Quotes about gust, page 2
Benedictus qui venit
Benigno numine adaequatio intellectus et rei,
Mistral anodynes my tears, sorrow distracts,
omnes enim peccaverunt et egent gloriam Dei.
Domine, age quod agis, il tuo sentiero perdei,
appetence of solitude, his apparition enacts,
Benigno numine adaequatio intellectus et rei.
Aeternum vale, benedictus qui venit, splendei;
Disruptive gust exceeds, breath he detracts,
omnes enim peccaverunt et egent gloriam Dei.
Effectual came, exorbitant slope to convey,
where my hope elevated so lonely and intact,
Benigno numine adaequatio intellectus et rei
A wraith was, so gust beseeched to display,
my lost aptitude and soul upwards extracts,
omnes enim peccaverunt et egent gloriam Dei.
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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In May
Grief was my master yesternight;
To-morrow I may grieve again;
But now along the windy plain
The clouds have taken flight.
The sowers in the furrows go;
The lusty river brimmeth on;
The curtains from the hills are gone;
The leaves are out; and lo,
The silvery distance of the day,
The light horizons, and between
The glory of the perfect green,
The tumult of the May.
The bobolinks at noonday sing
More softly than the softest flute,
And lightlier than the lightest lute
Their fairy tambours ring.
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poem by Archibald Lampman
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Standing Athwart
The storm descended down the Straights,
it was Lorenzo fixing sails at the backstay,
me gangway, the bargermast'r Jim Bates,
working ropes, on mainsail aft and forestay.
Northern winds barked like dogs, the gust,
lifted the batten, boat tilted off to port bow,
lowered the cent'rboard and hull, to thrust
like a curse of Demons, on deathly draw.
I lost Jim Bates, suddenly as he unreeved,
went off; sea waves thrushed to sternway,
Lorenzo fought at the top-gallant, bereaved,
and Angelo Corto was holding timenoguy.
The steersman conned fine; me on th' ganwale,
to lower the spreader, even at a gust blow,
we had the mainsail torn, and guff-topsail,
to guide wind's force to the jib bendin' slow.
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Plastic Bag
I'm like a plastic bag blown in the wind,
Carried by the cutting razor of a gust.
Though I'm my moving, my soul's also been pinned—
I roll through the smog, dripping with disgust.
Carried by the cutting razor of a gust,
I fray on my fringe, my heart's dissection.
I roll through the smog, dripping with disgust.
It seems I've been fouled by an infection.
I fray on my fringe, my heart's dissection—
Empty emotions crumble from disuse;
It seems I've been fouled by an infection,
A rotten feeling: leaking and effuse.
Empty emotions crumble from disuse;
Malnourished, they wither and quickly spoil.
A rotten feeling—leaking and effuse—
Tars the beach of my thoughts in thick, dark oil.
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poem by Tim Stensloff
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The Life History of The Little Flower
The delicate petals fanned the tiny flower,
Waking fragrantly after the nudging shower,
Shyly it peeped around the beautiful bower,
Not realising its immense power of attraction.
Its quaint face and vibrant eyes,
Made onlookers feel grateful and wise.
Emotions, spirits and thoughts nobly rise,
In appreciation of the aesthetics of nature.
It looked at the sun and the shadowy moon,
Not knowing it would miss them soon.
Life is so brief. It was getting to be noon.
But that did not dismay the flower at all.
A bee saw it from the corner of its eye,
Skilfully it zoomed down closer to pry,
Lighting on the flower with spirits high,
It soon zoomed away with its fill of nectar.
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poem by Renu Beri
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Her and Him
She fell in love at the first sight
of his prismic points and insights
depicting a plethora of fireworks
consecutively sparkling in the sky.
Whilst he trampled in a delicate stupor
to muse upon her eloquent words
woven like a tapestry to mantle
the unfathomable slumbering firmament
Stocks of unedited ends and tales
smokes out of his hidden system.
Soft punctuation in creative rhymes,
fills me with bliss in every line.
Her unabashed tongue gyrated
to recount the tragedy of felled stars
And the rapier of her caustic words
slurred with a vicarious quiescence on mine
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poem by Norman Santos
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Modern Love V
The spring's audio tempest brings a mauve sunrise alarm full of chirping avarian prayers.
The gust's mouths open the blackness with yawns
while awakening dewy green fertile cornfields.
The stabbing wind's hands paint dalisque clouds on the innocent blue-sky like flapping white kerchiefs of goodbye to memories.
The infinite wind's broken heart flutters and emotes warm misty tears while performing to silent love's audience.
Among ancient swaying trees the mezzo tenor wind's song jumps around like Verdi's Egyptian victory march.
The whispering wind reveals its secret, as it churns the ocean's floor, touching the delicate pearl in your salty oyster.
Pirate whirling wind, that gathers quickly and steals away
forever-excessive foliage and spent hearts, like fluttering arrows of parrots.
Whimsical warm wind that melts your
winter ardor like a foamless tasmanian wave, spent and resting ashore in your damp tomb.
Your lip's kisses are deserting and diving back to your heart rather than waging an equinox battle with summer's breeze.
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poem by Liberatore Suffoletta
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Life's Purpose
I can hear people singing- beautiful melodies,
Upbeat and tuneful- I sing along-
I sing alone except for the company of
The comrades who live inside
The fortress of my mind.
I can hear raindrops splashing
Rhythmically onto the pavement outside, as
A cool breeze creeps through
An open crack in my bedroom window- I realize that
This is the autumn I have been waiting for.
Foliage on the trees changing color,
Skies are darkening- although it is only 6 PM-
I walked in the woods this morning amongst
Deer, squirrels and mallard ducks- as
The sun was just rising
I believed I was the queen of the forest.
However, right now my heart has become an empty cage,
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poem by Claudia Krizay
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Log Blog
Seasons hot and cold conspire
together to perpetuate
a fire ice cycle whose attire
in trice turns bark to dark ash - fait
accompli by Dame Nature's lyre
whose runes tune life, strange change dictate.
No paradox. In town and shire
from dream of steam to solid state
all stays the same, though minds require
the wherewithal to integrate
four elements linked by fey wire
whose strange range can incorporate
life's fractal fantasy entire.
Sodden logs around the fire
soldier like await grate fate,
ramrod stiff and hourly drier,
fiery end anticipate.
Trees which bore for man's desire
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Bonfire
OH, let’s go up the hill and scare ourselves,
As reckless as the best of them to-night,
By setting fire to all the brush we piled
With pitchy hands to wait for rain or snow.
Oh, let’s not wait for rain to make it safe.
The pile is ours: we dragged it bough on bough
Down dark converging paths between the pines.
Let’s not care what we do with it to-night.
Divide it? No! But burn it as one pile
The way we piled it. And let’s be the talk
Of people brought to windows by a light
Thrown from somewhere against their wall-paper.
Rouse them all, both the free and not so free
With saying what they’d like to do to us
For what they’d better wait till we have done.
Let’s all but bring to life this old volcano,
If that is what the mountain ever was—
And scare ourselves. Let wild fire loose we will….”
“And scare you too?” the children said together.
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poem by Robert Frost
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