The Days of Spring Are Near
The days of spring are near
With the flowing water around
In every heart of youth to steer
That still with the winter's bound
So lovely as each loneliness
And black as rocks in the hills
These condense come with caress
As water splashes and spills
The youth of new springtime's here
Is in every life and brawl
Where the falls shall touch and bear
In its freshness of its early call
And bring mystics wind to blow
While the leaves are becoming green
Away is then all winter's snow
With the life's sullenness between
The days of spring thoughts steer
Into the young days fairly bright
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poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Happy Encounters
Love songs of earth
And fields made
Flowers of new morning birth
Sky tinctures that never fade
A heart of a beating secret
Full of love to you
Nothing in its ways to regret
From inside colors true
Love songs coming by
Every dream of oceans wide
The azures space and sky
In cloudlets drifting and glide
Every thought that comes to be
From hope we know
The world of songs playfully
Like dawn of dewdrops glow
Love songs in each new go
That gives life a new meaning
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poem by Peter S. Quinn
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I'll Be Taking America
I'll be taking America from the inside
And giving her of my complete love
Where clouds from the high sky glide
And drift with my heart songs above
I'll be sowing my love at her freedom’s feet
To find out if she likes me or not
And if she will come on to me and read
In what in words and music I've got
I'll be taking my America on to my home
With every soul that wants to conquer me
To bring me to their alter and dome
To set every word and my tones free
For my existences is for everyone's love
In a dream that never shall settle low
Fore I'll rise like the highest cloud above
In tomorrow's summer for the new glow
I will be taking my songs to her mountain
And filling my words with her hope
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poem by Peter S. Quinn
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I Feel the Joy
There is a day in the night
Within beautiful seeing
With the moon close and bright
In our heart times being
Every hour is staying
To times in night falling
As the wind outside´s playing
To the night and dark calling
I feel the joy within me
Where imaginary landscapes go
With the wings of heaven free
In the moonlight hours glow
Every depth has its touch
With its hours of purple sky
In the glow of heaven’s torch
As the nightfall again dies
(Chorus)
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poem by Peter S. Quinn
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These Are the Songs that Came from My Head
These are the songs that came from my head,
They came out when I came from bed,
A fairy told me a story or two in my dream,
It had all shorts of scenes but some where rather gleam;
Of mountains and forests and lonesome skies,
Of all shorts of opportunities and failures and tries,
That came as they wend like others go by,
But don't ask any questions, yes don't ask me why.
In the woods of the darkest forest I dwell,
Because a fairy put on me an unknown spell,
And no one can resolve that old some riddle,
Unless he could play the truest of fiddle;
These are the songs that came from my head,
But no one can hear them or where they will led,
Because here I am now wandering just around,
Trying to find a way out but I am all spellbound.
Butterflies and insects of all other shorts,
Are meeting with fairies and judges of higher courts;
They want me to be rescued and see me safely home,
Before night's again here with its supernatural gloam.
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Just Listen To My Song (from 'Meet the Moments')
When my heart is lonely and blue
And just wondering about you
When the world outside is all cold
And my dreams to nowhere are true
And to the dark they surely unfold
Just listen to my song of loneliness
Just listen to the song I'm singing
I'll be touching out for each caress
That my feelings and paths are bringing
Every world has its own to care for
Love is something to adjust and to be
We can never be of us assure
Because freedom is to learn and to see
It's all about free will to you and me
Just listen to my song to the open air
Just listen to the singing from my heart
I will try to reach out and be there
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poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Like A Circling Way
This moment is going on to the dust
Turning around each every must
Reaching its time
That came together and is now going
On to the sideways of their flowing
Reaching its time
Something, like a circling way
Reaching its time
This moment is borrowed from something
That never will come here again
In its time
Billows of oceans never the same
Burning on burning in their flame
In its time
Something, like a circling way
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poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Flowers in the Background
Flowers in the background
Old times in gray and white
Life songs turning around
In their all and different light
Deems of melodies slow
The timbres in hour’s mood
As they turn on and then go
In taste of its beauties fruit
You were singing of yesterday
Once close to days here
Through windows coming play
In memories from everywhere
You gave your song to me
In dreams of your pleasures
Something that flowed on free
And now the time treasures
With sunglasses in tomorrow
Ahead of today’s now song
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poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Happy Spring
Happy spring don't mean a thing
If nobody is listening
We all got to give its cling
A worthy again visiting
Singing from bough to bough
Playful birds are there
Bring together their vow
Little hearts pounding everywhere
Happy spring comes every spring
Memories soft glistening
Flowers and tints they bring
Under from earth's snowy wing
Its times come soon now
With their hope to share
New summer fun and now-how
Arriving again through the air
Refrain
Happy spring happy spring
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poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Bouquets of Flowers Colors Flow
Times are going here and there
With lots of summer everywhere
I felt bad in the winter's high
With not much to live for or die
Feelings dreary are always gone
Into the blank and darkness done
Never a right place to be living
Nothing to have no sunshine giving
Bouquets of flowers - colors flow
Dawn of summers moods spin
The rising skies where clouds go
Everything of day is coming in
You and I with pleasures’ need
Everything yesterday didn't show
Colors green and growing freed
No more frost or winter's snow
What is real is all now in here
In the fragrance sweet morn air
And a garden so full of its joy
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poem by Peter S. Quinn
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