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The 4th of July

I walked out to see the world on the Forth of July

A sleek black bird with bright, round, yellow eyes
Marched outside my front window
Clearly, not a Crow; Crows hop in an aggressive, impressive way
This smaller beauty, maybe a Brewers Blackbird,
Marched with head up and chest out as if to a tune

Over a hill, near the road
A Robin searched the newly cut hay for his breakfast
Trees moved gently in the breeze
The pond waters did not stir
Except when a damsel fly swooped low

No tractors or mowers noised the air
Motorcycles and trucks rested this holiday morning
The early quiet now broken by a raucous Crow
Calling from a tree down by the creek
Answered quickly by another up in the woods

In the first hours of this day
A rocket launched six months ago
On target, on time
Penetrated a comet to examine its dust
Explore how our universe began

I walked out to see on the Forth of July

July 4,2005

poem by Marjorie DeBol DeFazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

Black Day In July

Black day in july
Motor city madness has touched the countryside
And through the smoke and cinders
You can hear it far and wide
The doors are quickly bolted
And the children locked inside
Black day in july
Black day in july
And the soul of motor city is bared across the land
As the book of law and order is taken in the hands
Of the sons of the fathers who were carried to this land
Black day in july
Black day in july
In the streets of motor city is a deadly silent sound
And the body of a dead youth lies stretched upon the ground
Upon the filthy pavement
No reason can be found
Black day in july
Black day in july
Motor city madness has touched the countryside
And the people rise in anger
And the streets begin to fill
And theres gunfire from the rooftops
And the blood begins to spill
Black day in july
In the mansion of the governor
Theres nothing that is known for sure
The telephone is ringing
And the pendulum is swinging
And they wonder how it happened
And they really know the reason
And it wasnt just the temperature
And it wasnt just the season
Black day in july
Black day in july
Motor citys burning and the flames are running wild
They reflect upon the waters of the river and the lake
And everyone is listening
And everyones awake
Black day in july
Black day in july
The printing press is turning
And the news is quickly flashed
And you read your morning paper
And you sip your cup of tea
And you wonder just in passing
Is it him or is it me
Black day in july
In the office of the president
The deed is done the troops are sent
Theres really not much choice you see
It looks to us like anarchy
And then the tanks go rolling in
To patch things up as best they can
There is no time to hesitate
The speech is made the dues can wait
Black day in july
Black day in july
The streets of motor city now are quiet and serene
But the shapes of gutted buildings
Strike terror to the heart
And you say how did it happen
And you say how did it start
Why cant we all be brothers
Why cant we live in peace
But the hands of the have-nots
Keep falling out of reach
Black day in july
Black day in july
Motor city madness has touched the countryside
And through the smoke and cinders
You can hear it far and wide
The doors are quickly bolted
And the children locked inside

song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Heart Is In July

shifting away from June's bud
to leave dandelions scattered in the yard
this dawn of July
marks the end of a lie
a lie from past season
for a strong reason

in July
robin will make herself shy
and cover her reddish breast
with her celestial hued crest
then flap her wings to fly
close against the sky

i want to kiss July
and make July
lasting forever
in beauty but not ephemeral

i will preserve July
on my canvas and with magic brush
so that she will be enthralled and blush

i will paint July
with charming colour
so that she will be captured in delight
and her soul enraptured

because my heart is in July.

poem by Niji Chrys
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Was July

I am resurrected, after dying for want of you,
It all came down upon me in sunny July,
Where had you gone, I wish I knew,
That I care no more, should come as no surprise,

I can live without you now,
It's like I never loved you at all,
The numbness seeped in after my death,
It was in July, if you recall,

Things were fine in May and June,
I don't know what I did wrong,
But in July you sang a different tune,
And you left me all alone,

My heart once again belongs to me,
As I look back to last July,
The sunshine once again I see,
No tears to cloud my eyes,

So let me stay as you left me,
I won't even say goodbye,
You're now a fading memory,
But I'll never forget July,

poem by Vallerie Lobell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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July

It's warm outside
But I can hear the snow
Falling on my window
I had to go away
To somewhere deeper down
I know it's my mistake
To take off out of this town
And June becomes July

