Old Man
Old Man, or Lads-Love, - in the name there's nothing
To one that knows not Lads-Love, or Old Man,
The hoar green feathery herb, almost a tree,
Growing with rosemary and lavender.
Even to one that knows it well, the names
Half decorate, half perplex, the thing it is:
At least, what that is clings not to the names
In spite of time. And yet I like the names.
The herb itself I like not, but for certain
I love it, as someday the child will love it
Who plucks a feather from the door-side bush
Whenever she goes in or out of the house.
Often she waits there, snipping the tips and shrivelling
The shreds at last on to the path,
Thinking perhaps of nothing, till she sniffs
Her fingers and runs off. The bush is still
But half as tall as she, 'though it is as old;
So well she clips it. Not a word she says;
And I ca only wonder how much hereafter
She will remember, with that bitter scent,
Of garden rows, and ancient damson trees
Topping a hedge, a bent path to a door
A low thick bush beside the door, and me
Forbidding her to pick.
As for myself,
Where first I met the bitter scent is lost.
I, too, often shrivel the grey shreds,
Sniff them and think and sniff again and try
Once more to think what it is I am remembering,
Always in vain. I cannot like the scent,
Yet I would rather give up others more sweet,
With no meaning, than this bitter one.
I have mislaid the key. I sniff the spray
And think of nothing; I see and I hear nothing;
Yet seem, too, to be listening, lying in wait
For what I should, yet never can, remember;
No garden appears, no path, no hoar-green bush
Of Lad's-love, or Old Man, no child beside,
Neither father nor mother, nor any playmate;
Only an avenue, dark, nameless, without end
poem by Edward Thomas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Apple Bush
October in a land that's in my back yard
There's a people who succeed they don't try hard
Well, they've found a way to live with ease
Eating from the bush instead of the tree
Apple bush, apple tree
Back to eternity
Find you a path and you buy with a car
Apple bush, apple tree
Back to eternity
Cut you a path with a chance may might fall
Move over in a corner, standing there
Tell my house they have to see it again
But my house doesn't worry it's got a path of it's own
And a bush, and a tree
Gotta leave it alone
Apple Bush, apple tree
Back to eternity
Find you a path and you buy with a car
Apple bush, apple tree
Back to eternity
Cut you a path with a chance may might fall
Someday like my house you're going to chose too
If you cut this new path well the old one will do
If you live with the people who live with ease
The red apple bush, the blue apple tree
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song For Candlemas
There’s never a rose upon the bush,
And never a bud on any tree;
In wood and field nor hint nor sign
Of one green thing for you or me.
Come in, come in, sweet love of mine,
And let the bitter weather be!
Coated with ice the garden wall;
The river reeds are stark and still;
The wind goes plunging to the sea,
And last week’s flakes the hollows fill.
Come in, come in, sweet love, to me,
And let the year blow as it will!
poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bitter Herb
O bitter herb, Forgetfulness,
I search for you in vain;
You are the only growing thing
Can take away my pain.
When I was young, this bitter herb
Grew wild on every hill;
I should have plucked a store of it,
And kept it by me still.
I hunt through all the meadows
Where once I wandered free,
But the rare herb, Forgetfulness,
It hides away from me.
O bitter herb, Forgetfulness,
Where is your drowsy breath?
Oh, can it be your seed has blown
Far as the Vales of Death?
poem by Jeanne Robert Foster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Croquet
In a garden where the may made the straggling fences gay
And the roses cream and scarlet shed their petals on the breeze
Your maiden aunts and I, and you, demure and shy,
Played a sober game of croquet underneath the spreading trees.
Just beyond the garden wall we could hear the merry call
Of the tennis players yonder, flitting gaily in the sun,
But we recked not of their glee, for all too content were we,
And we weren’t flushed and heated when our quiet game was done.
What a picture sweet you made! As you rested in the shade,
Listening to my eager chatter with a glance of grave surprise;
Was it nectar, love, or tea that your white hands poured for me
In the dainty Wedgewood tea-cups that were bluer than your eyes?
Love I know not; this I know, that we parted years ago –
That our paths lie far asunder in the giddy whirl of life,
And the tender vows we made, underneath the spreading shade,
Are a memory half forgotten ‘mid the city’s toil and strife.
But when wearied by its din, by its ceaseless strife and sin,
My thoughts will wander backwards at the close of some long day,
Once again I see you stand with your mallet in your hand,
‘Twixt a nodding scarlet rose-bush and a hedge of snowy may.
And the scent of mignonette comes to haunt and thrill me yet
While your blue eyes light the distance with a half reproachful smile;
Love, it is the world sad way, just to worship for a day-
And I doubt if you remember, after all this weary while.
