Pleasures of Fields and Gardens
Spring a tangle of wildflowers and grasses lush and fragrant,
summer cool shade beneath thick pines towering everywhere:
oxen and sheep return on their own, wandering village lanes,
and for children here, robes of high office don't mean a thing.
poem by Wang Wei, translated by David Hinton
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Road Trip in Spring
Rolling Green Pastoral land
For as far as the eye
Can see
The lush verdant Oak and Elm
Outshine the other tree's
Rounded bush-lined lanes of
Concrete
As above we look to the aside Dale
Up-down-over and around
Glimpses of many a country trail
And traveling down Ranger Hill
From up above so very high
Brings more lush green beauty
That sparkles pure brillance
Into one's eyes
Oh what a grand canvas 'tis this
Our higher power has created for we
Many colors and sights of early Spring
For all of His beloved children to see
poem by Theodora Onken
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An April Day Near Mushera
Old March is still in April and the wind blows a cool chill
Across the windswept bracken of ancient Mushera hill
And the fields by Aubane river wet where the floods have been
But this countryside looks beautiful in all it's shades of green.
The swallows are returning in their hundreds every day
From warm climes of north Africa the deserts far away
And cattle out on pasture fields and though weather glass is low
The Spring has spread her greenery and lush the grasses grow
The weather will grow milder as days of bloom draw near
And the farmer prays that the Summer will be better than last year
His cattle wintered poorly on weather damaged silage and hay
And he tell all who listen that farming doesn't pay.
The birds busy nest building on bush and hedge and tree
And the blackbird whistles proudly proclaiming his territory
I still recall the innocence of a school going country boy
When I thought that every songbird only sung for love and joy.
An April day near Mushera and Spring is in the air
And in the fields and meadows wildflowers bloom everywhere
And though the ground is soggy where the recent floods have been
Old Aubane seems quite beautiful and looking lush and green.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Walking From Xiamen And Looking At The Blue Sea
East face Jieshi mountain
And gaze blue sea
Water how dancing gently
Mountain island towering
Trees grow thick
Hundred grasses lush
Autumn wind soughs
Big waves rise up
Sun moon their journey
As if from this in
Milky way splendid
As if from this in
Very lucky very lucky oh
Song sing wish
East of Jieshi mountain, I gaze at the blue sea.
The water dances so gently, the mountain island towers.
Trees here grow thick, a hundred grasses are lush.
The autumn wind soughs, great waves rise up.
The path of the sun and moon, seems to come from within.
The splendid Milky Way, seems to come from inside.
Oh, I am so lucky, to be singing my song!
poem by Cao Cao
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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When Early March Seems Middle May
When country roads begin to thaw
In mottled spots of damp and dust,
And fences by the margin draw
Along the frosty crust
Their graphic silhouettes, I say,
The Spring is coming round this way.
When morning-time is bright with sun
And keen with wind, and both confuse
The dancing, glancing eyes of one
With tears that ooze and ooze--
And nose-tips weep as well as they,
The Spring is coming round this way.
When suddenly some shadow-bird
Goes wavering beneath the gaze,
And through the hedge the moan is heard
Of kine that fain would graze
In grasses new, I smile and say,
The Spring is coming round this way.
When knotted horse-tails are untied,
And teamsters whistle here and there.
And clumsy mitts are laid aside
And choppers' hands are bare,
And chips are thick where children play,
The Spring is coming round this way.
When through the twigs the farmer tramps,
And troughs are chunked beneath the trees,
And fragrant hints of sugar-camps
Astray in every breeze,--
When early March seems middle May,
The Spring is coming round this way.
When coughs are changed to laughs, and when
Our frowns melt into smiles of glee,
And all our blood thaws out again
In streams of ecstasy,
And poets wreak their roundelay,
The Spring is coming round this way.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Père Lalemant
I LIFT the Lord on high,
Under the murmuring hemlock boughs, and see
The small birds of the forest lingering by
And making melody.
