Some Clerihews
David Attenborough,
nature lover thorough
Intrepid explorer
of fauna and flora.
James Hansen
claims sanction
for future wealth,
grandchildren's health.
Richard Dawkins
grew four paw-fins
picked carte blanche
from ev'ry branch.
Julia Gillard,
duelling for bill hard
Save carbon tax
from Abbotts's axe.
Valerie Dohren
captivates more than
a fair petalled rose
in poetic disclose.
Danny Draper,
thought landscaper
Word exultant
tree consultant.
Patti Masterman,
her eyes faster scan
Sifting inanity,
grasping humanity.
Diane Hine
I've done mine,
as predicted
rhyme addicted.
poem by Diane Hine
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Related quotes
No One Questioned the Reek
When behavior they 'then' expressed,
Was not addressed...
But to some questionable?
Those of responsibility could have stood up,
To the plate.
No one did this.
But many bit down to chew!
And...
Instead,
An appreciation for that was shown.
With a bowing to lower eyes and heads.
Mixed signals were sent.
And deceit and devilment...
Were given carte blanche signals,
Not to slow down with caution...
But to move like blinded bulls,
Charging through halls...
Where precious crystal and china were used.
And no one confused a 'no' with a 'go'!
In fact...
Honors were given.
And some medals bestowed.
Some folks were given carte blanche signals.
For more of this to be exposed.
And it showed.
And they did...go!
Taking 'everything' with them,
To an humongous cellpool!
A deepened hole...
Where rooms were added.
And pretensions glowed!
With a renovation to extend the existing stench.
Guests were invited and asked to adorn masks.
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
And it did!
No one hid.
Deceit was done,
And everyone told...
Their bigger 'fibs'.
But...
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
And it did!
No one hid.
Deceit was done,
And everyone told...
Their bigger 'fibs'.
And...
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
No one questioned the reek.
It was as if an acceptance grew.
No one questioned.
No one questioned.
No one questioned the reek.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Under The Laburnum Tree
(A simple tale)
Under the Laburnum tree
She saw his gentle face
Under the Laburnum tree
She knew their first embrace
Under the Laburnum tree
She gave to him her love
Under the Laburnum tree
Beneath the stars above
Under the Laburnum tree
He left her there to cry
Under the Laburnum tree
That`s where she chose to die
(Under the Laburnum tree
Were scattered all its seeds
Under the Laburnum tree
Amongst the growing weeds)
Under the Laburnum tree
The moon was shining bright
Under the Laburnum tree
Her silv`ry soul took flight
Under the Laburnum tree
At last she was set free
Under the Laburnum tree
She found eternity
poem by Valerie Dohren
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Health and Wealth
When I had health, I strived to earn more wealth;
I toiled so hard that I soon lost my health!
When I got wealth, more vice crept in by stealth;
My wealth was gone, so also my good health!
So, keep your health and earn some wealth;
Don't earn more wealth and lose all health;
Just use your wealth to keep your health;
In life on earth, Health is your wealth!
poem by John Celes
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David Attenborough
So much about Nature David Attenborough know
My wonder at his knowledge only does grow
His documetaries the most informative things on the t v
The man is a genius none as clever as he,
From the massive blue whale to the tiny insects that on the ground crawl
Their Nature and on how they live David Attenborough recall
For millions of students of Nature Worldwide
Only her deepest secrets from him Nature can hide,
He has made documentaries on Wildlife for thirty years or more
From the northern Artic ocean to the southern Antartic shore,
One who knows much about Nature and for Nature he care
And people like him they are priceless and rare
And it seems sad to think that he is getting old
But the story of his life will always be told.
poem by Francis Duggan
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carbon dioxide
Epoch-long waves rise and fall
acceleration
Welcome to Anthropocene!
May our young be good sailors.
tanka by Diane Hine
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A Man Who Knows Much About Nature
He has not been to college or uni and for so called success in life he does not have much to show
But about flora and fauna and Nature there is so much he seems to know
He knows all of the trees in the Parkland by the bark or the leaves that they wear
A man who knows much about Nature and for the health of Nature he care.