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bitter Blow of Love
Love! you dealt a bitter blow –
You lay me cross the mortal plains,
Bedewed, bedimmed amongst a show
Of tearful clouds: eternal rains
To weep at my enduring foe
Of harsh reality – searing pains of
Destiny: dependable propensity
To fool myself repeatedly
That I could ever triumph over love!
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow
Love love love love love love love love love love
Bitter blow of love, oh love
Love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Smiled And Nodded
'I am losing the freshness of my garden, '
She said.
Staring at me as she reached for my hand.
And anticipating my response.
'This time of the year,
I would begin to smell my roses bloom.'
I smiled and nodded.
And grateful I was to keep my lips sealed.
Because the bush I thought she referred to...
Began to show signs of drying out,
Long before her admission.
'Do you remember how fragrant it use to be?
With just one sniff I was re-energized.'
~Yep!
I remember my addiction to sniffing that freshness.~
'Would you stop it.
You never helped me with the weeding.'
~You're right.
Especially when you stopped,
Softening up the bed.~
'There you go again...
Not paying me any attention.
I am talking about the sweetness of the fragrance.
And you refer to my leg hairs.'
And grateful I was to keep my lips sealed.
Because the bush I thought she referred to...
Began to show signs of drying out,
Long before her admission.
Leg hairs?
~Oh!
So that's how all my razors,
Lost their sharpness.~
'That's 'almost' funny.
You get no 'hees' but a half of a 'ha' with that one.'
~I'm not complaining.
When am I going to get a piece of that? ~
And she removed her hand...
With a daring look.
As if I wasn't up to the challenge.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Scents... ' (or) Tea - Baby
S
C
E
N
T
S
I So, Love The Scent, of A Fresh, Cup Of Tea
Like, I Love The Smell, of A Fresh-Bathed Baby
Both, Are So Very Delicate, Soothing & Sweet
Both, Are A Unique, Fragile-Moment Complete
And With Rose Petals and Soft Lavender Scents
And Apple-Blossoms, Honey and Fresh Peppermint
All Come In Lotions Or Talc-Powder For Baby
And In My Teacup, These Aromas Are Tasty
I So Love The Scent of Steeped-Leaf Tea
And A Fresh-Bathed, Gurgling Baby
Come, Sip A Cup of Tea With Me
While I Hold & Sniff The Baby
poem by MoonBee Canady
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Holly Bush
The Holly Bush
It was in the depth of winter
When snow lay crisp upon the ground
That I saw the tiny creatures
Which fluttered all around.
I stepped into the garden
To see what the fuss was all about.
There was a fairy trapped in my holly bush
And her friends were trying to pull her out.
But the sharp leaves stabbed at wings
And they tangled up long hair
As the fairies attempted their rescue.
They weren’t getting anywhere.
The fairies saw me on the garden path
And that I was getting near
They hid behind my chimney stack
And cried aloud in fear.
‘Stop being silly now, ’ I told them
As I carefully pulled the fairy free.
‘My name is Buttercup’, she said
As she explained to me.
That she had been stealing the berries
To plant down in the wood
Because there was no holly left.
She was really trying to be good.
‘People like holly for Christmas
But some of them dig up all the trees.
They don’t leave anything for the birds
So, can we have some berries, please.’
I did not want my little friend
To take another fall
So I helped to pick some berries
And said I did not mind at all.
The other fairies came to thank me
Then taking a berry each, off they flew
But Buttercup waited by my side
There was something else she had to do.
She waved her hand up in the air
And her dress changed to green and red
‘This will remind me of your holly bush
And your kindness, ’ the fairy said.
So, if you find a fairy in your garden
With a dress of red and green
Please, allow her to steal some berries
For it is my friend that you have seen.
poem by Irene C S ClarkHogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Epitaph
love is a forest fire,
the burning bush, smoke
rising from the embers
of a moment lost to eternity...
love is a healing touch,
the nourishing hand,
the echo of the self
whispering from its deepest
recesses... and answering!
love is murder... destroying
everything in its path.
love is a knife, cutting the soul
from its prison of identity...
love is a trash truck...
picking up the pieces of
lifetimes thrown to the curb...
love is a broken window
in a house where nobody lives...
love is the bitter taste
i keep spitting, walking down
this old road again...
yet love is the epitaph,
written in blood and sweat,
that my living leaves behind.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dog
You little friend, your nose is ready; you sniff,
Asking for that expected walk,
(Your nostrils full of the happy rabbit-whiff)
And almost talk.
And so the moment becomes a moving force;
Coats glide down from their pegs in the humble dark;
The sticks grow live to the stride of their vagrant course.
