Spring Day
Bath
The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus
in the air.
The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the water
in the bath-tub in lathes and planes of greenish-white. It cleaves the water
into flaws like a jewel, and cracks it to bright light.
Little spots of sunshine lie on the surface of the water and dance, dance,
and their reflections wobble deliciously over the ceiling; a stir of my finger
sets them whirring, reeling. I move a foot, and the planes of light
in the water jar. I lie back and laugh, and let the green-white water,
the sun-flawed beryl water, flow over me. The day is almost
too bright to bear, the green water covers me from the too bright day.
I will lie here awhile and play with the water and the sun spots.
The sky is blue and high. A crow flaps by the window, and there is
a whiff of tulips and narcissus in the air.
Breakfast Table
In the fresh-washed sunlight, the breakfast table is decked and white.
It offers itself in flat surrender, tendering tastes, and smells,
and colours, and metals, and grains, and the white cloth falls over its side,
draped and wide. Wheels of white glitter in the silver coffee-pot,
hot and spinning like catherine-wheels, they whirl, and twirl - and my eyes
begin to smart, the little white, dazzling wheels prick them like darts.
Placid and peaceful, the rolls of bread spread themselves in the sun to bask.
A stack of butter-pats, pyramidal, shout orange through the white, scream,
flutter, call: 'Yellow! Yellow! Yellow!' Coffee steam rises in a stream,
clouds the silver tea-service with mist, and twists up into the sunlight,
revolved, involuted, suspiring higher and higher, fluting in a thin spiral
up the high blue sky. A crow flies by and croaks at the coffee steam.
The day is new and fair with good smells in the air.
Walk
Over the street the white clouds meet, and sheer away without touching.
On the sidewalks, boys are playing marbles. Glass marbles,
with amber and blue hearts, roll together and part with a sweet
clashing noise. The boys strike them with black and red striped agates.
The glass marbles spit crimson when they are hit, and slip into the gutters
under rushing brown water. I smell tulips and narcissus in the air,
but there are no flowers anywhere, only white dust whipping up the street,
and a girl with a gay Spring hat and blowing skirts. The dust and the wind
flirt at her ankles and her neat, high-heeled patent leather shoes. Tap, tap,
the little heels pat the pavement, and the wind rustles among the flowers
on her hat.
A water-cart crawls slowly on the other side of the way. It is green and gay
with new paint, and rumbles contentedly, sprinkling clear water over
the white dust. Clear zigzagging water, which smells of tulips and narcissus.
The thickening branches make a pink `grisaille' against the blue sky.
Whoop! The clouds go dashing at each other and sheer away just in time.
Whoop! And a man's hat careers down the street in front of the white dust,
leaps into the branches of a tree, veers away and trundles ahead of the wind,
jarring the sunlight into spokes of rose-colour and green.
A motor-car cuts a swathe through the bright air, sharp-beaked, irresistible,
shouting to the wind to make way. A glare of dust and sunshine
tosses together behind it, and settles down. The sky is quiet and high,
and the morning is fair with fresh-washed air.
Midday and Afternoon
Swirl of crowded streets. Shock and recoil of traffic. The stock-still
brick facade of an old church, against which the waves of people
lurch and withdraw. Flare of sunshine down side-streets. Eddies of light
in the windows of chemists' shops, with their blue, gold, purple jars,
darting colours far into the crowd. Loud bangs and tremors,
murmurings out of high windows, whirring of machine belts,
blurring of horses and motors. A quick spin and shudder of brakes
on an electric car, and the jar of a church-bell knocking against
the metal blue of the sky. I am a piece of the town, a bit of blown dust,
thrust along with the crowd. Proud to feel the pavement under me,
reeling with feet. Feet tripping, skipping, lagging, dragging,
plodding doggedly, or springing up and advancing on firm elastic insteps.
A boy is selling papers, I smell them clean and new from the press.
They are fresh like the air, and pungent as tulips and narcissus.
The blue sky pales to lemon, and great tongues of gold blind the shop-windows,
putting out their contents in a flood of flame.
