The day we walked to Glastonbury
That day we followed the ancient byway
that wound round the old farm house,
past the new and on sun drenched
towards the river Brue.
You and I wandered slow,
whilst summer's promise
swooped down low
over green level pastures.
Passing incidental hedgerow trees
full of bird song, growing free
along the drove,
we lingered at the grassy edge
where orange tipped
peacock eyed butterflies danced.
Occasionally we glanced
towards the sacred tor to mark our way.
Meandering talk and country lanes
led to Arthur's court yard,
in the Vale of Avalon.
Where, to the sound of the Buddhist's Om
I walked the healing pool,
held by a gentle hand.
You waited beneath a budding tree
opposite the lion's mouth
kept company by a brambling.
I had one too in branches high above,
whilst my bare feet
were rubbed with love and
unscented oil.
I returned to sit beside you
and with easy talk you told
me of your brambling.
That was the day of the apple blossom drop.
As we sat together side by side
on that bench in the garden of the chalice well
with warming eyes you turned to me
as clouds of apple blossom fell
smiled, and said 'I organised that just for you'
poem by Diana Rosser
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Our Tree
When spring comes round, our apple tree
Is very full of flowers,
And when a bird sits on a branch
The petals fall in showers.
When summer comes, our apple tree
Is very full of green,
And everywhere you look in it
There is a leafy screen.
When autumn comes, our apple tree
Is full of things to eat.
The apples hang from every branch
To tumble at our feet.
When winter comes, our apple tree
Is full of snow and ice
And rabbits come to visit it...
We think our tree is nice.
poem by Marchette Chute
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Under Apple Trees
She lay beside you
under the apple trees
the bees and butterflies overhead
the glimmer of sunlight
through the branches
and she said
I can smell the apples
from here
and if I close my eyes
I feel I'm in a foreign field
lying in some overseas orchard
and happy beneath the sun
and you turned your head
and said
Am I with you
lying in that orchard
beneath a foreign sun?
and you studied her profile
the shadows dancing
across her cheek
a butterfly just above her head
Sure
she said
As if I'd dream of anywhere
without you by my side
and she reached out a hand
and touched your fingers
with hers and it seemed
a pulse danced
between the fingers
as if love momentarily
could be felt
could be sensed
in the space
between fingers
and riding
in the hearts
and heads
and she turned
to face you
her eyes reflecting
a different sun
and your hand sliding
along her thigh
and she shaking
her head slightly
eased out
a soft sigh.
poem by Terry Collett
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Apple-Blossom
Blossom of the apple trees!
Mossy trunks all gnarled and hoary,
Grey boughs tipped with rose-veined glory,
Clustered petals soft as fleece
Garlanding old apple trees!
How you gleam at break of day!
When the coy sun, glancing rarely,
Pouts and sparkles in the pearly
Pendulous dewdrops, twinkling gay
On each dancing leaf and spray.
Through your latticed boughs on high,
Framed in rosy wreaths, one catches
Brief kaleidoscopic snatches
Of deep lapis-lazuli
In the April-coloured sky.
When the sundown's dying brand
Leaves your beauty to the tender
Magic spells of moonlight splendour,
Glimmering clouds of bloom you stand,
Turning earth to fairyland.
Cease, wild winds, O, cease to blow!
Apple-blossom, fluttering, flying,
Palely on the green turf lying,
Vanishing like winter snow;
Swift as joy to come and go.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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What Lies Ahead
It was a windy day that day
But the apple still fell near its tree
The clock struck zero
A cry filled the room
A son of the past
The father of the future
The distance between two feet
As the clock ticked life away
The ground was opened each day
And seeds dropped quietly in it
Days came and walked away
With the same plot and stale tale
All looked upon the future
Wondering what glory lied ahead
Will I walk on the sky or ask the ground to bury me?
The clock delivered the future as he promised
Each got a basket of past deeds returned
The acorn became a mighty oak
It was a windy day that day
Yet the apple refused to fall far from the tree
All that had gone around
Came around to say hello
The future was here and held glory for some
The future was here and turned off the lights of others
The future is the past hidden in a seed
Today is tomorrow
What do you want to lie ahead?
