Quotes about hover, page 10
Fairy Tale (2)
Now folds the Tree of Day its perfect flowers,
And every bloom becomes a bud again,
Shut and sealed up against the golden showers
Of bees that hover in the velvet hours....
Now a strain
Wild and mournful blown from shadow towers,
Echoed from shadow ships upon the foam,
Proclaims the Queen of Night.
From their bowers
The dark Princess fluttering, wing their flight
To their old Mother, in her huge old home.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Footprints That Never Fade
Simple, a true paradise it seems. The first love surges through heart & finds its path to the soul. It pops like a glowing splint, secures mannerism, delve deeply to the conscience of the beholder, whenever bleak spectrums hover, it outcasts it with all verve. Nothing is called boredom, even to speak of ever falling but when it contradicts the norms beseeched, its an eye-saw.
Footprints that never fade.
poem by Prince Kenny Osei
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A Sense Of Home.....
the chickens in the backyard
are feeding themselves freely
on the corn grits
the hen are checking her chicks
and enfolds all of them with her wings
under the mango tree
the roosters roost up the tree
settling upon a big branch
it is getting dark and a flock of sparrows
arrive and stop to take their own place
on the coconut palms
they're all home now, and then
the silence begins to hover too inside the room.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Be Light as a Feather
be light as a feather
do not go for a heavy face
or a heart that stores
sorrows
be not overwhelmed with
grief
these burdens
pull you towards the
grave
be light as a feather
be blown by the winds of change
into some happier lands
hover, drift, float
empty your mind
and heart
be so light as a new thought
that bewilders you
into another
comforting
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Shooting Star
In the abyss of my world
You are a shooting star
I appreciate the beauty
The beauty from afar
You light up my horizon
By showing me a path
A path of no regret
Or hatred or wrath
You hover around the sky
I wander around the land
I feel like a desert
With you as my sand
Coz you are a shooting star
You are MY shooting star
And I'll be looking up to you
No matter where you are
[...] Read more
poem by Teddy Ang
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Walls (4)
I shall dip my tongue in the sea
and wave farewell to freedom;
it is not far from mile stone-cold.
eagles hover above rooftops
of burning warri
with flame-guns to light
candles in the calm sea.
young horns howl in the night
to tear apart the old fortress
breeding witches to dance
on the grave of the future.
It is not too far from stone-cold,
I shall dip my tongue in the sea
and wave farewell to freedom.
poem by Orike Didi
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Dear Stillness,
Still, are you here?
Still, it is I.
Still, you have found me.
Shrouded with the weight of your presence,
Shifting through what scars memory has captured,
Shredding through ties that have kept me intact.
Shrapnel splits veins, leaving venom to spread.
Still, you are no comfort,
Still, you hover like a thick mist,
Still, I am deafened by your whispered silence.
Still, I need you to go, but
Still, I want you to stay.
poem by Argentine Tango
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Softly Kissed
A sultry evening, sunshine stays.
Rain clouds hover between its rays.
Chilly breeze provokingly plays,
lifting branches. Foliage sways.
Drizzle descends, a gentle mist.
Plants and flowers are softly kissed.
A watering doth thus persist,
in garden, meadow and forest.
Light showers brush away the dust,
which settles with each swirling gust.
Moisture seeping into earth’s crust.
All elements have got it sussed.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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A Dirge
CALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren,
Since o'er shady groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.
Call unto his funeral dole
The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole,
To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm,
And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm;
But keep the wolf far thence, that 's foe to men,
For with his nails he'll dig them up again.
poem by John Webster
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Smoke...
Smoke...
Fidget in madness
Narrow chimneys hurriedly it past...
From humble kitchens with its errands
Bakes the dough, sustenance of hunger...
In ovens of clay and straw, air strokes the dying coals, she lingers there too...
Master's will have it, bread is served...
Unto plates of rough palms, rough with their toil...
Over a meek shining shilling, in pocket...
She shall hover, through their chimneys...to the sky...
poem by Lama Abbas
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