Night and Sleep
The day takes her ease in slippered yellow. Electric signs gleam out
along the shop fronts, following each other. They grow, and grow,
and blow into patterns of fire-flowers as the sky fades. Trades scream
in spots of light at the unruffled night. Twinkle, jab, snap, that means
a new play; and over the way: plop, drop, quiver, is the sidelong
sliver of a watchmaker's sign with its length on another street.
A gigantic mug of beer effervesces to the atmosphere over a tall building,
but the sky is high and has her own stars, why should she heed ours?
I leave the city with speed. Wheels whirl to take me back to my trees
and my quietness. The breeze which blows with me is fresh-washed and clean,
it has come but recently from the high sky. There are no flowers
in bloom yet, but the earth of my garden smells of tulips and narcissus.
My room is tranquil and friendly. Out of the window I can see
the distant city, a band of twinkling gems, little flower-heads with no stems.
I cannot see the beer-glass, nor the letters of the restaurants and shops
I passed, now the signs blur and all together make the city,
glowing on a night of fine weather, like a garden stirring and blowing
for the Spring.
The night is fresh-washed and fair and there is a whiff of flowers in the air.
Wrap me close, sheets of lavender. Pour your blue and purple dreams
into my ears. The breeze whispers at the shutters and mutters
queer tales of old days, and cobbled streets, and youths leaping their horses
down marble stairways. Pale blue lavender, you are the colour of the sky
when it is fresh-washed and fair . . . I smell the stars . . . they are like
tulips and narcissus . . . I smell them in the air.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Choose Your Color
I will paint the walls blue
Blue is calm, blue is power
Blue is the color of tranquility
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the ceiling green
Green is healthy, green is peace
Green makes time move faster
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the floor red
Red is fire, red is danger
Red is the symbol of passion
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the sky purple
Purple is sad, purple is gloomy
Purple is the color of romance
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the tree black
Black is fear, black is death
Black is the symbol of grief
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the street yellow
Yellow is happy, yellow is fresh
Yellow is the color of sunshine
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the fence orange
orange is wisdom, orange is wealth
Orange is the color of success
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint everything white
White is good, white is pure
White is the color of faith
Have you seen my colors yet?
(August 16th,2006)
poem by Christopher G. Turner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sometimes it’s as if my childhood days comes back
Sometimes it’s as if my childhood days
comes back to me unexpectedly
where the sheer beauty of things astounds me,
water that lies glistening in a river
how water reflects my face and in wrinkles disguises it
the smell of wild flowers hanging sweet in the air
and the colour and texture catching me
as if I am walking in an overgrown garden
full of singing birds
where I see clouds spread like flakes
covering the bright blue in little pieces
with spots of blue between the white
and it is as if for short moments I can return
to a place and time
full of joy and jolliness
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nonsense Alphabet
A was an ant
Who seldom stood still,
And who made a nice house
In the side of a hill.
Nice little ant!
B was a bat,
Who slept all the day,
And fluttered about
When the sun went away.
Brown little bat!
C was a camel:
You rode on his hump;
And if you fell off,
You came down such a bump!
What a high camel!
D was a duck
With spots on his back,
Who lived in the water,
And always said 'Quack!'
Dear little duck!
E was an elephant,
Stately and wise:
He had tusks and a trunk,
And two queer little eyes.
Oh, what funny small eyes!
F was a fish
Who was caught in a net;
But he got out again,
And is quite alive yet.
Lively young fish!
G was a goat
Who was spotted with brown:
When he did not lie still
He walked up and down.
Good little goat!
H was a hat
Which was all on one side;
Its crown was too high,
And its brim was too wide.
Oh, what a hat!
I was some ice
So white and so nice,
But which nobody tasted;
And so it was wasted.
All that good ice!
J was a jug,
So pretty and white,
With fresh water in it
At morning and night.
Nice little jug!
K was a kite
Which flew out of sight,
Above houses so high,
Quite into the sky.
Fly away, kite!
L was a lily,
So white and so sweet!
To see it and smell it
Was quite a nice treat.
Beautiful lily!