Dig your ground
Drop your seed
Stand your ground
It will be a windy day that day
But your apple will fall right in your life
And when all you've done around
Comes around to say hello
You'd firmly shake their hands
And say, I've been waiting for you
My whole life long, welcome.
poem by Jenim Dibie
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Red Apple, Red Apple
Red apple
Red apple
sitting on the ledge
savouring its nutrients
for a few moments longer
Red apple
Red apple
Savouring its time
That is has left
As a whole
Red apple
Red apple
Traveled such a
Long way, from the store?
Farm? another country?
Red apple
Red apple
Haunting me by
The curiosity of
How juicy you taste
Red apple
Red apple
Shine on,
Red apple
poem by John McAdam
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The Apple Tree Greed
he has an apple a green apple
he is the only person in this room
with a green apple
suppose suppose NOW
he has MORE of those at home
WHY he has a GREEN APPLE tree
In his backyard no WAIT
He has a vineyard behind his chapeau
And he makes green apple wine
And he sells it to the BOONES FARM people
And they make BOONES FARM green apple wine
And the whole city is soon sick
The children ralf and barf and ralf again
There is no more end to the men
Drinking all the green apple wine
To make this ONE person rich
He never offered me any of his wine
Eyes never drink of alcoholic beverage
Eye have juices and tea and a soda please
I'm just full of good intentions
Picking green apples in my mind and eating way too many
Having a green apple with mye lunch of poetical decay
WAIT he left and YES he took the green apple core with him
Not leaving me a bite not wanting me to taste the pleasure
of his mite. Why eye understand him greedy is his name
the green apple hoarder has so many apples now his wine cellar is so full and his larders aer so rich he does save the stems and seeds to plant again in ground so rich and he chews on this green apple while he watches MTV in selfish hedonistacal revenge while eye have no green apple stuck between my teeth OH bliss oh strang decay my teeth at least aer happier today he took the core away he left me all alone im appleless today im happier to say no song is being sung of little apples of the green variety been hung oh see the tree how big its grown the apples have been lost too long and they fall in misery from branches of decay to rot to rot to rot upon the vineyard floor there is no apple wine no more the green variety is gone they drink it only read and red is the color of the wine in cups so full of color there in plates so heaped of agony with applesauces vailiantly piled higher then the sky.
poem by Parme Hice
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The Crossed Apple
I’ve come to give you fruit from out my orchard,
Of wide report.
I have trees there that bear me many apples.
Of every sort:
Clear, streaked; red and russet; green and golden;
Sour and sweet.
This apple’s from a tree yet unbeholden,
Where two kinds meet, -
So that this side is red without a dapple,
And this side’s hue
Is clear and snowy. It’s a lovely apple.
It is for you.
Within are five black pips as big as peas,
As you will find,
Potent to breed you five great apple trees
Of varying kind:
To breed you wood for fire, leaves for shade,
Apples for sauce.
Oh, this is a good apple for a maid,
It is a cross,
Fine on the finer, so the flesh is tight,
And grained like silk.
Sweet Burning gave the red side, and the white
Is Meadow Milk.
Eat it, and you will taste more than the fruit:
The blossom, too,
The sun, the air, the darkness at the root,
The rain, the dew,
The earth we came to, and the time we flee,
The fire and the breast.
I claim the white part, maiden, that’s for me.
You take the rest.
poem by Louise Bogan
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Que Dia Es Hoy (Self Control)
Which day is today?
Which day is today,
Day which rules my world,
Without control at my actions,
Little humor gets me up,
There is no sunshine, it is not summer,
My garden has been dry.
There are no flowers,
And my love is gone.
My heart thinks that it will explode,
Without looking at my really age,
Plants in my garden will arise again,
And I will not forget that it is like that.
My heart thinks that it will explode,
If we see at none place,
If I never get out from this dark,
If I never give you a strong hug.
Hey, you have one good chance,
Promise to me that you won't go back in the past,
I promise that I will always love you,
With my body and my brain,
Everything will be different, yes,
hey, there are a lot of stuffs
About which we can talk about,
I know that start isn't difficult,
it's always my better side,
we have already forgot the past,
And we have returned in the present.
