The Press Of Time Poem by Daniel Brick

The Press Of Time

Rating: 5.0


You already knew the wind speaks
in every language. Just listening
you feel dry bark scrap your skin.

You see thin trees, wood chips, green
leaves swaying in the cool air, bushes
shaking and bending, ant hills scattered

across the sidewalks or hidden beneath
yellow-petalled dandelions. As much
winter grass dances around their stems

as new grass sprouts today, yellow
in the yellow light. So the seasons cross
each other in the press of time.

On still days the silence carries
the wind's message. Without talking
you point to every needed sign. Your

eyes and mine look for summer's first day.

Sunday, March 16, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: Nature
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Dr Dillip K Swain 02 December 2022

You see thin trees, wood chips, green leaves swaying in the cool air, bushes shaking and bending, ant hills scattered...magnificent. A great poem.

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Liza Sudina 12 November 2015

On still days the silence carries the wind's message. Without talking you point to every needed sign. - this poem is so pleasent for my ears! And one common wish in the end uplifts the spirit.

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Smoky Hoss 01 March 2015

As true now as it was a year ago, and will be a year from now. An eternal poem.

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Gajanan Mishra 16 March 2014

summer's first day, thanks, good one. Please read my poems and comment.

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