A man who knows much about nature by their songs the birds he recognize
He like the quiet place in the country far removed from human made noise
In the shadow of a tree by the river the sun shining bright in the sky
Listening to birds singing around him such moments of peace he enjoy.
He like places without man's buildings away from the noise of the street
A quiet place in Nature's own kingdom where the creek and the river meet
Where lark he is soaring and singing as upward and upwards he fly
He has been a student of Nature ever since he was a young school going boy.
A man who knows much about Nature and to Nature he remains true
And Nature needs all of her good friends for Nature's good friends are too few
The weekend finds him in a quiet place on a sunny day sitting by a tree
Near where the creek flows into the river the river that flows to the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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50th Birthday and A Rose by any other name......
Version One
============
A Rose is not a Rose without the thorns,
You have a full life and share of thorns,
The beauty of a rose will fade in time,
Beauty may fade but wisdom matures like wine.
-
Version Two
===========
A Rose by any other name,
Would just sound so tame.
Such beauty is the Rose,
Even with thorns, it shows.
Another year has passed
You have passed your test
A clean bill of health
is important than wealth.
For when you have your health
You can then build your wealth!
I Am the Little Raindrop
I am the little raindrop
That now has seen the sea
Though once it thought itself
The world of water, be
The surface tension grew
Until it burst it's skin
And, falling on the wave
It heard a growing din
It thought the sea a whole
A solid thing, that roll
To crush the little drop
Beneath it's giant bowl
But just before it fell
The little dropp woke up
And saw the shining faces
In the splashes, spraying up
The other drops did play
In the water's mighty hand
And from sea to farthest sea
Did the water's smile expand
Until horizon's bloomed
Upon some sunny shore
Where the little raindropp rose
Into the sky once more.
poem by Patti Masterman
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Tree of Wealth
Emblazoned clearly on a hill
Gleaming in the setting sun
What should be moving, oh so still
Wealth and nature become one
A tree of jewels
beside a sign to see
Warned ye be thou stealing fools
from the branches of this tree
So shy away I did right then
Obsession cut the panicked run
I never thought of theft again
Relinquishing the tempting fun
A tree of wealth
with warning sign
A danger to my needed health
I to my losing fate resign
poem by Timothy Kashorek
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And Consciousness Said
(to the tune of Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree)
Don't sit under the Bodhi tree
With anyone else but me
poem by Patti Masterman
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The question is, are we happy to suppose that our grandchildren may never be able to see an elephant except in a picture book?
quote by David Attenborough
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode to the worthy, earthy and free versey
Of what would Spring be
Of what pleasures to see
Were it not for the words
Of a poetic potpourri
A bouquet composed Of fresh
and e'er changing compositions
Of prose composed of flesh,
The heart, and earthy renditions
It's the blossoms of Raskin
Whom to me is a rose
In the pleasure in the reading
As is the scent to the nose
It's the petals Of JewelPhoenix
Which she scatters about
Wonders of her writing
Would be hard to be without
It's Iroconnell, s earthy scent
Of musk and of nectar
That's prosed forth and then spent
To delight those around her
Spring brings also weeds
Like myself and many others
Like thorny Raggindragon, Daddyotom
And many other of my brothers
But today this poem of Spring
Is given to poetesses
Who escape from the trite,
Mundane everyday excesses
Deign to be different
Who, like seedy, Mother Nature
Cast their blossoming thoughts
To the winds of poetic nomenclature
We all write poetry and
By and large we all do it well
But just a few…a favored few
Can gift us the taste, the feel, and the smell
Of not just free verse, nor even of rhyme
Nor so flowery, or convoluted, as often are mine
Just Simple, pure… unadorned…
sweet, honest and sublime
And always poetic, as is Mother Nature
(at least most of the time!)