These are mine acolytes and these my choir,
And this mine altar in the cool green shade,
Where the wild soft-eyed does draw nigh
Wondering, as in the byre
Of Bethlehem the oxen heard Thy cry
And saw Thee, unafraid.
My boatmen sit apart,
Wolf-eyed, wolf-sinewed, stiller than the trees.
Help me, O Lord, for very slow of heart
And hard of faith are these.
Cruel are they, yet Thy children. Foul are they,
Yet wert Thou born to save them utterly.
Then make me as I pray,
Just to their hates, kind to their sorrows, wise
After their speech, and strong before their free
Indomitable eyes.
Do the French lilies reign
O'er Mont Royal and Stadacona still ?
Up the St. Lawrence comes the spring again,
Crowning each southward hill
And blossoming pool with beauty, while I roam
Far from the perilous folds that are my home,
There where we built St. Ignace for our needs,
Shaped the rough roof tree, turned the first sweet sod,
St. Ignace and St. Louis, little beads
On the rosary of God.
Pines shall Thy pillars be,
Fairer than those Sidonian cedars brought
By Hiram out of Tyre, and each birch-tree
Shines like a holy thought.
But come no worshippers; shall I confess,
St. Francis-like, the birds of the wilderness?
O, with Thy love my lonely head uphold.
A wandering shepherd I, who hath no sheep;
A wandering soul, who hath no scrip, nor gold,
Nor anywhere to sleep.
My hour of rest is done;
On the smooth ripple lifts the long canoe;
The hemlocks murmur sadly as the sun
Slants his dim arrows through.
Whither I go I know not, nor the way,
Dark with strange passions, vexed with heathen charms,
Holding I know not what of life or death;
Only be Thou beside me day by day,
Thy rod my guide and comfort, underneath
Thy everlasting arms.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Wild Daisies
They are Nature's natural survivors though they seem so dainty and small
And they bloom in all Seasons and weather In Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall
With yellow hearts and snow white petals the wildflowers everybody does know
Even on the coldest days of Winter they bloom in the shade by hedgerow
Wild daisies distinct from all others the flowers everyone recognize
They close their petals to the night air and open their hearts to the sunrise
Even in the coldest days of Winter the wildflowers one often does see
So dainty looking yet so hardy they always do look disease free
When I was young in depths of Winter they bloomed in the fields far away
The very same species of wild daisies I see in the town park today
They must have been around forever the hardiest of little wildflowers
They even bloom in the coldest of weather in the sleety and wintery showers
They are Nature's natural survivors the poets their praises do sing
They bloom in all Seasons and weather Summer, Autumn and Winter and Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Morning Peace
THE sudden sunbeams slant between the trees
Like solid bars of silver. moonlight kissed,
And strike the supine shadows where they rest
Stretched sleeping; while a timid, new-born Breeze
Stirs through the grasses, petulant—her eyes
Half-blinded by the clinging scarves of mist:
Her robes, that tangled through the grasses twist,
Weave as she moves sweet whispered melodies.
O may it be a morn like this, when slow
From a dark world beneath my soul shall go
Through the wet grasses of a purple plain,
Still stretching broader in the cool, grey glow
Of morning twllight: then my soul shall know
That life and love are lost—and found again!
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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THE Pine
Shaft of beauty towering heavenly high
Dropping fragrances on passers by
Swaying in the Autumn breeze
The tall majestic pine trees
Shedding it's cones to the ground
Swaddled in needles all around
Fragrant and green in the snow
Ancient trees how tall they grow
Cooling dark green pines orth
Evergreen needles reaching forth
Like a sentry standing saluting the sky
Raising up through the clouds so high
Summer and winter under boughs spread
Snows of centuries have crowned your head
The fragrance of virtue of the pine
Rises to the heavens so sublime.
Orth - Straight.
poem by Hazel Connelly
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Spring In Lisnaboy
My many walks on memory lane i enjoy
'Twill soon be Spring again in old Lisnaboy
And though March 1 is the first of the calendar Spring
March can be wet and cold and few songbirds do sing.
