Newport
ON these brown rocks the waves dissolve in spray
As when our fathers saw them first alee.
If such a one could come again and see
This ancient haven in its latter day,
These haughty palaces and gardens gay,
These dense, soft lawns, bedecked by many a tree
Borne like a gem from Ind or Araby;
If he could see the race he bred, at play -
Bright like a flock of tropic birds allured
To pause a moment on their southward wing
By these warm sands and by these summer seas -
Would he not cry, 'Alas, have I endured
Exile and famine, hate and suffering,
To win religious liberty for these?'
poem by Alice Duer Miller
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Pre-Existence
I laid me down upon the shore
And dreamed a little space;
I heard the great waves break and roar;
The sun was on my face.
My idle hands and fingers brown
Played with the pebbles grey;
The waves came up, the waves went down,
Most thundering and gay.
The pebbles, they were smooth and round
And warm upon my hands,
Like little people I had found
Sitting among the sands.
The grains of sands so shining-small
Soft through my fingers ran;
The sun shone down upon it all,
And so my dream began:
How all of this had been before;
How ages far away
I lay on some forgotten shore
As here I lie to-day.
The waves came shining up the sands,
As here to-day they shine;
And in my pre-pelasgian hands
The sand was warm and fine.
I have forgotten whence I came,
Or what my home might be,
Or by what strange and savage name
I called that thundering sea.
I only know the sun shone down
As still it shines to-day,
And in my fingers long and brown
The little pebbles lay.
poem by Frances Darwin Cornford
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Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair
1 I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,
2 Borne, like a vapor, on the summer air;
3 I see her tripping where the bright streams play,
4 Happy as the daisies that dance on her way.
5 Many were the wild notes her merry voice would pour.
6 Many were the blithe birds that warbled them o'er:
7 Oh! I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,
8 Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air.
9 I long for Jeanie with the daydawn smile,
10 Radiant in gladness, warm with winning guile;
11 I hear her melodies, like joys gone by,
12 Sighing round my heart o'er the fond hopes that die: --
13 Sighing like the night wind and sobbing like the rain, --
14 Wailing for the lost one that comes not again:
15 Oh! I long for Jeanie, and my heart bows low,
16 Never more to find her where the bright waters flow.
17 I sigh for Jeanie, but her light form strayed
18 Far from the fond hearts round her native glade;
19 Her smiles have vanished and her sweet songs flown,
20 Flitting like the dreams that have cheered us and gone.
21 Now the nodding wild flowers may wither on the shore
22 While her gentle fingers will cull them no more:
23 Oh! I sigh for Jeanie with the light brown hair,
24 Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air.
poem by Stephen C. Foster
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Spring Comes Hither
Spring comes hither
Buds the rose . . .
Roses wither
Sweet spring goes . . .
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would she carry me.
Summer soars
Wide-wing'd day . . .
White light pours
Flies away . . .
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would he carry me.
Soft winds blow
Westward borne . . .
Onward go
Towards the morn
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would they carry me.
Sweet birds sing
O'er the graves
Then take wing
O'er the waves
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would they carry me.
poem by George Eliot
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Ebb Tide
it is late now
very late dusk's
darkness has
already fallen
dark rimmed sunset
disappear last glow
dissipate be gone
fade away
this night is silk warm
flesh is sun kiss warm
breeze soft caress warm
waves wash out
footprints softly splash
suck in sink sand
feet grow cool
sunken treasure sands
slowly shape mould
harmonic planes
miniature waves wisps
whisper gliding in
shallows on seabreeze
washing out ripples
migrating miniature waves
single summer’s seascape
sifting sands
blown skip briskly
sting the windward
inward spirit eye
the night is warm
flesh is warm
breeze is warm
soul is warm
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Springsong
Summer is coming I hear the wind whisper
Tales of new seasons now waltz in the breeze
Daffodils dancing and bluebells are waking
And new leaves are sprigging on every tree
Hark! how the brook sings its song to the fishes
Tripping along in the dawn's golden rays
Leaping and dancing in joy at the dawning of
Summer, 'she's coming, she's coming', she says
May blossom peeping from every new branch, now
New dew like diamonds bedazzle the lawn
Soon, like confetti their blossoms will litter
Our lawns and our gardens as summer is born.
Sing now of swallows a-swooping and soaring
Borne on the mild winds of Africa's Plain
Drawn to their nests built in summers forgotten
To bring forth their babies fly back again
Joy to the ploughboy and joy to the farmer
Joy to the stranger - and you, all my friends
Let's raise a cup to the warm summer sunshine
And welcome the summer as old winter ends.....
poem by Lucy Burrow
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The lightest touch.
Softly he touched me, gently as a breeze
that wafts this way and that, swaying summer hats.
Gently he caressed, with words so honey combed and sweet,
to melt the coldest heart, my moment was complete.
Sinking into sugar brown eyes, his soft brown skin
and big ‘huggy' grin, we seemed to melt each other from within.
The summer grass, it filled my head within this bed of ecstasy,
I lay beneath the lilac tree; its scent was drifting over me.
Our hands found each other, we kissed, my eyes brimmed over
to think, some day, this moment I might miss.
