comma-shaped leaves
rustle in the wind
the beauty of pauses
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Related quotes
The Poet Tree
Rustle, little leaves above, rustle in the breeze...
Rustle, little leaves of love, rustle mid God's peace!
Rustle, every night and day, rustle every hour...
Rustle, rustle, come what may, rustle mid God's power!
Rustle, for then wise words are formed,
Great expectations made!
Through such as these, men's hearts are warmed
And children's prayers are prayed!
Rustle upon the Poet Tree,
Above the poets' ears,
So they may learn each melody,
These God-picked volunteers...
Rustle sweetly, and gently on,
Persist from age to age -
Let all God's poets write upon
Their separate nearby page...
Rustle until all humans die
And no more poets live!
Until no soul would question, 'Why? '
And there's no cause to give!
Rustle until God tells you stop,
'Dear friends, at last, be free...
'Tis time for you to fall, to drop...
Beneath the Poet Tree...
I've loved each poem, every one...
And Jesus loved them, too!
You've blessed the world! Your task is done!
Your rustle days are through...'
poem by Denis Martindale
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Voice
`
leaves rustle in a dance
the wind, their live band
birds, their vocal ensemble
but your voice remains still
not a sound to be heard
leaves rustle on a tome
your words printed out and bound
inked clues guide memories
but your voice still remains -
faded familiar sound
leave, just leave without a word
your thoughts riding on the wind
echo back that distant call
bring to life this one last time
the hearts you left behind
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
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I Believe
i believe that in the novel
written about us
it shall not end on the last
sentence with a period
i ask the Great Writer
to at least end it with a comma
the silence of the comma
the suspense of the comma
and the exclamation point
of the Hallelujah!
I do not prefer the eternal rest
i pray for that Bliss.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dictaphone Bard
[And here is a suggestion: Did you ever try dictating your stories or articles to the dictaphone for the first draft? I would be glad to have you come down and make the experiment.--From a shorthand reporter's circular letter.]
(As "The Ballad of the Tempest" would have to issue from the dictaphone to the stenographer)
We were crowded in the cabin comma
Not a soul would dare to sleep dash comma
It was midnight on the waters comma
And a storm was on the deep period
Apostrophe Tis a fearful thing in capital Winter
To be shattered by the blast comma
And to hear the rattling trumpet
Thunder colon quote capital Cut away the mast exclamation point close quote
So we shuddered there in silence comma dash
For the stoutest held his breath comma
While the hungry sea was roaring comma
And the breakers talked with capital Death period
As thus we sat in darkness comma
Each one busy with his prayers comma
Quote We are lost exclamation point close quote the captain shouted comma
As he staggered down the stairs period
But his little daughter whispered comma
As she took his icy hand colon
Quote Isn't capital God upon the ocean comma
Just the same as on the land interrogation point close quote
Then we kissed the little maiden comma
And we spake in better cheer comma
And we anchored safe in harbor
When the morn was shining clear period
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Cow Cow Boogie
Out on the plains down near Santa Fe
I met a cowboy ridin' the range one day
And as he jogged along I heard him singin'
The most peculiar cowboy song
It was a ditty, he learned in the city
Comma ti yi yi yeah
Comma ti yippity yi yeah
Now get along, get hip little doggies
Get along, better be on your way
Get along, get hip little doggies
He trucked 'em on down that old fairway
Singin' his Cow Cow Boogie in the strangest way
Comma ti yi yi yeah
Comma ti yippity yi yeah
(Chorus)
Now singin' his cowboy songs
He's just too much
He's got a knocked out western accent with a dixie
touch
He was raised on local ways
He's what you call a swingin' half breed
Singin' his Cow Cow Booogie in the strangest way
Comma ti yi yi yeah
Comma ti yippity yi yeah
(Repeat Chorus)
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The dry leaves do not rustle if no wind blows.
Living Leaves
The leaves seem to take on a life of their own,
As, along the ground, they’re bounced and blown.
They run rings around my rapidly pacing feet;
Pulsating, moving, as if dancing to a musical beat.
Along the ground, the leaves skip and skitter,
As they’re blown around by the wind so bitter.
Each other, they sometimes appear to chase,
As they run around, with such a great haste.
With me, the leaves seem to be playing a game,
But they are very boisterous, and not at all tame.
Devoid of moisture, they’re as light as a feather,
And are lifted effortlessly, in this windy weather.
Some of them take flight through the air like kites;
Often soaring up to the most remarkable heights.
They zoom all around: so much higher than me;
Seemingly thrilled that, at last, they’re finally free.
Endless energy, the leaves seem to have acquired:
If we ran around like that, we would soon be tired.
