Across The Window
The Vine crept out across the window, tall and arched,
and curled in such profusion as it went,
Planted there with great pride so many years ago,
each year it’s growth is always so well spent.
Its flowers like long golden trumpets in clusters hang,
varied colours, reds, pinks and yellows glow.
Decorating the fine old Victorian bricks,
giving to all a spectacular show.
The twisted and gnarled high branches giving support,
look sadly bare when winter comes around,
A bird’s-nest is suddenly spied within its wrap,
empty now of its cargo. Not a sound
is heard of four chirping chicks who cried out last spring,
all have flown now, making new homes in trees.
Amongst foliage, little ones are warm and safe,
shielded from rain and sun and teasing breeze.
The Vine crept our across the window, tall and arched,
and curled in such profusion as it went,
To see it, through the four seasons, is such a joy,
its fresh renewal, leaving one content.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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When Winter Suddenly Comes
When winter suddenly comes
year upon year I am caught by it,
when there is an end to growth,
when sudden change in age
strip branches, let's them hang lonely,
when winter suddenly comes
and it seems as if all of nature is dying,
when you long back to summer,
when there is an end to growth,
when with the ripe every spring flower wilts
and that an end is coming scares you,
when winter suddenly comes
you are astonished by the yellow-brown creeping death,
when even the bright bird songs wither,
when there is an end to growth,
and subtle even death claims its own property,
after years of decline of a life,
when winter suddenly comes,
when there is an end to growth.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Summer Days
Summer days are warm, and wonderfully long.
Deep down, within my heart, I feel a joyful song.
Gone are winter days, with their dowdy browns;
The trees and flowers now wear coloured crowns.
The natural world displays its bounteous beauty.
The soft, summer breeze is fragrant and fruity.
Bees, butterflies, and other bugs, now take flight.
Days of summer, feel so very cheerful and bright.
The days of winter can be so deeply depressing,
But now, their true selves, plants are expressing.
Suddenly, the world feels like a much better place,
And the happy smiles are evident on many a face.
The world, all about us, is given a golden glow,
Which illuminates Mother Nature's vibrant show.
Following the winter months: all dull and dreary;
We're treated to a display that's much more cheery.
Winter woodlands appear so very bland and bare,
But, come the summer, they look fabulous and fair.
Shafts of sunlight shine down through the tall trees;
The leaf laden branches rustle in the summer breeze.
Some secretly wish that summer could last forever;
That, all year round, we could enjoy warm weather.
Once summer is here, you hate for it to have to end;
You warm to it, as you would, to your dearest friend.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Setting Sun
Just before the sun starts to set, a gentle golden glow
Spreads across the weary world, way down below.
The sun has the Midas touch; a touch of pure gold,
But it’s not long until the world starts to fall cold.
The sky is streaked with shades of pinks and reds,
Signalling that, tomorrow, there’s a fine day ahead.
In the late noon sky, there’s a spectacular show;
A myriad of colours, before the daylight goes.
The colours that are seen, all have a warm hue:
They look so amazing against the sky so blue.
It’s when people, from their tasks, pack away,
And has always been my favourite time of day.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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A Spring Morning
The sky is the shade of cornflower blue;
The clouds in the sky, are extremely few.
Caught by the sunshine, everything glows.
A fresh, cooling breeze, now gently blows.
With bowed heads, daffodils seem a bit shy;
I gaze, admiringly, at them, as I pass on by.
Their deep, rich purple, the crocuses show;
A lovely contrast, to the daffodils' yellow.
Green buds are seen on branches, once bare;
Stunning outfits, they will, very soon, wear.
Blossom on a tree, is as white as fresh snow;
Decorating its branches, both high and low.
Birds sweetly sing, high up in the tall trees.
I can hear the familiar buzz of the busy bees.
The butterflies chase each other, to and fro.
Nearby, I hear the call of the noisy crows.
Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, I happily roam;
For the first time, this year, my coat is at home.
In the cold weather, I rush everywhere so fast;
In the sunshine, I dawdle, so my walk will last.
Upon my skin, I can feel the warm sunshine;
The sun brings me cheer, and I'm feeling fine.
It really is a most pleasant start to the day,
And, fingers crossed, it will stay that way!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Way I Feel
The way i feel is like a robin
Whose babes have flown to come no more
A tall oak tree alone and cryin'
When her birds have flown and the nest is bare
Now a woman lord is like a young bird
And the tall oak tree is like a young man's heart
Among his boughs you will find her nesting
When the nights are cool she's warm and dry
Your coat of green will protect her
Her wings will grow your love will too
But all too soon your mighty branches
Will cease to hold her she'll fly from you
If i'd wings to fly
I'd follow you
If you'd wait for me
I'd fly away
I'd fly away
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Symbol
The winter apples have been picked, the garden turned.
Rain and wind have picked the maple leaves and gone.
The last of them now bank the house or have been burned.
None are left upon the trees or on the lawn.
Green and tall as ever it grew in spring the grass
Grows not too tall, will not be cut again this year.
