
Catch up on all the romance we missed
Here comes Big Fun
Were gonna have it now
The workdays dead and gone
The girls are putting make-up on
And were ready for it honey
Big Fun
And were ready for it honey
Big Fun
Around the neighborhood
We concentrate on looking good
And were ready for it honey
Big Fun
And were ready for it honey
Big Fun
Here comes Big Fun
Im steppin out with a special one
Here comes Big Fun
Got through the week somehow
Well kiss like this
Catch up on all the romance we missed
Here comes Big Fun
Were gonna have it now
A thundering dance beat
Spills into the big street
This is Big Fun
The crowds are peaking
And horns are beeping
This is Big Fun
We run through the door
Stampede the dance floor
This is Big Fun
Were flying non-stop
Well do it til we drop
This is Big Fun
Here comes Big Fun
Im steppin out with a special one
Here comes Big Fun
Got through the week somehow
Well kiss like this
Catch up on all the romance we missed
Here comes Big Fun
Were gonna have it now

song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Piper

The dews were on the hedges,
The mist was on the mead,
When down among the sedges
I wrought my pipe of reed.
I blew my pipe with power.
Men only cursed the sound
That woke them when the hour
Brought back their labor’s round.

The scythe was in the barley,
The sickle in the wheat;
The pipe I made so early
Had lost its tones so sweet.
And weary man and maiden,
Upon the glowing soil,
My reed-pipe fell upbraiding
That lightened not their toil.

The men had left their mowing,
The maids to bind the sheaves;
I took me for my blowing
A wheatstraw stripped of leaves.
And cares all ceased to cumber,
No voice was now upraised;
I piped them all to slumber,
And in their dreams was praised.

poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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Loosing in life

A bridge of sadness on desires
no support to endless pride
no faith on help less glory

shadows bleeding due to fear
tear is crying like never
dreams ended with blood

shadows on a corner crying
being mad without any reason
fears sounding there dolls
celebrating their victory
on a breeze of light air
dancing before crying shadows

bridges of sadness on desires
no support to endless pride
no faith on endless glory

poem by M. Rohith
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That song has the full extent of my mandolin abilities; I'm not a good mandolin player at all.

quote by John Fogerty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dream Dream Dream

Dream dream dream
And dream untill dream come true
Life is nothing but dreams
Some accomplished, some unfinished
Some dreams are trifle, some cherished

You are nothing but a result of dreams
Dreams, dreams and nothing but dreams
A dream of someone
Or a dream of your own

Dream is not what you dream while asleep
Dream is what that don't let you sleep
You live for dream
And you die for dream
Your unattained desires are dreams
What you all desire are dreams

You can't accomplished unless you dream
What you accomplished was a dream
The law of attraction and power of passion
All say dream, dream and dream

{Published in Annual Magazine of NOSPLAN- Organisation of the Students of Planning in January,2012 by the same poet.}

poem by Shashikant Nishant Sharma
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The Garden in Winter

Frosty-white and cold it lies
Underneath the fretful skies;
Snowflakes flutter where the red
Banners of the poppies spread,
And the drifts are wide and deep
Where the lilies fell asleep.

But the sunsets o'er it throw
Flame-like splendor, lucent glow,
And the moonshine makes it gleam
Like a wonderland of dream,
And the sharp winds all the day
Pipe and whistle shrilly gay.

Safe beneath the snowdrifts lie
Rainbow buds of by-and-by;
In the long, sweet days of spring
Music of bluebells shall ring,
And its faintly golden cup
Many a primrose will hold up.

Though the winds are keen and chill
Roses' hearts are beating still,
And the garden tranquilly
Dreams of happy hours to be
In the summer days of blue
All its dreamings will come true.

poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Grandfather Squeers

'My grandfather Squeers,' said The Raggedy Man,
As he solemnly lighted his pipe and began--

'The most indestructible man, for his years,
And the grandest on earth, was my grandfather Squeers!

'He said, when he rounded his three-score-and-ten,
'I've the hang of it now and can do it again!'

'He had frozen his heels so repeatedly, he
Could tell by them just what the weather would be;

'And would laugh and declare, 'while the _Almanac_ would
Most falsely prognosticate, _he_ never could!'

'Such a hale constitution had grandfather Squeers
That, 'though he'd used '_navy_' for sixty odd years,

'He still chewed a dime's-worth six days of the week,
While the seventh he passed with a chew in each cheek:

'Then my grandfather Squeers had a singular knack
Of sitting around on the small of his back,

'With his legs like a letter Y stretched o'er the grate
Wherein 'twas his custom to ex-pec-tor-ate.

'He was fond of tobacco in _manifold_ ways,
And would sit on the door-step, of sunshiny days,

'And smoke leaf-tobacco he'd raised strictly for
The pipe he'd used all through The Mexican War.'

And The Raggedy Man said, refilling the bowl
Of his own pipe and leisurely picking a coal

From the stove with his finger and thumb, 'You can see
What a tee-nacious habit he's fastened on me!

'And my grandfather Squeers took a special delight
In pruning his corns every Saturday night

'With a horn-handled razor, whose edge he excused
By saying 'twas one that his grandfather used;

'And, though deeply etched in the haft of the same
Was the ever-euphonious Wostenholm's name,

''Twas my grandfather's custom to boast of the blade
As 'A Seth Thomas razor--the best ever made!'

'No Old Settlers' Meeting, or Pioneers' Fair,
Was complete without grandfather Squeers in the chair

'To lead off the programme by telling folks how
'He used to shoot deer where the Court-House stands now'--

'How 'he felt, of a truth, to live over the past,
When the country was wild and unbroken and vast,

''That the little log cabin was just plenty fine
For himself, his companion, and fambly of nine!--

''When they didn't have even a pump, or a tin,
But drunk surface-water, year out and year in,

''From the old-fashioned gourd that was sweeter, by odds,
Than the goblets of gold at the lips of the gods!''

Then The Raggedy Man paused to plaintively say
It was clockin' along to'rds the close of the day--

And he'd _ought_ to get back to his work on the lawn,--
Then dreamily blubbered his pipe and went on:

'His teeth were imperfect--my grandfather owned
That he couldn't eat oysters unless they were 'boned';

'And his eyes were so weak, and so feeble of sight,
He couldn't sleep with them unless, every night,

'He put on his spectacles--all he possessed,--
Three pairs--with his goggles on top of the rest.

'And my grandfather always, retiring at night,
Blew down the lamp-chimney to put out the light;

'Then he'd curl up on edge like a shaving, in bed,
And puff and smoke pipes in his sleep, it is said:

'And would snore oftentimes as the legends relate,
Till his folks were wrought up to a terrible state,--

'Then he'd snort, and rear up, and roll over; and there,
In the subsequent hush they could hear him chew air.

'And so glaringly bald was the top of his head
That many's the time he has musingly said,

'As his eyes journeyed o'er its reflex in the glass,--
'I must set out a few signs of _Keep Off the Grass!_'

'So remarkably deaf was my grandfather Squeers
That he had to wear lightning-rods over his ears

'To even hear thunder--and oftentimes then
He was forced to request it to thunder again.'