Garden-Spot
God's acre was her garden-spot, she said;
She sat there often, of the Summer days,
Little and slim and sweet, among the dead,
Her hair a fable in the leveled rays.
She turned the fading wreath, the rusted cross,
And knelt to coax about the wiry stem.
I see her gentle fingers on the moss
Now it is anguish to remember them.
And once I saw her weeping, when she rose
And walked a way and turned to look around-
The quick and envious tears of one that knows
She shall not lie in consecrated ground.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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I Made Another Garden
I made another garden, yea,
For my new love;
I left the dead rose where it lay,
And set the new above.
Why did the summer not begin?
Why did my heart not haste?
My old love came and walked therein,
And laid the garden waste.
She entered with her weary smile,
Just as of old;
She looked around a little while,
And shivered at the cold.
Her passing touch was death to all,
Her passing look a blight:
She made the white rose-petals fall,
And turned the red rose white.
Her pale robe, clinging to the grass,
Seemed like a snake
That bit the grass and ground, alas!
And a sad trail did make.
She went up slowly to the gate;
And there, just as of yore,
She turned back at the last to wait,
And say farewell once more.
poem by Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy
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Elizabeth and Albert
Elizabeth wore black hooded gown
red rose in her hand
soft winds blowing all around
she walked the hills through Ivory and heather
to where a gravestone lay
placed the rose upon her loved ones grave
looked out across the sea as tears fell down her face.
She walked the hills everyday
days turned into months
these hills was their favourite place
‘twas where they first met, first kissed, first made love.
Cold winter months set in
single rose in her hand
she walked through windswept heather
strong winds blowing her gown
placed rose upon Albert’s grave
whispers i’ll come back tomorrow
i shall always bring you a rose
my dearest Albert my heart is yours.
As she walked down the stony pathway
through boulders covered in moss
she slipped and fell to her death
died upon rocks
her ghostly image can be seen
walking through the heather
her love for him was so strong
red rose she holds forever.
poem by Janet Whittaker
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Kumatsu
I now undertsand your tears in those days,
And like the Queen's new clothes;
But today, you are gone forever!
You were recorded among the dead in 2002,
And the sea took you all away;
But let my tea be mixed with pure honey,
And i will always remember your tears.
I now understand in those days,
But you have no more tears today;
Because you are dead and gone forever!
For you were recorded among the dead in 2002.
You were drawn in the sea as you attempted with others to cross over,
Europe was your target but your sweet candle of light burnt out so soon;
And this sad note is with the tears from my heart,
Because the sea ended your dreams so soon!
Who can bring you back?
My sweet Kumatsu, rest in peace.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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God's Little Acre
God’s Little Acre
On a land abandoned by man and behind
an ancient stonewall I saw a Frisian cow.
Not many of those around here, I walked
over to have a look, the ruminant was now
a boulder. I touched it, still warm; looked
up and around, someone was ribbing me.
Walked off looking nonchalant, but quickly
turned to have another look, the big stone
had turned into a grazing Frisian again and
drab olive trees had silver leaves.
I smiled and shook my head, this ongoing
joking between us, I’m old enough to keep
this a secret and, anyway, it is not easy to
talk about shadowboxing.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Dream In B Minor
i dreamt Jesus came back last night
& walked thru the tents & tarps
& the mud & the cholera of Haiti...
amidst the bodies & the children crying;
and He turned back towards Jerusalem,
weeping for the sins of apathy
to be crucified again.
i dreamt Jesus came back last night
& walked thru the streets & the cities of America...
thru the addiction & the poverty,
the homelessness, the prejudice, the lostness...
to the halls & cathedrals of Washington
where life is bought & sold & blood is cheaper
than oil...
& He turned away from the cross,
and went fishing!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Beautiful Mother
Mother's hair was golden in olden days
She was known as 'The beautiful One'
And although her hair has turned to silver
She still shines like
A 'jewel' in the sun...
And it's not only because of her silver hair
That she is adored beyond compare.
Her ways are sweet, gentle and kind,
She's the 'beautiful One'
With the beautiful mind.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Lord Robert
Tall and young and light of tongue,
Gallantly riding by wood and lea,
He was ware of a maiden fair
And turned and whispered, 'Remember me.'
(Oh Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert,
Oh Lord Robert, 'tis I, 'tis I;
Under their feet where the cross-roads meet
Dost thou think I can lie and lie,
Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert?)
Day by day she walks that way
Never hoping by wood or lea
To be ware of the stranger gay
Who turned and whispered, 'Remember me.'