M was a man,
Who walked round and round;
And he wore a long coat
That came down to the ground.
Funny old man!
N was a net
Which was thrown In the sea
To catch fish for dinner
For you and for me.
Nice little net!
O was an orange
So yellow and round:
When it fell off the tree,
It fell down to the ground.
Down to the ground!
P was a polly.
All red, blue, and green,--
The most beautiful polly
That ever was seen.
Poor little polly!
Q was a quail
With a very short tail;
And he fed upon corn
In the evening and morn.
Quaint little quail!
R was a rabbit,
Who had a bad habit
Of eating the flowers
In gardens and bowers.
Naughty fat rabbit!
S was the sugar-tongs,
Nippity-nee,
To take up the sugar
To put in our tea.
Nippity-nee!
T was a tortoise,
All yellow and black:
He walked slowly away,
And he never came back.
Torty never came back!
U was an urn
All polished and bright,
And full of hot water
At noon and at night.
Useful old urn!
V was a veil
With a border upon it,
And a ribbon to tie it
All round a pink bonnet.
Pretty green veil!
W was a watch,
Where, in letters of gold,
The hour of the day
You might always behold.
Beautiful watch!
Y was a yew,
Which flourished and grew
By a quiet abode
Near the side of a road.
Dark little yew!
Z was a zebra,
All striped white and black;
And if he were tame,
You might ride on his back.
Pretty striped zebra!
poem by Edward Lear
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Water
There was a fountain
that flows out in the hillocks
where cold fresh water
sprayed up bubbling and pure.
No borehole water that tastes like mud
or that which streams metallic out of a pipe
and still less the city’s
purified liquid
in which the chemicals are still drifting white,
could smell and taste
like water which comes out of the heart
of the earth
and washed pure by thousands of rocks
splashing clean and clear into a glass.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shattered windows, Colors of white
Across the street is a new house with a room painted red, with no holes of white.
Next to me, a house purple, with its color pealing off, with holes of black and white
At the end of the street, an old house once yellow, what now remains white.
The sound of a hammer building a house, entering a place with a color unknown.
On the street,
Windows covered with ice
Some shine with light.
Some broken
Some fixed
Some lost, out of sight.
A house, two blocks from here.
Shines with lights of yellow, red, and green everywhere.
A wall keeping the wind from blowing anywhere.
The house next door, at the dawn of the day.
Paints its room black, and peals the color away.
The wall crumbles.
The wind blows across the colors of yellow, red and green
Breaks all the windows.
Turns the yellow to blue, red to black, and green to white.
The house two blocks away.
Adds a line of yellow red and green everyday.
To allow the house of blue, black and white to shine for us some day.
poem by Linda ErikssonBique
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Alone on holiday away from you
White, red and yellow lilies
grow rampant and wild
next to the train tracts
between Somerset West
and the Strand
where I am on the train
from Bellville
and there’s a
white-hot sun that burns
high from above
and I can smell the sea
while I look
at the magical
dark blue water,
but you will not like
the cold water
and the light breeze
that blows today
and here and there
there are people
sending kites
into the air
and I see them
hanging flapping above
while a few
diving down with speed
and there’s sandpaper
in the beach wind
that hits me with sea sand
and the waves
rollick like wild horses
and in the distance
I see the road turning
past Gordonsbay
and I am alone on holiday
away from you.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pearls Girl
Rioja. rioja. reverend al green.
Deep blue morocco. the water on stone.
The water on concrete. the water on sand.
The water on fire. smoke.
The wind. the salt. the bride boat coming.
Dave in the water. old man.
Einstein on top of his house. white deep blue
Andalusia red yellow red yellow black car.
Red light. far. black place. walls. blue chair.
Morocco. hamburg. paris.
The pieces of the puzzle are waiting.
The water of the dark boats gliding.
The bride boats gone out to sea and
Dave is floating. dave is floating.
And old man einstein crazy in his attic.
Crazy.
White room. sun room. shadow room.
Night transmitting cars across the room.
These things sent to dance across the room.