How sad in life all things move on and like the flowing waves
we lovers separated to go our different ways,
but as tears sting my eyes and burn into my heart
I've one more memory to share; he had the lightest touch.
poem by Ruth Walters
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By the shores of Malachite
Upon the shores of Malachite
Next to the cobalt seas
Under molten silver moonbeams
That shatter on the crystal icing
Covering the diamonded waterfall
By the golden sands...
gather the unicorns of
Neptune, Uranius, and Pluto and beyond.
playfully covort between
Steel seas and emerald mountains
On the frozen sands of time unchanged
For a thousand Earth's comings
But it's just a dream
a lunacy, a nothingness in the night
All my unicorns have taken to flight
never there
All the frozen seas...
are now warm Florida keys
under a full August moon
And the mountains...
are impossible fears
that have faded into prairies
swelling like seas
And there are no proofprints
in the sands of time of a
far away race frozen in time
poem by Midnights Voice
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The Early Spring (Rondel Prime)
The early spring brings new flowers again
while twittering birds fly past in a flock,
at the sight of humans cry in amok,
hide in their nests in the seeping cold rain,
while on the road daily joggers do train,
timing themselves with the far off clock.
The early spring brings new flowers again
while twittering birds fly past in a flock,
some on the ground peck and cry out in pain,
others flutter above ships in the dock
while the big waves does them up and down rock
while the spray, rust and salt marks does decks stain.
The early spring brings new flowers again
while twittering birds fly past in a flock.
poem by Gert Strydom
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False Bay (Collins sestet)
(after Matthew Arnold)
Tonight over the sea there are small lights,
Cape Town against Table Mountain lying bright
where it is flat against the evening sky
and in the distance a liner passes by
while the surging spray breaks over False Bay,
forevermore on Africa waves toss and play.
The stream of life did into the sea go
with joy, grace and hope in its ebb and flow
but debris, broken pieces are washed ashore
with pollution caught in the breaking roar
while the surging spray breaks over False Bay,
forevermore on Africa waves toss and play.
Stars sparkle and the light wind furls through your hair
while on the beach we are the only pair
and you swear to be true eternally,
a bright beacon in the darkness we see
while the surging spray breaks over False Bay,
forevermore on Africa waves toss and play.
[Reference: “Dover Beach” by Matthew Arnold.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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On Calais Sands
ON Calais Sands the gray began,
Then rosy red above they gray;
The morn with many a scarlet van
Leaped, and the world was glad with May!
The little waves along the bay
Broke white upon the shelving strands;
The sea-mews flitted white as they
On Calais Sands!
On Calais Sands must man with man
Wash honor clean in blood to-day;
On spaces wet from waters wan
How white the flashing rapiers play,—
Parry, riposte! and lunge! The fray
Shifts for a while, then mournful stands
The Victor: life ebbs fast away
On Calais Sands!
On Calais Sands a little space
Of silence, then the plash and spray,
The sound of eager waves that ran
To kiss the perfumed locks astray,
To touch these lips that ne’er said “Nay,”
To dally with the helpless hands,
Till the deep sea in silence lay
On Calais Sands!
Between the lilac and the may
She waits her love from alien lands;
Her love is colder than the clay
On Calais Sands!
poem by Andrew Lang
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As I had a walk on the path over the hill (roundelay)
As I had a walk on the path on the hill
the wind did swish and then it was quite still
the flowering of the aloes had begun
amongst the rocks in the summer sun.
A bird flapped loose rose into the sky,
up and up did some surging eagles fly
while a flock of rock rabbits did run
amongst the rocks in the summer sun.
Every bird and insect was absolutely free
and that experience remains still with me,
as the beautiful lily that I came upon
amongst the rocks in the summer sun.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Ancient Hills Of Toora
The ancient hills of Toora are looking brown today
Yet they were lush and rather green when last I passed this way
But that was last September when the nesting birds did sing
And every where looked greener in the early days of Spring.
To those ancient hills of Toora the Seasons come and go
And where once were thousands of gum trees only a few gums grow
And the Aboriginals who lived and hunted on those hills are not around today
Time brings with it great changes and it's always been that way.
The ancient hills of Toora as old as father time
And they were millions of years old when Christ was in his prime
The oldest human on Planet Earth perhaps fifteen years with five score
But the ancient hills of Toora will exist forever more.
The ancient hills of Toora overlooking Toora Town
From the long and warm dry Summer have never looked so brown
But I recall last September decked in their wildering flowers
Those ancient hills of Toora lush and green after Spring showers.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Spring's Accomplishments
Spring brings with it a warm, gentle breeze
Along with the trees sprouting their baby soft leaves
Gently tapping the ground are the soft showers
Bringing around soft, springtime flowers
Now here they come, the butterflies and the bees
Attracted to the gardens and newly awakened trees
The trees emanate such a calming scent of sap
And the birds nestle down for a peaceful nap
As Easter approaches, the sunshine gets stronger
And as spring continues, the days get longer
The spring goes into a deep slumber
And who takes over then? It's summer!
poem by Caroline Bulleck
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21st Century Human Being
Rugged gypsy
Followed
The flock
With those dogs.