(Oh Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert,
Oh Lord Robert, 'tis I, 'tis I;
Under their feet where the cross-roads meet
Dost thou think I can lie and lie,
Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert?
Chance for chance he rides that way,
And again by wood or by lea
He was ware of the maiden fair,
And again he whispered, 'Remember me.'
(Oh Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert,
Oh Lord Robert, 'tis I, 'tis I;
Under their feet where the cross-roads meet
Dost thou think I can lie and lie,
Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert?)
Chance for chance that way rode he,
And again where he was ware,
Debonnair to that maiden fair
He turned and said, 'You remember me.'
(Oh Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert,
Oh Lord Robert, 'tis I, 'tis I;
Under their feet where the cross-roads meet
Dost thou think I can lie and lie,
Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert?)
Chance for chance on a summer-day,
Meeting her still by wood and lea,
He leaped gay from his gallant grey
And said, 'I see you remember me.'
(Oh Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert,
Oh Lord Robert, 'tis I, 'tis I;
Under their feet where the cross-roads meet
Dost thou think I can lie and lie,
Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert?)
Chance for chance when they hap'd to meet
He pressed on her lip, he breathed in her ear,
Dear dear words and kisses sweet,
Words and kisses too sweet, too dear.
(Oh Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert,
Oh Lord Robert, 'tis I, 'tis I;
Under their feet where the cross-roads meet,
Dost thou think I can lie and lie,
Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert?)
When the morn enchants the east,
When the south is dazed with noon,
When the eve weeps to the west,
When the night beguiles the moon,
The maid moon that sat so lowly,
Sat so lowly with bended head,
Sat so lowly and rose so slowly,
Rose so slowly and walked so lowly,
Ever, ever with bended head,
Till the black, black hour of the starless sky,
The black, black hour and the dark, dark bed,
And live maids weep as they turn in their sleep,
Weep in their sleep and know not why,
And the white owls shriek and the dead men croon.
Now all ye gentlemen, grand and gay,
When you meet a maid by wood or lea,
Sir Knight, I pray, ride on thy way,
Nor turn and whisper, 'Remember me.'
Lest you drink no wine so strong or fine
But out of the cup, like a shell of the sea,
Thou shalt learn how slaves from their wormy graves
Can do that bidding, 'Remember me.'
(Oh Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert,
Oh Lord Robert, 'tis I, 'tis I;
Under their feet where the cross-roads meet
Dost thou think I can lie and lie,
Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert?)
Lest never in hall when the knights stand tall
And the goblets flash and the ladies shine,
And thou risest up the king of them all,
To drink to wassail and woman and wine,
Risest up with thy jewelled cup,
But out of the cup, like the sea in a shell,
A voice thou hast known by hill and wood,
A voice, a voice thou hast known too well!
And the cold wine boils on the lip like blood,
And the blood streams cold to the heart like wine,
Cold and hot to the heart like wine.
(Oh Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert,
Oh Lord Robert, 'tis I, 'tis I;
Under their feet where the cross-roads meet
Dost thou think I can lie and lie,
Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert?)
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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A Girl's Autumn Reverie
We plucked a red rose, you and I
All in the summer weather;
Sweet its perfume and rare its bloom,
Enjoyed by us together.
The rose is dead, the summer fled,
And bleak winds are complaining;
We dwell apart, but in each heart
We find the thorn remaining.
We sipped a sweet wine, you and I,
All in the summer weather.
The beaded draught we lightly quaffed,
And filled the glass together.
Together we watched its rosy glow,
And saw its bubbles glitter;
Apart, alone, we only know
The lees are very bitter.
We walked in sunshine, you and I,
All in the summer weather.
The very night seemed noonday bright.
When we two were together.
I wonder why with our good-by
O'er hill and vale and meadow
There fell such shade, our paths seemed laid
Forevermore in shadow.
We dreamed a sweet dream, you and I,
All in the summer weather,
Where rose and wine and warm sunshine
Were mingled in together.
We dreamed that June was with us yet,
We woke to find December.
We dreamed that we two could forget,
We woke but to remember.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Rose Garden
I watched you in your
garden,
Roses growing every-
where.
Flowers were so lovely,
Perfume filled the air.
Touching them so
gently,
Creating a bouquet,
Tieing yellow
ribbons,
So they would'nt blow
away.
As I left the garden,
On that summer day
I turned and looked
once more,
Then slowly walked
away.