poem by David Whalen
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The Last Lovely Rose Of The Fall
Her pink petals lay on the short grass beside the red brick garden wall
By the thorny mother that bore her the last lovely rose of the Fall
White butterflies flit in the garden in the warm sunshine of mid day
And the shrike thrush he pipes on a low branch in his cloak of light brown to gray,
The rose tree has lost her last and her finest daughter next year new roses she will bear
And the rose tree in her flowers does look lovely than her there is none quite so fair
And her flowers they must return to Nature and on Nature's bosom decay
And the rose tree herself sooner or later must return to Nature one day,
The dark willy wagtail he sits on the brick wall his long black tail he wags to and fro
For him 'tis a very good Season on butterlies fat he does grow
Each life form serves a purpose in Nature for one to live one has to die
And what comes from Nature goes back to Nature and the same goes for you and for i
The pink rose petals lay on the grass by their mother on this warm March day in the Fall
And of all of the flowers in the garden in bloom she was the fairest of all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Wish I May, Wish I Might
Every star's a fable,
A story in the sky,
A trail of angel's footprints
(some angels cannot fly) .
Every tale's worth keeping
And writing in a book;
So every star you're seeing,
Just take a closer look:
There's stars wished on by babies,
And stars from lover's eyes,
Stars that saved a sailor
Or intrepid voyager, high.
Stars that guide the night time,
And stars that swiftly fell,
And stars that shine in daylight,
At the bottom of a well.
There are stars in the evening,
And stars before the dawn,
To tell us what the season,
And when the work is done.
There's the first star you remember,
And the last you'll see before
Your eyelids close forever-
Before a star-lit door.
And then you'll be a star yourself,
Shining miles above;
Lighting worlds with distant lamps,
Burning bright with love.
poem by Patti Masterman
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A Memory
Adown the grass-grown paths we strayed,
The evening cowslips ope’d
Their yellow eyes to look at her,
The love-sick lilies moped
With envy that she rather chose
To take a creamy-petalled rose
And lean it 'gainst her ebon hair,
All in that garden fair.
A languid breeze, with stolen scent
Of box-bloom in his grasp,
Sighed out his longing in her ear,
And with his dying gasp
Scattered the perfume at her feet
To blend with others not less sweet;
He loved her, but she did not care,
All in that garden fair.
The rose she honoured nodded down,
His comrades burst with spite:
Poor fool! he knew not he was doomed
To barely last the night;
Are hearts to her but as that flower,
The plaything of a careless hour,
To lacerate and never spare
All in that garden fair.
I held her hand that I might trace
Her fortune in its palm;
A bolder moonbeam than the rest
Crept up and kissed her arm,
And, kissing once, was loth to leave,
So hid himself within the sleeve
That clasped the lithe arm, white and bare,
All in that garden fair.
I traced her fortune: love and wealth,-
Tho’ life, alas! was short,
But will that wealth be bought with love?
Or love with wealth be bought?
I know not, knowing only this -
Her hand seemed waiting for a kiss,
I longed to, but I did not dare
All in that garden fair.
But she, alas! is not for me,
And I am not for her;
Yet ever deep within my thoughts
A faint regret must stir
A thrill of longing - that among
Those moonlit paths with lover's tongue
I might return, and woo her there
All in that garden fair.
poem by Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
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Sonnet: God’s Expectations Are Simple
No doubt, the Rose’s a beautiful flower,
And truthfully displays its fragrance sweet;
The Rose’s Rose, no matter what color!
But canker-blooms too appear, sweet and neat.
Endowed has God in each a quality!
Both flora, fauna, live up to His wish;
To God, ’tis same being clean or dirty?
One thing matters- the flavor of soul’s dish!
How can the blind live like the one with eyes?
How can the handicapped live like those without?
God knows each person’s moles, their color/ size;
We must avoid big sins without a doubt!
God knows your heart and every thought there-in;
To get to Heaven, please stay away from sin.