But April she comes with her hosts of wildflowers
And the nesting birds sing in the mild April showers
And old Lisnaboy at it's best to be seen
And everywhere looking so lush and so green.
And April will fade to the beauty of May
And the swallows above the lush fields all the day
Will sing as they chase flies with young to be fed
In their mud nest on a rafter of some nearby shed
And at dawn before the sun shines in the sky
The skylark to greet the day upwards does fly
And the hawthorns heavy laden in their blossoms of white
In the full bloom of beauty a beautiful sight.
The bloom of lost youth we can never regain
But i do love my walks on memory lane
And a hark to the past is a thing i enjoy
Fond memories of Spring in old Lisnaboy.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sense Of Spring
Spring is the loveliest season of them all,
A source of life and love and gentle things,
Reward for winter's frost and icy pall.
A time when fledglings spread their tiny wings.
Spring is the gentlest season of them all,
When lambs their frail appendages must try,
The sheep stay close, concerned lest they should fall,
And gently nuzzle them to help them try.
Spring is the brightest season of them all,
Spring flowers yellow, mauve and red and blue,
And grasses growing silky, slender, tall;
And trees whose leaves are green of every hue.
Spring is the shortest season of them all,
Dissolving into summer's eager call.
poem by John Knight
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Be An Example!
Banks of rivers and ponds have screw pines,
that has the flower, so fragrant and divine,
the smell invites from the distant, but the cobras guard,
Guards are distracted for the blooms to be extracted.
The elongated leaf like petals are folded,
To keep on the plaited hair of the young damsels,
When the season for blooming arrives,
Our girls are fragrant with screw pines flowers.
We play under the sun all day long,
Oiled hair friends of us at our side, tag along,
We run around the village paths and tunnels,
Sprint after the calves and kids that are innocent.
Innocence of us preserved, nothing to contaminate,
Additives and preservatives not added, to manipulate,
Removing the innocence from our children is a crime,
When adults are disoriented, how to sublime?
Disinfectants to keep the place germ free,
Innocence to keep the heart hurt free,
Let them know about it when the time comes,
Until then let the adults be the examples to them.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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To A Mountain Spring
Strange little spring, by channels past our telling,
Gentle, resistless, welling, welling, welling;
Through what blind ways, we know not whence
You darkling come to dance and dimple--
Strange little spring!
Nature hath no such innocence,
And no more secret thing--
So mysterious and so simple;
Earth hath no such fairy daughter
Of all her witchcraft shapes of water.
When all the land with summer burns,
And brazen noon rides hot and high,
And tongues are parched and grasses dry,
Still are you green and hushed with ferns,
And cool as some old sanctuary;
Still are you brimming o'er with dew
And stars that dipped their feet in you.
And I believe when none is by,
Only the young moon in the sky--
The Greeks of old were right about you--
A naiad, like a marble flower,
Lifts up her lovely shape from out you,
Swaying like a silver shower.
So in old years dead and gone
Brimmed the spring on Helicon,
Just a little spring like you--
Ferns and moss and stars and dew--
Nigh the sacred Muses' dwelling,
Dancing, dimpling, welling, welling.
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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Oh! Winter
Oh! winter I request thee please come back
To err is human cut me some slack
For what happened between us started as a lover's spat
And I was more than willing to work on that.
Then you became too cold and I almost froze
I needed warmth hence spring I chose.
Spring and me was this one time thing
It meant nothing, it was a stupid little fling
I was thinking about you the whole time I swear
Your absence is killing me, the grief is too much to bear.
You were fantastic, marvelous and cool
Still I went for spring I was a fool
It lured me with its flowery tranquil gait
But now I know its tricks, albeit a bit too late.
Spring left me high and dry to sulk in this summer
Its horrible and sweaty and life is a bummer
My world is barren no poetry or prose in soul
Angels left with spring and the devil summer is taking its toll
poem by Soma Mukherjee
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Looking, Watching, Waiting
It's Winter now,
And everything is cold and bare.
Used to be lush and green,
Covered in leaves.
The snow is melting.