I admire your lovely
garden,
So happy I would be,
If I were the rosebud,
You touched so
tenderly.
poem by Heather Burns
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Family memories
Memories are with me night and day,
But the ones that means the most to me,
Wherever I go, are those of my family?
And always known must leave for others to see.
I count the months and they turned into days,
I count the days and they turned into weeks,
I count the weeks and they turned into minutes,
Each time I count the memories; there are more intrigues.
From the color of clothes adorn and meekly worn,
To hay high grass frolicking in the garden,
We hide in postural shade from the burning sun,
And roll and play beneath the rustling green.
Looking up into the sky at lights deeper than dept,
And wishing upon a star for a new fond dream,
To come true with virtue clean enough to sweep,
Our hopes so high, we could look down from heaven.
Through the worlds we gaze hoping to find,
Love in summer, and pleasure wrap up warm in winter,
Within the memories which pierce our mind,
Are those we love more than what we remember.
poem by Gerry Legister
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Venevil
Fair Venevil hastened with tripping feet
Her lover to meet.
He sang, so it rang o'er the church far away:
"Good-day! Good-day!"
And all the little birds sang right merrily their lay:
"Midsummer Day
Brings us laughter and play;
But later know I little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"
She twined him a wreath of the flowers blue:
"My eyes for you!"
He tossed it and caught it and to her did bend:
"Good-by, my friend!"
And loudly he exulted at the field's far distant end:
"Midsummer Day
Brings us laughter and play;
But later know I little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"
She twined him a wreath: "Do at all you care
For my golden hair?"
She twined one, and gave in life's hour so rare
Her red lips' pair;
He took them and he pressed them, and he blushed as she did there.
She twined one all white as a lily-band:
"'T is my right hand."
She twined one blood-red, with her love in each strand:
"'T is my left hand."
He took them both and kept them both, but would not understand.
She twined of the flowers that bloomed around
"Every one I found!"
She gathered and twined, while tears would her eyes fill:
"Take them you will!"
In silence then he took them, but to flight he turned him still.
She twined one so large, of discordant hue:
"My bride's-wreath true!"
She twined it and twined, till her fingers were sore:
"Crown me, I implore!"
But when she turned, he was not there, she never saw him more.
She twined yet undaunted without a stay
At her bride's-array.
But now it was long past the Midsummer Day,
All the flowers away:
She twined it of the flowers, though they all were now away!
"Midsummer Day
Brings us laughter and play;
But later know I little, if she twines her wreath so gay!"
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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The Willow
On sweet young earth where the myrtle presses,
Long we lay, when the May was new;
The willow was winding the moon in her tresses,
The bud of the rose was told with dew.
And now on the brittle ground I'm lying,
Screaming to die with the dead year's dead;
The stem of the rose is black and drying,
The willow is tossing the wind from her head.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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The Weeping Rose
As the day lights break
And the chill of the night disappear
I look around in the prairie and fields
Running around
Looking for red rose
Red rose to give to my love
Days gone
Days past
Seasons gone
time passed
the days became gloomy
the sunny rays become hazy
my heart became heavy
I looked around for the red rose
Behind the shrubs
I found the rose
It was weeping
No more
Your love is gone
No more roses
poem by Sherif Monem
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Mother's Hair Has Turned To Silver
Mother's hair has turned to silver
Her skin is all wrinkled and cold
But i'd never trade my mother
For the world and all its gold. Yes her hair has turned to silver
Her face is all covered with lines
But there'll never be another
Like this gray haired mother of mine. I think of all the hardships
I have caused her to bare
Then I can see the reasons
For the silver in her hair. Mother's hair has turned to silver
And her hard working days are done
But there's still a smile on her face
And a love for everyone.
poem by Kenneth Rickard
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Last Rose Of Summer
Throughout the soft and timeless days of august
til now the shadows begin to grow much longer
The sunsets fire has deepened blood red
I give you this, the last rose of summer
A token of my unyielding love
So when the winters mantle stills the earth
And all around seems dead and cold
This rose reminds you of a time when all was warm and living
Do not despair, mother nature simply rests
In sleep she has well earned
til one day not so very far from now
With the opening of the first rose buds I shall return
A token of my unyielding love
So that when winters mettle steals the earth
And all around seems dead and cold
This rose reminds you of a time when all was warm and living
The last rose of summer
The last rose of summer
In your long shadows
The last rose of summer
In the sunset
The last rose of summer
Take this rose that I give you
The last rose of summer
The last rose of summer
Dont worry about the winter
The last rose of summer
I shall return
The last rose of summer
The last rose of summer
(fade)
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Indian Summer
The voices hanging in the air
The fingers running through my hair
You whisper in my ear, words Im afraid to hear
Youre sleeping on the wings of doves
Of melting in the heat of love
A voice that disappears, into the air
You said you found me, and never let me go, and until you do
No arms around me, to pull me away, away from you
Indian summer, I remember you
Indian summer, do you think of me too?