Geraniums in bloom behind the windowglass
Are safe. Fall has fallen yet winter is not yet here.
How warm the late November sun although how wan.
The white house stands a symbol of fulfillment there,
Housing one old woman, a cat, and one old man
After abundance but before the earth is bare.
poem by Robert Francis
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Trees
Green with spendour when Summer's here,
Brown contender in Autumn's sphere,
Bare the branches in Winter's embrace,
New growth created, when Spring shows her face.
Stalwart trunks, with many years standing,
Leaves when over, steadily landing,
Branches swaying in the breeze,
How I love all kinds of trees.
Forests of green, where they all meet,
Swaying together as they all greet,
Each morning, when the light appears,
Each growing slowly over the years.
Sentinels of the land they survey,
Strong and upstanding in every way,
Graceful, mighty, powerful and fine,
Tall and sleek just like the Pine.
The Oak, Ash, Sycamore and Lime,
The Rowan, White Beam and Silver Birch sublime,
Each one giving of their glorious best,
To the World - The World's been blest.
What would we do without our trees,
Don't cut them down, will you please,
Remember how they give us shade,
From the sun, within the glade.
Stand and study these majestic creations,
Upright descendants of past relations,
Their dignity, against all weathers,
If it were us, we'd lose our tethers.
But these gallant trees require our care,
They give oxygen, in the air
That we breathe, so, if we want to survive,
Let us keep our trees alive.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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As There Aren`t Safe Nests...
A migrating bird chirps into my ears,
'Can you make a nest for me that will be safe for ever? '
I don`t know what he means by a safe nest
For my nest has been on the verge of a collapse.
He flies away dreaming about a safe nest.
That leaves me with a question, ' Where to fix a safe nest? '
Safe nests should never be on the branches of trees
For trees themselves are tormented by storms and quakes.
Safe nests shouldn`t be on the roofs of man`s homes either
For his mischevious kids may throw away the eggs.
Safe nests should not be under the water or in the skies
For the fury and the terror of these elements are disastrous.
Safe nests shouldn`t be anywhere that eyes see or ears hear
For there are humans living on this earth.
You migrate my dear bird to anywhere you feel it safe
And never return to these unsafe homes.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Father Winter
Welcome back home Father Winter
we have waited all year for you.
Your lovely trees, so tall
their branches now bare
they stand there waving you
back home you brought with you
your winter jewels, now they hang
on those naked branches.
The summer flowers, have
now laid down for a long winters
nap their waiting for you to cover
them with your winter blanket.
Your blanket will keep them
warm till spring then they'll
all pop up and sing.
Now all the small animals have
laid their heads down too sweet
dreams every thing will awake to
fresh new season.
You have dressed everything for
Christmas. your ice snow flakes
have landed on our pond it looks
looks like big white frosted glass
mirror it also created beautiful
glass like ornaments that
hang on the ever green trees.
Your cold fluffy snow lays upon
their branches it drapes like a
pearl necklace among their branches
they all look so lovely.
The winter clouds that you have blown
in float beneath the stars so bright
the full moon shines down upon the
hill tops all covered in your beauty.
The fresh snow glistens like stars
and silver gliter it looks like
millions of diamondseen have been
scattered on the beaten paths.
Your winter air smell so crisp
and cold as you speak, you can
see your breath in \the cold air
the only lights are from the new
full winter moon.
As you can see Father Winter has
blown, in with such briskness.
Every where you now look,
now looks bright and fresh.
Little children have started the
count down.To that special
night which is not to far off in sight.
And like ''SANTA'
You'll be gone, in the wink
of an eye.
We thank you for all the beauty
that you have given us, you'll
only last a while upon you I'll
walk a brisk mile.
We'll love you as long as you'll
last..Upon your snow we'll
dance and play.
We'll do this each cold day..
Until you melt away.
and then we'll say a sad good-bye.,
GAYLE ANNE GOFF
DECEMBER
2008
poem by Gayle Anne Goff
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That Early Morning.....
this is what happened
that morning all i heard was the sound of chirping birds
haggling for a home upon those crown of trees
luscious leaves firm branches
tarring twigs
it might be an illusion since when the morning light came in profusion
upon those grounds
there is nothing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Fruit Piece
The afternoon of summer folds
Its warm arms round the marigolds,
And with its gleaming fingers, pets
The watered pinks and violets
That from the casement vases spill,
Over the cottage window-sill,
Their fragrance down the garden walks
Where droop the dry-mouthed hollyhocks.
How vividly the sunshine scrawls
The grape-vine shadows on the walls!
How like a truant swings the breeze
In high boughs of the apple-trees!
The slender 'free-stone' lifts aloof,
Full languidly above the roof,
A hoard of fruitage, stamped with gold
And precious mintings manifold.
High up, through curled green leaves, a pear
Hangs hot with ripeness here and there.