You scamper the stairs,
Your body informed with the scent and the track and the mark
Of stoats and weasels, moles and badgers and hares.
We are going OUT. You know the pitch of the word,
Probing the tone of thought as it comes through fog
And reaches by devious means (half-smelt, half-heard)
The four-legged brain of a walk-ecstatic dog.
Out in the garden your head is already low.
(Can you smell the rose? Ah, no.)
But your limbs can draw
Life from the earth through the touch of your padded paw.
Now, sending a little look to us behind,
Who follow slowly the track of your lovely play,
You carry our bodies forward away from mind
Into the light and fun of your useless day.
* * * * *
Thus, for your walk, we took ourselves, and went
Out by the hedge and the tree to the open ground.
You ran, in delightful strata of wafted scent,
Over the hill without seeing the view;
Beauty is smell upon primitive smell to you:
To you, as to us, it is distant and rarely found.
Home ... and further joy will be surely there:
Supper waiting full of the taste of bone.
You throw up your nose again, and sniff, and stare
For the rapture known
Of the quick wild gorge of food and the still lie-down
While your people talk above you in the light
Of candles, and your dreams will merge and drown
Into the bed-delicious hours of night.
poem by Harold Monro
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That Beating Of The Bush
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I have this 'thing' about honest and truth.
And those who become offended,
By declaring them too harsh to accept!
There has not been an experience I received,
I regretted with a wish to forget!
And those attempting to live their lives,
In pretense to deceive believing this is not deception...
Will always escape with excuses and alibis to make.
Charading as if...
No one recognizes,
Who is in masquerade.
And who amongst them fakes!
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
An honesty and truth spoken,
From deceivers is rare.
Those who deceive perceive...
Those who are direct and honest,
Are insensitive and do not care!
With a sharing of this mentality...
To those empathetic,
In a keeping of delusions...
Spared from despair!
But I know I'm not the only one...
Who elects to see,
Dishonesty from all people get up and leave.
I can't be!
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On The Night Train
Have you seen the bush by moonlight, from the train, go running by?
Blackened log and stump and sapling, ghostly trees all dead and dry;
Here a patch of glassy water; there a glimpse of mystic sky?
Have you heard the still voice calling – yet so warm, and yet so cold:
"I'm the Mother-Bush that bore you! Come to me when you are old"?
Did you see the Bush below you sweeping darkly to the Range,
All unchanged and all unchanging, yet so very old and strange!
While you thought in softened anger of the things that did estrange?
(Did you hear the Bush a-calling, when your heart was young and bold:
"I'm the Mother-bush that nursed you; Come to me when you are old"?)
In the cutting or the tunnel, out of sight of stock or shed,
Did you hear the grey Bush calling from the pine-ridge overhead:
"You have seen the seas and cities – all is cold to you, or dead –
All seems done and all seems told, but the grey-light turns to gold!
I'm the Mother-Bush that loves you – come to me now you are old"?
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Choice
When skies are blue and days are bright
A kitchen-garden's my delight,
Set round with rows of decent box
And blowsy girls of hollyhocks.
Before the lark his Lauds hath done
And ere the corncrake's southward gone;
Before the thrush good-night hath said
And the young Summer's put to bed.
The currant-bushes' spicy smell,
Homely and honest, likes me well,
The while on strawberries I feast,
And raspberries the sun hath kissed.
Beans all a-blowing by a row.
Of hives that great with honey go,
With mignonette and heaths to yield
The plundering bee his honey-field.
Sweet herbs in plenty, blue borage
And the delicious mint and sage,
Rosemary, marjoram, and rue,
And thyme to scent the winter through.
Here are small apples growing round,
And apricots all golden-gowned,
And plums that presently will flush
And show their bush a Burning Bush.
Cherries in nets against the wall,
Where Master Thrush his madrigal
Sings, and makes oath a churl is he
Who grudges cherries for a fee.
Lavender, sweet-briar, orris. Here
Shall Beauty make her pomander,
Her sweet-balls for to lay in clothes
That wrap her as the leaves the rose.
Take roses red and lilies white,
A kitchen garden's my delight;
Its gillyflowers and phlox and cloves,
And its tall cote of irised doves.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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(Love Poem) Bitter Sweet Rose
Bitter sweet rose will you be mine?
Or am I wasting my time?
Bitter sweet rose you smell divine.
Do you have a succulent kiss?
Is it something I've already missed?
Bitter sweet rose what gives?
Is it how we must live?
Bitter sweet rose will you answer my questions?
Are you devote?
Do you stray when your bored?
Will you doubt?
Is what you want something more?
Bitter sweet rose are you keeping score?
Will you try something new?
Will you lock your door?
Do your lips taste like dew?