Sound of sadness in my room,
There is no light just spark,
Only religion and hope,
Illusion without revenge,
I have already past the same destiny,
I want to talk with you like a friend,
Compare our destines.
I love you my love, I love you without control.
song performed by by Ricky Martin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Over The Hills And Far Away
A LITTLE bird flew my window by,
'Twixt the level street and the level sky,
The level rows of houses tall,
The long low sun on the level wall;
And all that the little bird did say
Was, 'Over the hills and far away.'
A little bird sang behind my chair,
From the level line of corn-fields fair,
The smooth green hedgerow's level bound
Not a furlong off--the horizon's bound,
And the level lawn where the sun all day
Burns:--'Over the hills and far away.'
A little bird sings above my bed,
And I know if I could but lift my head
I would see the sun set, round and grand,
Upon level sea and level sand,
While beyond the misty distance gray
Is 'Over the hills and far away.'
I think that a little bird will sing
Over a grassy mound, next spring,
Where something that once was me, ye'll leave
In the level sunshine, morn and eve:
But I shall be gone, past night, past day,
Over the hills and far away.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Strangers
The scent of bluebells fanned the flames of spring
And you, like apple-blossom, rode the wind
And muscular with youth you strode the way
Between the choices we would make or break
We passed with daring eyes and thumping hearts
Across the tarmacadam, on the paths
Your kind request still took me by surprise
Beside the tennis courts; behind my eyes
As soft as April leaves in springtime rain
Your words, ran helter skelter through my veins
As arm in arm I held the perfect love
But in your shadow everything fell short
It’s hard to find the words to tell the night
About the tempting vision you defined
Like Marilyn Monroe and Eve combined
But I was terrified and so, declined
You walk my dreams disguised as other girls
Along the corridors of that lost world
We haven’t met since sometime long ago
We sat together on the slow train home
chorus
Evelyn we were strangers once
Before the apple-blossom dance
And I remember everything
Everything that might have been
No, nothing’s ever what it seems
To strangers passing on the street
The petals fluttered on the breeze
On London Road between the trees
A homework
We were told to draw a portrait at our choice
but we were send only words.
The beggar was still there, near the apple-tree in blossom,
punished to count stars or to assist the leaves' death.
I refused my tears and began my homework.
The light was for all and for free,
the beggar was thought the fear's pride.
I took the words and have drawn this poem at my choice.
The apple-tree smiled to the beggar
in this light for all and for free
poem by Clava Ghirca
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Poem Hunters
'Naseer.'
She gently called my name.
'Should we go for poem hunting? '
She asked.
'My soul is lonely and hungry for your poems.'
She added.
'Yeah! Let us go my love.'
I said.
'I will hunt to your satisfaction.'
I added.
Then we dressed in white and red
A bright coloured silky hats and red coats
And set out for poem hunting
Hand in in hand we reached a green garden
Closed to the pure pool of purest wonders
There we met two little birds
Two colourful birds at the pool-side
One singing, the other listening and dancing
The He-bird sang and sang melodiously
With all the coolness of its dulcet voice
So cool and gentle like the feeling of a summer breeze
We watched them attentively, still hand in hand
Unable to resist the temptation to followed the tunes
The He-bird sang two steps forward
And two steps backward
So beautiful and enchanting that the She-bird collapsed
Slowly like the crash of wet sand
Suddenly the He-bird stop singing
Took his soulmate and lost in the clouds
'It is now your turn my love.'
She tapped me on the shoulder
'Why not sing for me my love? '
'I am hungry, can you start hunting now? '
She begged.
That was when my heartbeats turned music
Beating beautifully that my love couldn't resist
She danced and danced like a proffesional dancer
And my tongue sang out a melodious song from my heart
The rhymths is so enchanting that tears flow freely from her eyes
She suddenly stopped and approached me,
Smiling sweetly she said;
'Naseer, take me I love you....'
¤NTA! !
28/07/14: 21
poem by Naseeru Taneemu Annuree
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Interchange
The oriole sang in the apple-tree;
The sick girl lay on her bed, and heard
The tremulous note of the glad wild bird;
And, "Ah!" she sighed, "to share with thee
Life's rapture exquisite and strong:
Its hope, its eager energy,
Its fragrance and its song!"