Eye watching from your bed. returning to you.
song performed by by Underworld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stars On The Water
(Rodney Crowell)
Down in Louisiana bayous by and by
A peirot pole or your natural soul
Keeps you tied to a tree high tide
Beer joint lights come on
And then crowd starts rollin' in
Pretty soon you got stars on the water
You got stars on the water
You got stars on the water
When it rains
Beaumont to Biloxi sea breeze at your door
Gypsy rains dang hurricanes
White silver sandy shores
Blue light lounge is shinin'
Why out on the pier
Makes it look just like stars on the water
Just like stars on the water
Just like stars on the water
When it rains
When it's midnight down in Mobile
Shining moon beams on the bay
They come from miles around
To dance the jukebox down
Th hear the good time sounds they play
And all across the harbor night life shinin' on
Makes you feel just like stars on the water
Just like stars on the water
Just like stars on the water
When it rains
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How to make your wishes come true
She liked white and had not said a word yet
On her tenth birthday
she stood on the red steps
of the red opera house
-the red opera house on the north side of Sydney Harbour
almost opposite the white opera house
She scattered orange petals, yellow petals, green leaves and spoke
in a light blue voice
A bird of navy blue pink and gold feathers stood by her. Was this the grateful bird? Purple gold and white danced
She said
white stillness, pure gold, purple wonder, gold strength, pink joy, pink infinity, navy blue now, strong indigo blue, light blue fountain, the green first reason, compassionate orange, endless yellow,
royal red, single red, free orange, free yellow, green depth as clear as crystal, all attractive light blue, strong indigo blue, strong navy blue, pink wishes, gold compassion, compassionate purple,
gold of golds, of creativity, white of whites, gold truth, purple mentor, funny gold, pink friend of children, navy blue of nature,
indigo blue knowledge, light blue song of nature, green creation, yellow in senses, orange guide, red way, red inspirer, orange giver, yellow help, dazzling green, light blue of the delicate, with indigo blue eyes, navy blue good, with pink kind eyes, golden hair, golden complexion, purple complexion, gold warmth, of white space, white and gold love, of all purple knowledge, gold presence, pink in thunder and storms, navy blue pleasure, indigo blue beauty,
light blue lines, all attractive green, of yellow stirring music, of orange, red refuge, clear red, orange orange, yellow yellow, with green giving hands, of green, light blue truth, indigo blue essence, navy blue sparkle, pink with gold, purple guide, gold here, here white, white is the sun with penetrating vision, purple and golden constant winner, gold reach, of all pink, infinite navy blue, indigo blue knowledge, light blue care, deep green in greens, orange truth, dedicated to yellow, red peace, red glory, orange beauty, yellow, of green and light blue evenings, handsome indigo blue, intelligent navy blue, pink of pinks, of gold golds, purple purple, gold friend,
openness, formless white and gold, prevailing purple, efficient purple, purple origin, purple form, gold and permanent pink, navy blue belief, indigo blue blue, dense green, orange, yellow, red friend, red
and fell silent
Are the colours telling us that reciting the girl's words could make all our wishes come true? What else do red orange yellow green light blue indigo blue navy blue pink gold purple gold white know?
Today is a Monday
poem by Bhupen Thakker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stars On The Water
By: rodney crowell
1981
Down in louisiana, bayous by and by
Pirogue pole or your natural soul
Keeps you tied to a tree high tide
Beer joint lights come on
And then the crowd starts rollin in
Chorus:
Pretty soon you got stars on the water
You got stars on the water
Its like stars on the water, let it rain
Beaumont to biloxi
Sea breeze at your door
Gypsy rains, dang hurricanes
White silver sandy shore
Blue light lounge is shinin
Way out on the view
Chorus:
It looks just like stars on the water
Just like stars on the water
Just like stars on the water, let it rain
(guitar instrumental)
When its midnight down in mobile
Moonbeams on the bay
They come from miles around to dance the jukebox down
And dig the good time sounds they play
All across the harbour
Night lights shinin in
Chorus:
It looks just like stars on the water
Just like stars on the water
Just like stars on the water, let it rain
Chorus:
Pretty soon ya got stars on the water
You got stars on the water
Its like stars on the water, let it rain
- notes:
Background vocals: timothy b. schmit
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song
Steal from the meadows, rob the tall green hills,
Ravish my orchard's blossoms, let me bind
A crown of orchard flowers and daffodils,
Because my love is fair and white and kind.
