Pages tagged with Forest
Come and join me on this long June evening. Watch the the mystic wonder of the forest embrace the summer night.
Mahua trees grow in abundance in the northern, central and middle parts of India.A liquor is made from the flowers by the tribal communities.Lyrics are composed by them in reference of these flowers.
Twilight on a June night, the woodlands leaves whisper in the breeze. The sun sets over the forest. By the shore dusk's soft colors paint the evening sky...
Time moves slower in Maine. History and the present day seem to blend and mellow into a certain tempo and lifestyle. Here are some odds and ends, just snapshots of my life in Maine.
The minstrel returns with his pipers. The play tunes to rock the earth while the minstrel dances his enchanted dances. Dances from ancient times, magical dances learned from before the world was made, dances to turn feathers to polished stone. Dances that can raise the dead.
He lives...I know this, because I don't believe he would bring me this far to leave me
Slowly walking the forest path... still couldn't see the trees
Man has hunted innocent animals right from the ages with his bows, arrows, guns and rifles. They have hunted for meat, skin and also for the fun of killing only.
So many times have I contemplated leaving the rat race behind and go to where my heart lays, with nature.
This is the first in a series of my seasonal poems for children. It is based on the style of a fairy tale or nursery rhyme, full of dragons and giants and children's imagination, but most of all their love of a scary tale.
A young son was killed inhumanly in a human village. I am trying to express his mother's tearful thoughts in my incompetent words.
Let's take a retreat from the ever-growing snowdrifts and the long cold Maine winter. As February ends and March begins, let our thoughts turn to spring.
Rescuers had indeed discovered a frozen butchered human carcass in the woods, after a Yakutia Republic emergency service helicopter patrol spotted the surviving pair
Once the river was like a young maiden, full of life, vigour and water, Today only a narrow and dirty stream flows through the town. Squatters have encroached the river bed. The river of my childhood memories is slowly dying.
January in Maine has been a very frigid start to the New Year, a crystal white, viewed best from inside, looking out my window. The raw winter wind now is a country song frozen within my mind...
This is a poem just for children and fun, lovingly dedicated to my three precious granddaughters ......
An old man goes for a long walk in beautiful countryside. He thinks back to a time when he was young and strong. He would chase the young girls who wanted to get caught he was strong and fit afraid of no one.
Harmful substances in air, water an food, along with radiation and noise, are all environmental factors that can damage our health.
Winter winds around trees consent,
their foliage sweep, dithering gusts;
A spiritual poem about souls and woods.
This was made up in about an hour. The thing is that I haven't been publishing a lot of poems lately because I have been going through a writer's block in poetry. Yet I've been publishing the short stories of Lelkshire. This is a little something for my readers who don't wish to read ...
A man hears that a wise old hermit called Hope is living in the forest. The man pays him a visit, but when he returns the next day Hope has gone.