Our tread
Did he relent
Subtle
Their snares
Nimble hoofs
Did befriend
Lead to paths untread
Waded
Through the dense canopy
Chirping birds
In its sojourn
Striking the rocks
Caressing the embankments
In this melee
Resultant froth.
poem by Sanjay Mehta
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Pain & Suffering
pain and suffering
turn things to blood
a power floats
upside down in a river of mud
a skull of a goat
makes love to you
you're my doll
a pet who meows
and blood and hate
the blood that's everywhere
suffering, i am terminating this world
i'm your father now
no more shelter, no more fun
human race, you're going to writhe now
heh heh heh heh
i am angry
a tall building fell on daddy
pain and suffering
i am destruction
i am angry
i am total
(growl)
pain and suffering
the pain, the pain
no birds are singing
here comes armageddon
no more shelter
no more fun
human race
i've got you
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer dreams.
Soft warm sand felt beneath my feet,
Summer days...lost to a comfortable heat.
Sea breezes chilling with shades of a palm tree,
gentle waves crashing....into a sun soaked sea.
Bluest of sky's...filling long days,
summer warmth beaming...soothing hot Sun rays.
poem by James Urwin
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A Summer's Sonnet
As the sands of time fall away
Like the leaves on an autumn tree
To a place where redemption meets soul everyday
And grants the thoughts of thee
To leave oneself to the games of fate
As the sun breaks over the dawn
The confides of what is to hate
And washes the summer gone
The icy depth of winter’s hold
The tremor of winter’s eyes
Shiver from a shameful cold
The result of a thousand lies
Alas, as summer again makes it through the day
It pulls the curtains of winter away
My Fathers Eyes
(by eric clapton)
Sailing down behind the sun,
Waiting for my prince to come.
Praying for the healing rain
To restore my soul again.
Just a toerag on the run.
How did I get here?
What have I done?
When will all my hopes arise?
How will I know him?
When I look in my fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
When I look in my fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
Then the light begins to shine
And I hear those ancient lullabies.
And as I watch this seedling grow,
Feel my heart start to overflow.
Where do I find the words to say?
How do I teach him?
What do we play?
Bit by bit, Ive realized
Thats when I need them,
Thats when I need my fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
Thats when I need my fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
Then the jagged edge appears
Through the distant clouds of tears.
Im like a bridge that was washed away;
My foundations were made of clay.
As my soul slides down to die.
How could I lose him?
What did I try?
Bit by bit, Ive realized
That he was here with me;
I looked into my fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
I looked into my fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
I looked into my fathers eyes.
My fathers eyes.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer Light...
Summer Light -Thru the Trees
Summer Light - Spotted Me
Summer Light - Palest Gold
Summer Light - Bright and Bold
I Saw Summer Light Descend
Summer Light, Made Shadows Bend
Summer Light, On An Emerald Pond
I Reached Out… It Touched My Palm
Summer Light, It Fell Like Powder
Or a Floating Incandescent Feather
Came Down, Like A Sheer, White Swan
Summer Light – Lifted Wing-Like Arms
So Sunrays Slanted – Shone-Misty
Summer Light-Beams, Embraced Me
Warm, Wonderful Summer Light
Touch Me Tender, Solar- Might
Summer Light, When I Was Lost
Summer Light, Found Me Before Frost
Summer Light - None Else Looked For Me…
Summer Light Said, “I Always See…”
I Love Summer Light
poem by MoonBee Canady
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Two birds on a tree
Look at this old photograph..
some of these old photos look
more ancient than their, what,
hundred-and-twenty years;
as if the very air was different, then?
This one’s simply of
two birds in a tree:
one sits and watches;
the other eats the fruits..
this moment, frozen, framed, in time,
takes on the epic stature
of a metaphor, a myth:
what of the previous second
in our passing time? What
of the next second?
Where have those birds come from,
where may they go next?
If we cease to patronise
their ‘bird-brains’, see them
closer to their God than we
whose minds depart so far from nature…
if we think they think, in thoughts
which we may share – then,
what are they thinking? what
do they think of one another?
I look again at the photo, speculate;
the photo grows in my concern
to some great tree of primal Paradise…
the Tree of Knowledge, could it be?
Is the one bird thinking,
what a fine place this is to rest!
A place to hide, if so need be,
among its leaves; a height,
an observation post,
I still, the world about its business;
in stillness, I a little nearer to God,
just a little lower than the angels,
without beating my wings to find
a heaven above…
Is the other bird thinking,
what a fine restaurant I’ve found,
that God provided; I so hungry
on my way; how much I need to eat
to give me strength for further flight…
and have these two birds even noticed
each other, and each other’s state?
Are they two siblings from the self-same nest,
flying together through their lives;
loving one another until the last birdfall?
Two rivals, just about to fight to death?
Or, two fore-flyers of the same great flock,
about to land and strip the tree of fruit,
then rest, God-filled, to know Him in that stillness?
These thoughts; an ancient photograph;
now I wonder about the unknown photographer
who saw the world, in two birds on a tree.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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