This road's on fire
And my train's running slow
It rains against my window
I had to get away
To somewhere no-one knows
I know it's my mistake
To take off now in this way
And June becomes July

The air is thin
When you're above the clouds
I see them from my window
It's strange to get away now
To somewhere no-one goes
I know it's my mistake
But I don't even know now
And June becomes July
And June becomes July

song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene from One From The Modern
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black Crow

He sees the stormy anger of the world
And wants no part of it at all
And as the weeping leaves of autumn curl
He feels the savage winter call
See far below the dust of conflict settles on the hill
Where there was no escape before
And as he spreads his wings and soars up to another level
He brings the icy prophecies of war
Black crow, black crow, tell me where you really go
When you fly into the sunset, high in evening sky,
Black crow, black crow, tell me what you really know
Will we flourish in this hurricane, or will we fall and die?
While children lose their souls and so much more
To ragged armies of the field
A vicious fanfare cries appeasing hungry savages
To trigger that their fate is surely sealed
I wonder where that black crow sleeps as day beckons the night
Or if he even sleeps at all
I wonder what he thinks of all the human traffic far below
Thats struggled on the road so, so long
Tell me black crow, black crow (solely? ) you pass above
Understanding everything but you know nothing at all
Black crow black crow, tell me what you really know
Do you understand the pain that we feel down here at all

song performed by by Jamiroquai
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Autumn In July

It was a cool July and it was dusk.
The gentle winds that blew,
brushed the Autumn of your hair.

And a mist, as like in Autumn, touch
your face, as I stood still.

I could not help but wonder, as in Autumn,
are the bees yet in their hive; snuggled
closely, in their Autumn winter bed.?

An Autumn sun, hid behind the clouds above.
It knew not of this July, only of Autumn, in the air.
It knew of flowers drooping, their brightness,
now fading and curled. It knew of falling leaves,
and colors still so bright. A lone tree against a colored
sky, seemed naked in this July. With all of
this, and some to go, it must be Autumn, for this I know.

What of the woman, with the hair of Autumn?
Her eyes of Autumn color and colored clothes
the same. It can not be July, for
Autumn is abound.

Autumns every where. Circling sparrows in sky
above, swoop down, in hunt, for the final seeds
of Autumn. How could this be July,
or have the sparrows lost their way?

Surely, this is Autumn, for the chill is in they air.
And, isn't that an Autumn grass, below that
old oak tree? As the gentle Autumn winds,
carry silence for the day.

Now the mist of Autumn, are falling drops of rain.
No, not a shower in July, but an Autumn day,
now cast in gloom, against a steel gray sky.

Autumn, shall never be the same, since
that Autumn day in mid July.

poem by Waldon Pond Productions
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Caw, Caw

On your dais of a mango twig
You tune your pitch gently swaying
Even before the sanguine sun trig
Seen on the horizon rising

Your caw caresses me through the window
Like that of the mango breeze
Hazily finding over there a dark halo
I sit up, a little laze

'Good morning crow'
' Caw caw' you beak a hello
8o'clock, a rice-ball at the window sill
Our first guest you're full

There, grand-son querying in haste
'sanaishwar rides this crow? '
Your then caw caw do I translate
'Greatest great grand-pa alone' says this crow
Stone-fixed ever with his Lord'...O crow!
True or false, all your myths..?

poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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July....

July is the month where the families get the barbeque grills fired up.
July is the month where the night sky is light up with fire works.
July is the month where many families go out of town to be with family.
July is the month where many kids are dreary because it’s a month away for school.
July is the month where America gets to celebrate its independence from England.
July is the month where many people are dying of the heat of the summer.
July is my favorite month because it’s the time that I get to be myself around my family.

poem by Natasha Ligons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Crow and The Butterfly

Ever wonder why the Crow chases the Butterfly?
Have you ever heard the Crow let out it's cry?
I think I found out why...
It's quite the interesting story, I had to pry..

The Butterfly's beauty, the Crow's will never match.
The Crow's life is nothing compared the the Butterfly's since it's first hatch.
If you are good enough to get a Butterfly, that is quite a catch.
Get a Crow somehow and it gets thrown right back out to the patch.