To-day the thrush has trilled her daintiest phrases,
Flowers with their incense have made drunk the air,
God has bent down to gild the hearts of daisies,
Because my love is kind and white and fair.
To-day the sun has kissed the rose-tree's daughter,
And sad Narcissus, Spring's pale acolyte,
Hangs down his head and smiles into the water,
Because my love is kind and fair and white.
poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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New Light New Colour
An old man
welcomes
his four day old
grandson
white stillness pure gold purple wonder gold strength pink joy
pink infinity navy blue now strong indigo blue light blue fountain
the green first reason endless yellow compassionate orange
royal red
single red free orange free yellow
green depth as clear as crystal all attractive light blue
strong indigo blue strong navy blue pink wishes gold compassion
compassionate purple gold of golds of creativity
who is quiet
and naturally very small and delicate
red inspirer orange giver yellow help dazzling green
light blue of the delicate with indigo blue eyes navy blue good
with pink kind eyes golden hair
golden complexion purple complexion
gold warmth of white space
white of whites
gold truth purple mentor funny gold pink friend of children
navy blue of nature indigo blue knowledge light blue song of nature
green creation yellow in senses orange guide red way
white and gold love
of all purple knowledge gold presence pink in thunder and storms
navy blue pleasure indigo blue beauty light blue lines
all attractive green of yellow stirring music of orange red refuge
clear red orange orange yellow yellow with green giving hands
of green light blue truth indigo blue essence navy blue sparkle
pink with gold purple guide gold here here white
His feet are curled
His fingers as small as tiny magic wands
His eyes large
Some skin is peeling off his small face
Everything is perfectly formed
white
is the sun with penetrating vision purple and golden constant winner
gold reach of all pink infinite navy blue indigo blue knowledge
light blue care
deep green in greens dedicated to yellow
orange truth
red peace
This perfect body was in his mother only a week ago
thinks the old man
He places his hand on the boys stomach
red glory orange beauty yellow
of green and light blue evenings handsome indigo blue
intelligent navy blue pink of pinks of gold golds purple purple
gold friend openness formless
white and gold
prevailing purple efficient purple purple origin purple form
gold and permanent pink navy blue belief indigo blue blue
dense green yellow orange red friend red
The boy almost gasps at this touch
He yawns
His eyes remain anxiously focused on the window
eager to understand the Australian light
poem by Bhupen Thakker
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Into White
I built my house from barley rice
Green pepper walls and water ice
Tables of paper wood, windows of light
And everything emptying into white.
A simple garden, with acres of sky
A brown-haired dogmouse
If one dropped by
Yellow delanie would sleep well at night
With everything emptying into white.
A sad blue eyed drummer rehearses outside
A black spider dancing on top of his eye
Red legged chicken stands ready to strike
And everything emptying into white.
I built my house from barley rice
Green pepper walls and water ice...
And everything emptying into white
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A spring evening
Outside the irises flower yellow and purple
and I haven’t seen a red one yet
and there are some pink and white blossoms
on the fruit trees
and the streetlights burn continually
glowing orange-yellow
all day and all night
as if the municipality
does not know how to do things right
and in the fading evening light
the moon is full and white
and the evening star is already shining bright
and a hot breeze sweeps in
through the open windows
and I wonder when the first spring rain
is going to fall
and in the distance I see thunder
crashing down
in blue-white flashes, but the storm
is blown away and again the sky is clear
and the black speckled by stars.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The bathing adventure
Blue and white fishes on a string
hangs on the bathroom wall,
a striped white and blue tiller
stands at the bath’s taps,
a small light tower
is warning on the edge of the bath
and a dark blue anchor,
alone against the wall
entice you to become part
of the bathing adventure
and the tiller man
is still ashore
while the water splashes into the bath.