Like a moth to a flame, youre drawn to me with tender chains
You wrap me up so tight, and hold me all the night
Whos the stranger come and gone, statues crying in the lawn
The fountains frozen tears, bring back those years
Did you think you loved me, and do you want me now like you did back then
No moon above me, could make me feel this way, feel this way again
Indian summer, I remember you
Indian summer, do you think of me too?
Where do the seasons go when you let them slip away
Now the winds have changed from hot to cold today
Indian summer, indian summer, I remember you, where are you now
Ohhh, indian summer, I remember you
Indian summer, do you think of me, do you think of me too
Cause I remember you, indian summer
song performed by by Sheryl Crow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ive Just Told Mama Goodbye
Ive just told mama goodbye
Recorded by hank williams, sr.
Words and music by curley kinsey and sunshine slim sweet
[d] each year on [a7] mothers [d] day
The rose I [g] wore was [d] red
But [g] today Im saying [d] my first prayer
Mamas lying on her [a7] dying [d] bed.
[d] Ive just told [a7] mama good-[d] bye
Mothers day has [g] turned to [d] night
Like the [g] flowers in may, she [d] withered away
And my red rose is [a7] turning [d] white.
This is the dreaded hour
We all must face someday
Yet theres consolation in my heart
She will bloom in the masters bouquet.
Her time has come to go
And theres nothing I can do
Only hold her hand and say goodbye
Mamas day with her children is through.
Ive just told mama goodbye
And knelt beside her bed
I heard her say, Ill meet you someday,
Where the white roses turn to red.
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Withered Rose
A rose I used to hold so dearly
cherishing it where ever I see
but why didn't I see it clearly?
How soon the rose did bloom
A rose I grew on such occasion
and gave it to her
As beautiful as any painting
she accepted it without hesitation
A rose that was blossoming
do you want to reminisce with me?
I nourished this rose every day
but it was too much for her to see
A rose that was slowly dying
but I ran out of water
I can't seem to get it off the ground
is this how it will decay?
A rose that turned black
just like the ground beneath it
Withered and torn
forever in the hole it deserves
poem by Zayne Venilos
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The Daisy - On Finding one in Bloom on Christmas-day
There is a flower, a little flower
With silver crest and golden eye,
That welcomes every changing hour,
And weathers every sky.
The prouder beauties of the field
In gay but quick succession shine;
Race after race their honors yield,
They flourish and decline.
But this small flower, to Nature dear,
While moons and stars their courses run,
Wreathes the whole circle of the year,
Companion of the Sun.
It smiles upon the lap of May,
To sultry August spreads its charms,
Lights pale October on his way,
And twines December's arms.
The purple heath and golden broom
On moory mountains catch the gale;
O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume,
The violet in the vale.
But this bold floweret climbs the hill,
Hides in the forest, haunts the glen,
Plays on the margin of the rill,
Peeps round the fox's den.
Within the garden's cultured round
It shares the sweet carnation's bed;
And blooms on consecrated ground
In honor of the dead.
The lambkin crops its crimson gem;
The wild bee murmurs on its breast;
The blue-fly bends its pensile stem
Light o'er the skylark's nest.
'Tis Flora's page, - in every place,
In every season, fresh and fair;
It opens with perennial grace,
And blossoms everywhere.
On waste and woodland, rock and plain,
Its humble buds unheeded rise;
The Rose has but a summer reign;
The Daisy never dies!
poem by James Montgomery
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Barest Degree
I am gone, cant waste more time
I said, not quite joking
The fire has gone the big trees stand
The underground is smoking
Remember nothing youve been told
Means anything to me
And everything you hold is mine
In the barest degree
I walked up to the park
The lion rock was weeping
I walked on to the grave
The lizard king was sleeping
Remember nothing youve been told...
The days draw long, too long to count
Cushioned by the wasting
Restless age, the rusted temple
A place of my own making
No matter what else youve been told
Its still all up to me
And everything you own, is mine
In the barest degree, in the barest degree
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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