The Crow has had it so much easier than the Butterfly.
Straight jealousy from the Crow because they have to share the sky.
The Butterfly's flight is reason to stare, the Crow's just reason to cry.
Everyone stops to get a glance of a Buttflies, a few Crows and people pass by.

So if you ever hear a Crow cry,
Or see a Butterfly being chased by a Crow,
Just think how bad that Crow wants to be a Butterfly.....

poem by Joe Gosart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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July Paints of Winter

July paints masterpieces
kissing my canvas with lively breezy strokes
July paints what she sees
adding intrigue to yellow folks
She paints a cold numbing winter
adding icicles on Christchurch trees
She paints a briskly Tasman salty sea
Sitting at a window overlooking her muse
July can't see colour til summer’s shines it's hues

poem by ArmourQuill Hunter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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December Morning

The sun came up above the skeletal dark grey trees this morning
whilst the grey mist clung fiercely to the ground,
its rays tried to encompass the heavy coatings of dew,
which the dark hours had purposely left behind.

There was no wind to disturb the stillness and silence,
but then a crow quietly descended onto the grass.
It hopped about pecking between the rich green blades,
drinking the dew as it searched for its breakfast.

A mongrel dog ran at great speed towards the crow,
which took off effortlessly into the sky.
It cawed and crowed to complain in the way crows’ do,
whilst the dog sat and wondered why.

poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Night Ride Home

Words and music by joni mitchell
Once in a while
In a big blue moon
There comes a night like this
Like some surrealist
Invented this 4th of july
Night ride home
Hula girls
And caterpillar tractors in the sand
The ukulele man
The fireworks
This 4th of july
Night ride home
I love the man beside me
We love the open road
No phones till friday
Far from the overkill
Far from the overload
Back at the bar
The band tears down
But out here in the headlight beams
The silver powerlines
Gleam
On this 4th of july
Night ride home
Round the curve
And a big dark horse
Red taillights on his hide
Is keeping right alongside
Rev for stride
4th of july
Night ride home
I love the man beside me
We love the open road
No phones till friday
Far from the undertow
Far from the overload
Once in awhile
In a big blue moon
There comes a night like this
Like some surrealist
Invented this 4th of july
Night ride home

song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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July The First

The grey roos sheltering beneath the pine trees it is a wet and a wintery Winter's day
Yet in the rain the magpie he is piping on a high branch of a tall mountain gray
And yet the weather is not cold or chilly it does not seem a bad start to July
The Winter sun by the rain is hidden and overcast looking the morning sky
The Southern Winter I feel is far more pleasant than the Southern Summer at least the weather never gets too cold
That I do find mild Winter days a bit chilly has to be proof I must be getting old
On the Winter flowering trees the red wattlebirds are calling they have a certain hoarseness in their cry
And the pied currawongs the dark crow sized birds their karrawang notes are uttering as through the park from tree to tree they fly,
The white cockatoos in the drizzling rain are squawking from other birds them one cannot mistake
They are at their noisiest in the gloam of evening and in the early morning at daybreak
Three species of white cockatoo the sulphur crested and long billed and short billed corella by voice and appearance from each other not hard to identify
They live in large flocks and to each other nearby,
The rain drizzling down from a sky that's gloomy gray
But for July the first it is mild enough for a Winter's day.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The Weaving (Love Poem)

July was always the month for me. I cling
to July as if there are no doubts about
July. I feel human enough and animal enough
in July. I identify with those harvests flying
just above the rock walls, and then bursting
from themselves into the ground, into each other.

I'm talking about a plain garden with apricots
and lemons, where the cicadas play in the sage but never
show their watery guitars. And what is that harvest
all about? Their music is a harvest, an overflowing
harvest, whether those musicians and their instruments
are visible, or not.

I'm saying I have everything in July. I'm saying
that July is the birth of it. July
the spiders born in the camellias. July
the hummingbird and the olive―
and that's Linda Janakos' hummingbird
asleep in her lap, that's Linda Janakos' olive,
the one with the breast inside of it.
This is what my sister stitched
to the weaving inside her brother's head.

poem by Doren Robbins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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