Bitter sweet rose do you want to go?
Do you love the snow?
Is this right?
Is this what you want tonight?
Bitter sweet rose, oh my bitter rose.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Isn't Easy
Do you remember the first time, and all of your sweet sweet talk
Ain't heard it a lot since then love
Now look at that guy, he's making me cry
He leaves everybody and he only says goodbye
But if i would have to choose i wouldn't let you go
Just give it some more time and you will see our love will grow
Darling i know
We gotta have patience
Love isn't just a sensation
Some of the time it gets rough
Love isn't easy but it sure is hard enough
(sweet sweet, our love is bitter-sweet)
Giving love is a reason for living
But a few things can be tough
Love isn't easy but it sure is hard enough
(sweet sweet, our love is bitter-sweet)
From the first moment i saw you i've treated you like a queen
I've given you lots of presents
Now listen to that, just look at that cat
You'd think he was an angel but he's talking through his hat
But if i would have to choose i wouldn't let you go
Just give it some more time and you will see our love will grow
Darling i know
We gotta have patience
Love isn't just a sensation
Some of the time it gets rough
Love isn't easy but it sure is hard enough
(sweet sweet, our love is bitter-sweet)
Giving
(sweet sweet, our love is bitter-sweet)
Love is a reason for living
(sweet sweet, our love is bitter-sweet)
But a few things can be tough
Love isn't easy but it sure is hard enough
(sweet sweet, our love is bitter-sweet)
Patience
(sweet sweet, our love is bitter-sweet)
Love isn't just a sensation
(sweet sweet, our love is bitter-sweet)
Some of the time it gets rough
Love isn't easy but it sure is hard enough
(sweet sweet, our love is bitter-sweet)
Giving
(sweet sweet, our love is bitter-sweet)
Love is a reason for living
(sweet sweet, our love is bitter-sweet)
But a few things can be tough
Love isn't easy but it sure is hard enough
song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Lavender And Green
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With bells about your feet,
And music in your step,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With sunshine in your eyes,
And springtime in your hair,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With softness in your words,
And healing in your touch,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With your name upon my lips,
And delight within your kiss,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green,
In dreams at midnight’s rest,
Or afternoon’s recline?
Come then to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green,
At the setting of the sun,
When my days are nearly run?
Still come to me in lavender and green?
Will you come to me in lavender and green,
If I wait at heaven’s door,
As I waited once before,
While you walked to organ’s tune,
On a summer’s afternoon.
Now dressed in springtime hues?
My love, companion, muse,
A vision still I see,
Dressed in lavender and green.
poem by Greg Davidson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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27 Years In The Bush
27 years in the bush!
I am still finding my way through to reach to the city;
And i need a teacher on this issue to guid eme through this thick bush.
Life is very hard for me alone in this bush,
But i have to hide to save my name;
For the bombs are everywhere and many of my friends are dead already,
And i need a clever teacher who knows the bush very well to lead me on.
27 years in the bush!
Life in Africa does have many colours;
But my faith will surely lead me on till i reach to the city of love,
And i have to save myself from these bombs.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Half A Chance
(carly simon/jacob brackman)
You said wed light the firmament
You said our love was permanent
You said wed stick through thick and thin
Through up and down, through lose and win
But comes the first sign of stormy weather
Youre packin your bags in the trance
But you gotta give
(chorus)
Half a chance
Half a chance
Half a chance
To our romance
You cant pretend its camelot
Then start to run when things get hot
When love explodes theres always heat
Theres always bitter with the sweet
Theres always times when your legs feel broken
But you still dont drop out of the dance
You gotta give
Half a chance
Half a chance
Half a chance
To our romance
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The NOT so Royal Mint.
I never liked the smell of mint
when I was only four.
That bush by the back door
burst through the railings each year
The path was wide enough
when I think back
But not then.
Then,
I would hug the wall on tippytoes
arching my back like a concave mirror,
dreading the lightest brush with death
which would follow that dreaded scent.
One day, after a downpour, the damp-
ness amplified this poisonous perfume.
The summer sun seemed focused
on that path, the roots, those leaves.
I caught the whiff which burned the hairs
that lined my fragile throat.
So to all you culinary celebrities
using mint in that'n this.
I urge you, to forget it, please,
It reminds me of warm cat piss.
poem by Hola Mentirosa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Bush
A Bush in the middle of a group of tree,
slowly decaying and dieing it shall be.
Turning from green to brown,
getting nothing jsut a frown.
No animals in it nest,
for it is not like the rest.
Everytime it gets a bit more green,
it's a great big scene.
But it always gets browner in the ends,
all alone without real friends.
While all the trees green and thrive,
all the bush does is simply die.
poem by James Pritchard
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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