The long dead leaves, all brown, with edges curled,
Are whipped up by the wind, and tirelessly whirled.
The leaves perform such a merry little dance;
Up into the air, they now do leap and prance.
To each other, they seem to whisper and rustle,
As, along the streets, they now hustle and bustle.
Following their freedom, they seem keen to explore.
They’re totally undiscouraged by the wind so raw.
More and more leaves excitedly come out to play
As. along the road, I carry onwards, on my way.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Picture Poem #212 (From, This is my Wasteland)
Morning fresh
with sound of rustle wind
at the treetops
blowing sunset leaves
tomorrow's
a hunter of dream
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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My Beauty For All Seasons
Not as the rustle of the dry summer leaves
Will beauty hung upon thee grieve.
Not as the fadding flames of a candlelight
Your splendour will remain ever bright
Nor could season's plague despoil thy beauty's prime
You sweet gentle pulses tickle with the time.
Your lovely spirit misfortune cannot toy
And upon its chamber my lines i do employ
Where i to write of thy beauty still
My sinew will rest but with a numbing pill
For mere lines not enough will produce
Such sum deserved thy beauty's use
And if prize be given for this reason
Gold be yours now and for all season!
poem by Okonkwo Osamedua. Allen
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When The Wind Blows
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
In a part of this once-great city
Stands a child crying out in pity.
Gone is hope in the heart of each hungry hour.
Every year in this land of plenty
There are millions of starving children
What will i say if they look my way?
This is an emergency.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
Bow your heads to the lost generation
Scars so deep, bringing god's damnation.
Businessmen sip wine while congress argue.
But for grace we enjoy our pleasures
What we face will be our salvation
Go build your towns, but remember time will not forget
That this is an emergency.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
Think of what the wise men said.
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
In my mind i see,
When the wind blows, many leaves will fall.
This is an emergency.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As If They Have Their Own Identity
All of the Autumn leaves that fall from their mother tree
Are shaped so very differently
As if each has their own identity
At least that's how they seem to me.
In the cool gusts of the freshening winds they blow
Along the footpath fast and then quite slow
As if searching for a final resting place
On the Nature strip or in stormwater drain for to hide their wrinkled face.
Their span of time is brief so quick to meet decay
And in Nature's bosom within weeks they rot away
And off of their compost insects and beetles will live
When Nature takes in other ways she give.
Leaves too have life despite what some might say
And all things of life return to earth one day
And though they have life cells they do not have a mind
But they serve some purpose just like human kind.
I hear them rustle on their invisible feet
The dead dry leaves that are blown down the street
All of different shapes and sizes though from the one mother tree
As if they have their own identity.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Beauty Of A Poem
The beauty of a poem
The beauty of music
The beauty of light
The beauty of life
The beauty which makes us want to live life more
The beauty which pains us inside
The beauty in longing.
The beauty we come upon by surprise
The beauty of the day and the beauty of the night
The beauty we all have inside us
The beauty we can see and feel and never explain
The beauty that lifts us up
The beauty that makes us want to live more
The beauty that makes us reach out to God
The beauty we want to thank God for
The beauty of lilacs
The beauty of autumn leaves
The beauty of the people we love
The beauty that pervades life
The beauty that turns away from us
And will not let us be a part of it
The beauty we hold on to fragilely
As a driven leaf
The beauty the beauty the beauty
Oh life oh God of goodness oh death
The beauty we can never see
And the Beauty within us all
Oh God
The Beauty in us and Beyond us all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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0018 Man Raking Leaves (re Jim Morrison lyric)
The sound of wooden rake scratching concrete.
walk nearer - rustle of dry leaves.
This, the beginning of a Japanese haiku
or maybe a Japanese film -
dry sound first, then rake, then leaves, then man -
that evokes autumn
too near the heart
to need a title
the sound stops. silence. man leans on rake.
then match strikes, there's almost yes an echo
from the dry leaves not yet fallen from the trees
in the forest all around.
then the first tickle in the nostrils
of burning leaves which
the two-year old scrunching through the trees
hand in hand with older sister
will remember all his life
like the silence between
two lines of a haiku or
the silence of the moment when the seasons turn.
and who can say
what the golden-orange-yellow-brown trees
slowly stripping in a rustle as of silken nightgown
to the tune of, more a whisper than a breeze -
what the trees feel
as the incense of their, their, burning leaves
steals like a last caress
for each such faithful
lover?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Leaves
There are leaves on my trees
that don't want to go.
They cling to their branches
and the wind does blow.
They defy the wind
as if to say
'It will take more than you
to take me away.'
We are in December
and still they're here.
Are they boldly waiting
to see the New Year?