It's getting warmer.
Spring is on it's way.
Now Spring has come
The snow has all melted,
And the trees are getting more leaves.
It's warm now,
And i can't wait for Summer to arrive.
Summer is finally here!
I go outside and run barefoot through the streets.
Windows are open and the birds are singing.
Summer is finally here!
Now Summer is gone, and Fall is in the air.
Soon it will get colder,
And i will once again be looking, watching, waiting,
For Summer's arrival.
poem by Vi Lanflagle
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Through Sleepy-Land
Where do you go when you go to sleep,
Little Boy! Little Boy! where?
'Way--'way in where's Little Bo-Peep,
And Little Boy Blue, and the Cows and Sheep
A-wandering 'way in there;--in there--
A-wandering 'way in there!
And what do you see when lost in dreams,
Little Boy, 'way in there?
Firefly-glimmers and glowworm-gleams,
And silvery, low, slow-sliding streams,
And mermaids, smiling out--'way in where
They're a-hiding--'way in there!
Where do you go when the Fairies call,
Little Boy! Little Boy! where?
Wade through the clews of the grasses tall,
Hearing the weir and the waterfall
And the Wee Folk--'way in there--in there--
And the Kelpies--'way in there!
And what do you do when you wake at dawn,
Little Boy! Little Boy! what?
Hug my Mommy and kiss her on
Her smiling eyelids, sweet and wan,
And tell her everything I've forgot
About, a-wandering 'way in there--
Through the blind-world 'way in there!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Oh! Its a hot Summer Day
Oh! its a hot summer day,
When the temperatures are high,
Yes, this is the month of May,
All-man and animals cry-
Oh! its a hot summer day,
No one dares to come out,
They all like to stay,
In their cool home and shout-
Oh! it's a hot summer day,
And till the Sun shrinks,
It's not at all cool-no way,
Then they would like to thinks-
Oh! it 'was' a hot summer day,
Even then the temperatures wo'nt fall,
And people on their beds-just lay,
Now everyone would like to call-
OH! ITS STILL THE HOT SUMMER DAY.
poem by Ananth Patri
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The Grasses At The Beach
the grasses in the beach
are thick and tall
spreading upon the edges
of the concrete fences
perhaps wanting to go out
of its rectangular cage
it is unattended
no one visits them
the time is only at least
once a week
the grasses are tall and thick
perhaps because
they are all free
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The First Of September
The morning it is breaking cloudy and gray
It does seem another cool late Winter's day
But the birds in the Parkland they whistle and sing
Believe it or not 'tis the first day of Spring
The first day of September the day of the year
When to Australia in the Southern Hemisphere
The Spring she arrives for her three months stay
With much warmer weather just a few weeks away
The Spring has arrived with her wildflowers and green
And her beauty in gardens and parks to be seen
Spring she arrives and she brings with her new life
And in parks and gardens Nature's beauty is rife
For the first day of September a cool chill in the breeze
But the birds chirp and whistle on the bushes and trees.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sir, What Is Revolution?
a child,
having overheard our conversation,
came to me, and asked,
'sir, what is revolution? '
i thought about it for a moment,
and sitting him on my knee, replied,
'you know when you're outside,
running and playing in the sun,
and you get too hot...
and you go down to the creek
and get a drink of water?
and you stand there enjoying
the shade of the trees,
and the coolness of the wind? '
he nodded his head.
'well, revolution is making sure
that the sunlight, the grasses,
the creek and it's water,
the trees that give shade,
and the wind a blowing...
will always be there,
for you and for your children! '
'and that children everywhere
will be born into a world that's safe,
that they have a home to go to,
and food to eat.
and that your momma and daddy
can sleep at night without worrying! '
the little boys shook his head up and down...
'that's cool... does god do that,
or do we? '
'out of the mouth of babes! ...'
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Robes and Bodies
Kings, juries or priests are known by their robes.
Robes, not their bodies, demand attentions.
Souls are known by bodies they occupy.
Bodies shade souls as robes shade bodies.
(15.05.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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