The oriole swayed in the apple-tree,
And he sang: "I will build, with my love, a nest,
Fine as e'er welcomed a birdling guest:
Like a pendent blossom, secure yet free,
It shall hang from the bough above me there,
Bright, bright with the gold that is combed for me
From the sick girl's auburn hair!"
Then he built the nest in the apple-tree;
And, burnished over, a ball of light,
It gleamed and shone in the sick girl's sight,
And she gazed upon it wonderingly:
But when the bird had forever flown,
They brought the nest from the apple-tree
To the bed where she lay alone.
"O builder of this mystery!"—
The wide and wistful eyes grew dim,
And the soul of the sick girl followed him—
"Dear bird! I have had part, through thee,
In the life for which I long and long:
Have shared its hope, its energy,
Its rapture and its song!"
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Pushing One Leg Anne
Push me
through the avenue of trees
Anne said
I'm pissed off with the kids
asking how I lost my leg
and so you pushed
the wheelchair
along the avenue
out of sight of others
away from their childish chatters
and ball games
and cries of want and woes
go on you skinny arse
push push
she muttered
and you pushed on the handles
with all your might
over the dry grass
and she rocked
up and down
and side to side
until she bellowed
this will do small fellow
rest me here
and you let go
of the handles
and puffed for breath
and looked at her
sitting there
in the wheelchair
with her bright eyes
and black hair
and she pulled
your hand towards her
and laid it on her one leg
and said
that's your reward
for pushing me
and she rubbed your hand
over the red skirt
the soft texture
warming the skin
you watched her hand
holding yours
her other hand holding
the side of the chair
sensing her softness
beneath the hardness
and brashness
but saying nothing
just taking in
the sensations and newness
and she said
just as well Matron
hasn't seen this
or it'd give her
such a flush
and she laughed
and let go of your hand
and your hand lingered
over her thigh
like a bird set free
waiting to take
to the sky.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Unwavering Tree
Orange and yellow sunrise
That showned over the tree
Oscillating, moving its eyes
And flying nearby was a bee
The wind was blowing
The only noise in the country-side
And the tree was moving
Forward and back, side to side
A man was walking towards the farm
Consumed, forlorn, anxious
Constantly looking at the watch on his arm
Too busy to see the walking tree which was conspicuous
And when he finally realized something was there
All he saw was a tree; unmoving and bare
poem by Tim Worden
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Spring Observations
Green slipped out from under the white -
Splashed in early other colours,
And gave up lambs, who
Bleated tirelessly on the subject.
Screams from the nearby park
Told of newly playful children, with
Bleary fathers, clattering mothers,
Undersense befuddled by a perfume -
It was the budding blossom.
And younger men perked up at
Early bosoms once again parading;
More blossom - audacious blooms:
Sexual selection back on stage.
It was happening with the birds,
Only there was more decorum,
More order - a greater sense of purpose,
Unwitting duty.
I turned over the soil - warming
Under the cautious sun -
Yellow still nubile,
Though coping with its shyness.
My first beads of sweat were oddly ambivalent:
Surging vigour forcing out the
Stubborn winter indolence.
Inside, a warming smile worked
Up towards my mouth, lips, eyes.
The kitchen window rattled:
Lunch was ready.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
Spring spring spring spring
Spring spring spring spring
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Janice and You At London Bridge
It was the fourth day
since the break up
from school
for the summer vacation
and you were riding
with Janice
on the bus
to London Bridge
and she was wearing
the lemon coloured dress
you liked
that came to the knees
which were pressed
together
and the brown sandals
with the patterned holes
and the red beret
on her fair hair
was swaying
with the motion
of the bus
opposite you
was a man
wearing a trilby
and a moustache
who kept looking at you
with his dark eyes
his head going
from side to side
as the bus moved
and he sat next
to Janice
his hands
on his knees
and he turned
and gazed
at Janice's knees
then up at you again
his features flushing
and then he looked away
at the passing scene
behind you
pretending
you weren't there
then at London Bridge
he got off
and so did you
and Janice
and you waited
until he had gone
walking up
and over the bridge
and you said
he was a queer fish
who?
said Janice
that bloke
who sat next to you
why?
she asked
he kept staring at me
and ogling
at your knees
did he?