If Christmas comes
with ice and snow,
maybe then
my leaves will go.
And I'll look once more
and I will know
that the wind did win
for the leaves did go.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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On a hot summer afternoon
On a hot summer afternoon
I open the window and listen
To the flowing wind
Dry leaves on the tree rustle
The atmosphere filled with dust
The sun shines
Emitting tremendous heat
Making the wind hot and severe
Everybody on the street
Runs for shade
Throats dry
Thirst for water increases
Every soul
Search for a glass of cold water
Birds and animal rest in shades
Waiting for the sun to set
I close the window
In a huff
Never to open and feel the wind
On another hot summer afternoon
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Autumn
I have allowed my family to scatter,
All those who were my dearest to depart,
And once again an age-long loneliness
Comes in to fill all nature and my heart.
Alone this cottage shelters me and you:
The wood is an unpeopled wilderness
And ways and footpaths wear, as in the song.
Weeds almost overgrowing each recess;
And where we sit together by ourselves
The log walls gaze upon us mournfully.
We gave no promise to leap obstacles,
We shall yet face our end with honesty.
At one we'll sit, at three again we'll rise,
My book with me, your sewing in your hand,
Nor with the dawning shall we realize
When all our kissing shall have had an end.
You leaves, more richly and more recklessly
Rustle your dresses, spill yourselves away,
And fill a past day's cup of bitterness
Still higher with the anguish of today!
All this delight, devotion and desire!
We'll fling ourselves into September's riot!
Immure yourself within the autumn's rustle
Entirely: go crazy, or be quiet!
How when you fall into my gentle arms
Enrobed in that silk-tasselled dressing gown
You shake the dress you wear away from you
As only coppices shake their leaves down!-
You are the blessing on my baneful way,
When life has depths worse than disease can reach,
And courage is the only root of beauty,
And it is this that draws us each to each.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Beauty, Beautious, Beautiful
Beauty is not a superficial form
Each has their own in essential nature
And in the actions they perform
Until the dissolution of their life
To leave beauty’s impressions in our hearts
Yesterdays beauty never leaves or departs.
Beauty is all around
Each and every place it may be found
As you look with open eyes
Upon the forms that nature makes
Then man seeks to imitate
Yearning to match that beauty all around.
Beauty if you cannot find
Beauty must be in mind
Beauty is in purity
Beauty of simplicity
Beauty runs right through and through
Beauty in me, and them, and you.
Beauty, beauteous, beautiful
Beauty in heaven
Beauty in fire
Beauty in earth
And finally beauty in a simple verse.
poem by David Taylor
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As The Wind Blows
As the wind blows
and the trees
rustle and sway
Is it just the wind
or is it them...
The living dead
They come when you sleep
Watching and waiting
ready to take your soul
and make you one of them
As the wind blows
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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Sonnet: The Wind
What shakes the trees so violently? ’Tis Wind;
What moves the clouds hither/ thither? ’Tis Wind;
What takes the tornado around? ’Tis Wind;
What brings the sandstorm on the earth? ’Tis Wind.
What makes the cool and gentle breeze? ’Tis Wind
What makes the boughs and leaves to dance? ’Tis Wind;
What makes the autumn leaves to fall? ’Tis Wind;
What makes the honey-bees to fly? ’Tis Wind.
What makes pollen reach in showers? ’Tis Wind;
What makes the dust to climb towers? ’Tis Wind;
What spreads the perfume of flowers? ’Tis Wind;
What makes the rain-clouds advance far? ’Tis Wind.
What makes the Wind to blow? ’Tis God;
What makes a Tempest stop? ’ Tis our Lord.
7-18-2001
poem by John Celes
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The Rustle
How fascinating the songs of the wind
Carrying up high the bird on spread wings
listen to the birds chirp,
and listen to the howls that are carried in the wind.
How enchanting to play with the wind
Subdued when watching the wind
the wind grabs the whisper and
carries around the world
only the wind decides where
it will take away the whisper...
The smell of blossoms blows with the wind
I search through the billion
In the field of gold and green
I smell them in my handz,
bt couldnt severalize...
their fragrance is under par.
that amply mesmerized..
A breeze brings along the fragrance of apricot flowers.
I couldnt feel the inner reality
that blows with the wind connotes diversity.
It scrawled the human mystery.
I search to find the birth of the wind
went up finding leaves rustle and bustle like a wing.
One thing in all things have I seen
In the hidden recess of the breaking sound.
I saw the flying vision there
in the deepest silence of sacred wind.
At last, at last, the meaning caught.
It shakes its wondrous plumes of thought
burning away all illusion.
unexpected, we are One and the same..
poem by Moumita .Aich
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