6-3-2001
poem by John Celes
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Good on you!
'Good on you! '
Came the supportive exclamation
For news of achievement,
Or one up victory over an aggressor
Or for luck, relishing in news of a windfall
even if minor after a string of bad luck,
Or for a promotion or new job
Or clean bill of health,
Or a sporting victory after alluded success,
Or a special purchase on sale,
Or for courage or strength of character,
Or for higher studies or graduation,
Or happy news of romance or
A pregnancy sought,
It encompasses shared bliss.
'Good on ya! '
This is usually uttered with little energy and
in a reduced tone or volume,
to emphasise expected defeat
or disappointment and exasperation
may be issued in derision as contradiction
when someone has messed up,
or let you down or caused inconvenience
or thoughtlessness,
Including our pets and
failed inanimate objects - previously functioning,
or strangers discourteous or dangerous in traffic,
Or at the special insanity of war or politicians.
'Good on you! '
I have always thought of as a blessing
Never religious, but secular,
Genuine from the heart not perfunctory,
A hope, a wish, right tidings,
An affirmation of human spirit and achievement,
A congratulatory blessing connecting you to the bearer
and their shared story of great fortune or news,
Or in the pejorative to the annoying,
hapless, incorrigible or pathetic as sarcasm and despair
to offer them some improbable future luck.
But most sincerely as a great human blessing,
to share and bestow pure joy,
as an event of happiness is told or retold,
often followed by seemingly skeptical and heightened incredulity
to accentuate the moment,
'Good on you! ' 'That's fantastic! '
Danny Draper 10/7/2012
poem by Danny Draper
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The Tree And The Branch
the tree looks
upon a branch
where a ripe
fruit is hanging
the tree says
it is mine
the branch say
i am holding it
the tree says
the branch too
belongs to it
angry about the
tree's greed
the branch lets go off
the ripe fruit
a hungry child
picks it up
and goes home
with a happy heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Romaic Song
I enter thy garden of roses,
Beloved and fair Haidée,
Each morning where Flora reposes,
For surely I see her in thee.
Oh, Lovely! thus low I implore thee,
Receive this fond truth from my tongue,
Which utters its song to adore thee,
Yet trembles for what it has sung;
As the branch, at the bidding of Nature,
Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree,
Through her eyes, through her every feature,
Shines the soul of the young Haidée.
But the loveliest garden grows hateful
When Love has abandon'd the bowers;
Bring me hemlock - since mine is ungrateful,
That herb is more fragrant than flowers.
The poison, when pour 'd from the chalice,
Will deeply embitter the bowl;
But when drunk to escape from thy malice,
The draught shall be sweet to my soul.
Too cruel! in vain I implore thee
My heart from these horrors to save:
Will nought to my bosom restore thee?
Then open the gates of the grave.
As the chief who to combat advances
Secure of his conquest before,
Thus thou, with those eyes for thy lances,
Halt pierced through my heart to its core.
Ah, tell me, my soul! must I perish
By pangs which a smile would dispel?
Would the hope, which thou once bad'st me cherish,
For torture repay me too well?
Now sad is the garden of roses,
Beloved but false Haidée!
There Flora all wither'd reposes,
And mourns o'er thing absence with me.
song, translated by Byron
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The Choice
Some inherit manly beauty,
Some come into worldly wealth;
Some have lofty sense of duty,
Others boast exultant health.
Though the pick may be confusing,
Health, wealth, charm or character,
If you had the chance of choosing
Which would you prefer?
I'm not sold on body beauty,
Though health I appreciate;
Character and sense of duty
I resign to Men of State.
I don't need a heap of money;
Oh I know I'm hard to please.
Though to you it may seem funny,
I want none of these.
No, give me Imagination,
And the gift of weaving words
Into patterns of creation,
With the lilt of singing birds;
Passion and the power to show it,
Sense of life with love expressed:
Let my be a bloody poet,--
You can keep the rest.
poem by Robert William Service
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