I wonder why you enjoy it so much
to splash around like a kid
in the soothing hot water
and it’s very nice,
to wash my cares away
in the big bath.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Blue Scarf
Pale, with the blue of high zeniths, shimmered over with silver, brocaded
In smooth, running patterns, a soft stuff, with dark knotted fringes,
it lies there,
Warm from a woman's soft shoulders, and my fingers close on it, caressing.
Where is she, the woman who wore it? The scent of her lingers and drugs me!
A languor, fire-shotted, runs through me, and I crush the scarf down
on my face,
And gulp in the warmth and the blueness, and my eyes swim
in cool-tinted heavens.
Around me are columns of marble, and a diapered, sun-flickered pavement.
Rose-leaves blow and patter against it. Below the stone steps a lute tinkles.
A jar of green jade throws its shadow half over the floor. A big-bellied
Frog hops through the sunlight and plops in the gold-bubbled water of a basin,
Sunk in the black and white marble. The west wind has lifted a scarf
On the seat close beside me, the blue of it is a violent outrage of colour.
She draws it more closely about her, and it ripples beneath
her slight stirring.
Her kisses are sharp buds of fire; and I burn back against her, a jewel
Hard and white; a stalked, flaming flower; till I break to
a handful of cinders,
And open my eyes to the scarf, shining blue in the afternoon sunshine.
How loud clocks can tick when a room is empty, and one is alone!
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House Of Dust: Part 02: 07: Two Lovers: Overtones
Two lovers, here at the corner, by the steeple,
Two lovers blow together like music blowing:
And the crowd dissolves about them like a sea.
Recurring waves of sound break vaguely about them,
They drift from wall to wall, from tree to tree.
'Well, am I late?' Upward they look and laugh,
They look at the great clock's golden hands,
They laugh and talk, not knowing what they say:
Only, their words like music seem to play;
And seeming to walk, they tread strange sarabands.
'I brought you this . . . ' the soft words float like stars
Down the smooth heaven of her memory.
She stands again by a garden wall,
The peach tree is in bloom, pink blossoms fall,
Water sings from an opened tap, the bees
Glisten and murmur among the trees.
Someone calls from the house. She does not answer.
Backward she leans her head,
And dreamily smiles at the peach-tree leaves, wherethrough
She sees an infinite May sky spread
A vault profoundly blue.
The voice from the house fades far away,
The glistening leaves more vaguely ripple and sway . .
The tap is closed, the water ceases to hiss . . .
Silence . . . blue sky . . . and then, 'I brought you this . . . '
She turns again, and smiles . . . He does not know
She smiles from long ago . . .
She turns to him and smiles . . . Sunlight above him
Roars like a vast invisible sea,
Gold is beaten before him, shrill bells of silver;
He is released of weight, his body is free,
He lifts his arms to swim,
Dark years like sinister tides coil under him . . .
The lazy sea-waves crumble along the beach
With a whirring sound like wind in bells,
He lies outstretched on the yellow wind-worn sands
Reaching his lazy hands
Among the golden grains and sea-white shells . . .
'One white rose . . . or is it pink, to-day?'
They pause and smile, not caring what they say,
If only they may talk.
The crowd flows past them like dividing waters.
Dreaming they stand, dreaming they walk.
'Pink,—to-day!'—Face turns to dream-bright face,
Green leaves rise round them, sunshine settles upon them,
Water, in drops of silver, falls from the rose.
She smiles at a face that smiles through leaves from the mirror.
She breathes the fragrance; her dark eyes close . . .
Time is dissolved, it blows like a little dust:
Time, like a flurry of rain,
Patters and passes, starring the window-pane.
Once, long ago, one night,
She saw the lightning, with long blue quiver of light,
Ripping the darkness . . . and as she turned in terror
A soft face leaned above her, leaned softly down,
Softly around her a breath of roses was blown,
She sank in waves of quiet, she seemed to float
In a sea of silence . . . and soft steps grew remote . .