Janice said
you wait
until I tell Gran
about that
she'll say
you watch out
for his type Janice
he's no better
than he ought to be
you nodded
and smiled
at her imitation
of her gran
and she laughed
and you both
walked down
the steps and by
Southwark Cathedral
to the embankment
by the River Thames
and stood by the wall
looking at the passing
boats and ships and tugs
and the occasional
ducks floating
on the brown water
and you felt Janice's
9 year old hand
touch yours
as she pretended
(as she often did)
that you were
a married couple
out for a romantic walk
gazing
at the passing scenery
with the added
small talk.
poem by Terry Collett
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Fern Hill
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and
cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was
air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the
nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking
warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would
take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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As You Walked One Summer's Day.
These lanes are very narrow
you said
walking with Jane
from the parsonage
where she lived
to where the farm road began
Are they?
she replied
I've never thought about it
just that the hedges are high
and the birds chock full
in them and their songs
Yes
you said
They are
and in London
there are no hedges
or narrow lanes
and the only birds
are sparrows
and pigeons
and you wanted
to take hold
of her hand
and squeeze gently
the flesh
and sense her pulse
but you didn't
you put your hands
in your jean pockets
and gazed sideways on
at her and her dark hair
and her profile
and the scent of her
like lavender
as if she'd dived
into a wide field of it
and embraced
the flowers and stalks
What bird song is that?
she asked
No idea
you replied
moving closer to her
the scent getting stronger
the desire to be closer
taking hold but still at bay
It's a blackbird
she said
You'll learn them all
the birdsongs
and where and how
they nest and in what months
and you nodded
and saw how
the summery dress
moved and swayed
as she walked
the flowered pattern
like a field moved
by a soft breeze
and her sandaled feet
touching the gravelled lane
and you thinking
how it would be
for them to be held
and kissed by you
if she were beside you
lying in a field
or in one
of those tall woods
and you pursed your lips
and she looked up at the sky
her eyes gathering
the blueness
and whiteness of clouds
and she said
Monet would have captured that so well
and You
you muttered
He would capture you well
each aspect
of your face
and hair and eyes
and she smiled
and looked at you and said
I'd want to be captured by Renoir
have his arthritic fingers
clutching brush
and capture me
and maybe secretly
lust after me
and she blushed
and turned away
and you thought
Oh yes yes yes
but said nothing
just gazed
and breathed in
her being
her beauty
all there
for you to view
the eyes
the hair
the profile
the way her lips smiled
and sway of walk
and the tall hedges
seemed to explode
with the wild bird's talk.
poem by Terry Collett
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A Matter of Trust on a Summer's Day
Jane's mother said
she was up by the church
and so you went up
the path leading
to the church of St Mary
and there she was
laying some flowers
on a gravestone
she looked up
as you approached
and smiled
your mother told me
you were here
you said
I think Mother
must like you
she wouldn't
have told you
otherwise
Jane said
getting up
from the graveside
and brushing her hands
on her summery dress
who are the flowers for?
you asked
looking at the flowers
placed in a small jar
on the grave
a parishioner
we used to know
who used to like
this type of flower
oh I see
you said
looking at the graves around
and the Downs further back
and the trees nearby
where did you want to go?
you asked
how about a walk to Cocking?
we can do some shopping
while we're there
and enjoy each other's
company in the process
is it far? you asked
a mile or so
she replied
ok
you said
and you followed her
down the path
and along the lane
to her house
and you waited outside
while she went inside
after a few minutes
her mother came out
with her and said
it's very good of you
to go with Jane
all that way
I wouldn't like her
to go alone
that's all right
you said
and she smiled
and went in side
and Jane said
see she trusts you
not many boys
around here
she'd say that to
oh right
you said
looking at
her dark hair
and her eyes
gazing at you
and her hand
holding a shopping bag
and her lips
breaking into a smile
come on
she said and
so she took
your hand
and you walked
along the lane
keeping close
to the hedgerow
the sun warm
and the sky blue
and you sensed a joy
of it being
just her and you.
poem by Terry Collett
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