'Well, let us walk in the park . . . The sun is warm,
We'll sit on a bench and talk . . .' They turn and glide,
The crowd of faces wavers and breaks and flows.
'Look how the oak-tops turn to gold in the sunlight!
Look how the tower is changed and glows!'
Two lovers move in the crowd like a link of music,
We press upon them, we hold them, and let them pass;
A chord of music strikes us and straight we tremble;
We tremble like wind-blown grass.
What was this dream we had, a dream of music,
Music that rose from the opening earth like magic
And shook its beauty upon us and died away?
The long cold streets extend once more before us.
The red sun drops, the walls grow grey.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The King's Daughter
WE WERE ten maidens in the green corn,
Small red leaves in the mill-water:
Fairer maidens never were born,
Apples of gold for the king’s daughter.
We were ten maidens by a well-head,
Small white birds in the mill-water:
Sweeter maidens never were wed,
Rings of red for the king’s daughter.
The first to spin, the second to sing,
Seeds of wheat in the mill-water;
The third may was a goodly thing,
White bread and brown for the king’s daughter.
The fourth to sew and the fifth to play,
Fair green weed in the mill-water;
The sixth may was a goodly may,
White wine and red for the king’s daughter.
The seventh to woo, the eighth to wed,
Fair thin reeds in the mill-water;
The ninth had gold work on her head,
Honey in the comb for the king’s daughter.
The ninth had gold work round her hair,
Fallen flowers in the mill-water;
The tenth may was goodly and fair,
Golden gloves for the king’s daughter.
We were ten maidens in a field green,
Fallen fruit in the mill-water;
Fairer maidens never have been,
Golden sleeves for the king’s daughter.
By there comes the king’s young son,
A little wind in the mill-water;
“Out of ten maidens ye’ll grant me one,”
A crown of red for the king’s daughter.
“Out of ten mays ye’ll give me the best,”
A little rain in the mill-water;
A bed of yellow straw for all the rest,
A bed of gold for the king’s daughter.
He’s ta’en out the goodliest,
Rain that rains in the mill-water;
A comb of yellow shell for all the rest,
A comb of gold for the king’s daughter.
He’s made her bed to the goodliest,
Wind and hail in the mill-water;
A grass girdle for all the rest,
A girdle of arms for the king’s daughter.
He’s set his heart to the goodliest,
Snow that snows in the mill-water;
Nine little kisses for all the rest,
An hundredfold for the king’s daughter.
He’s ta’en his leave at the goodliest,
Broken boats in the mill-water;
Golden gifts for all the rest,
Sorrow of heart for the king’s daughter.
“Ye’ll make a grave for my fair body,”
Running rain in the mill-water;
“And ye’ll streek my brother at the side of me,”
The pains of hell for the king’s daughter.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hues of blue
From the holiday apartment’s window
I see people swimming in the blue pool
and the water looks icy cold
from the dark blue colour
Some girls and women have
bathing caps on in colours
of white, green and blue
and others swim without
while some lie
around the pool.
While the day gets hotter
the colour of the pool changes
to a lighter hue
and just across the road
the beach is full
of people lying in the sun.
Some swim with the waves
breaking white
and some are deeper
in the aquamarine water
and still deeper
some surfers
are riding the waves
the of a navy blue ocean.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At Houtbay beach
A young girl and an old man
walk down steps
to the stretch
that the beach at Houtbay
throws against the sea.
There are some small fishing boats
in colours of blue,
orange and white
that sails into the sea,
but big white cabin cruisers
bobs up and down
next to the quay
some distance away
as if they are ownerless
while their bosses
play somewhere else.
The smell of sea-pike
roasting on coals
lies on the light wind
and their stomachs growl
of sudden hunger
and here and there
the girl stoops
to pick up shells.
His sturdy boots leaves flat tracts
on the firm sand
and there’s a brown wood walking stick
with a lion head in his hand
and the girl’s
bare foot tracts
run in advance.
The sea swishes in and out
and the wet sand
reflects a bright open day
and the blue water
stretches out
as far as you can see
and it’s as if he gets new power
next to the foaming water.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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