Beneath the sagging trellisings,
In lush, lack-lustre clusterings,
Great torpid grapes, all fattened through
With moon and sunshine, shade and dew,
Until their swollen girths express
But forms of limp deliciousness--
Drugged to an indolence divine
With heaven's own sacramental wine.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Stone Garden
In this still
Winter chill
Upon this sharp
Dewy morn
Beyond the
Broken stone
Path
And the Red
Rose Thorn
Shadows are
Dancing
Still moonlight
'Neath an arched
Vine clad door
I have been
Lying here much
As a cold stone
Upon the winter
Floor
All of this time
Awaited
This path
You and i
Have traveled
Ivy vines have
Grown o'er
Tangled mangled
Raveled
At last though my
Thought empty
As dawns light
Revealed
My faint heart
Beat quickens
From all of the
Years
We've concealed
The cold stone
Has cracked open
For you alone
Planted the seeds
Love it springs
Forth my beloved
A floral Spring
Garden for thee
poem by Theodora Onken
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Safe Place
There exists someplace a mountain, golden hued and a forest of
Trees, their branches sturdy and long-
Trying to reach the heavens where
Stars dance in the moonlit hours and
Gulls fly, their bodies casting shadows
Against the topaz-blue creek below-
Beautiful in their innocence-
Here gentle breezes would rustle tall grasses, and
Rain never falls upon this magical kingdom of nature-
I feel as if I can almost touch the rising sun that shines
Brightly over fields of dew-kissed grass upon
This blissful, faraway place where
I am alone and omnipotent at the end of my journey to
Escape the pain of veracity-
Having found a safe empire in my solitude-
Far from the nightmares of reality-
Though sadly- only in my fondest reverie;
There exists a mountain golden hued where
I can, along with the trees, their branches sturdy and long-
Reach the heavens during moonlit hours and
Dance with the stars in this blissful, far away place-
Here, in my dream state I have hitched a ride upon the tail of a shooting star, and
Looking down upon the topaz-blue creek below-
My tears would fall as would raindrops making flowers and grass grow tall-
I would weep tears of dismay because I find that I cannot escape what is real-
I have found the world to be a dangerous place and as the sun rises
All that I can do is to watch the gulls soar across the sky
Amazingly spectacular in their flight for freedom, as they
Journey further into the sky until they disappear behind clouds of misfortune-
When the sun sets, my spirit awakens,
Finding myself standing atop that same golden hued mountain alone while
The moon rises above the trees and I can imagine safe places
In the universe beyond the stars with hope that before the sun rises at
The dawning of another day, once again my fantasies shall carry me away to where
I can once again hear the gulls calling amidst a gentle breeze and
There are no more tears left for me to cry-
I have escaped reality forever, though only within a dream?
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Let the Spring Winds Blow
Who divided the rivers and mountains
Forty-five years ago, hearts were torn, blood flowed
Standing and waiting, turning to stone looking at my homeland
The cries of anguish are no longer heard No fertile land for the trees to grow, no water to float the ships
No flight in the sky, where did it go
Known long ago, Korea was the rising sun of the East
Everywhere, tall trees, clear waters, blue skies To roam everywhere, to greet everyone
But that was yesterday
Spring comes to other countries, where everyone can travel
But winter snow blocks the path to my homeland Following year to year, people and seasons come and go
I am waiting, why are the spring winds not blowing
Winter is long and cold but spring must come
The seeds are waiting to bloom Spring has arrived, let us join hands
Let us plant trees on the mountains
Let us sail our ships on the rivers
Let us fly far into the sky
poem by Michael I. Byun
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The Rose Tree Of Winter
In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Once Upon A Winter Day
Once upon a winter day
Gray clouds passed swiftly across the sky
As shapely snowflakes fell steadily down,
Covering the land in a dazzling white
Leaving a winter calling card on the ground.
Once upon a winter day
The snow-edged creek silently wept
Near the shadows of the tall pine trees
Trimmed in a glittering white lace,
Creating an impressive display in the breeze.
Once upon a winter day
Branches drooped to the impassable road
Due to the weight of the snow.
Icicles hung from the dormant trees
In view of the shattered daylight glow.
Once upon a winter day
Nothing is heard but rubbing tree limbs
And a stray dog faintly barking,
The vibrant sound of a frightened deer,
A broken tree branch suddenly falling.
Once upon a winter day
The distant snow-covered hills
Loomed in the path of the gloomy sky,
Where the northerly wind briskly growled
As chickadees and juncos fluttered by.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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The Cold Winds Of January
Last night in my dreams i did hear the winds roar
Above the old high fields of far Claramore
A cold Winter moon crept behind clouds to hide
And on the bleak hillside the hungry fox cried
And a bird so distinctive even in his wild cry
The screech of the barn owl echoed in the sky
A Winter's night in January by old Clara hill
The howling of the wind drowned out the babble of the rill
That towards the big river downland ever does flow
Through many a field and by many a hedgerow
Old jack frost of January is in the cold air
And the hedgerows and deciduous trees of their foliage are bare
And the cold winds of January in the dead of night roar
Above the old bare fields of high Claramore.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-48
Golden Trumpet Vine(Allamanda Vine
Allamanda cathartica)
Bush Allamanda(Oleander-Leaved Allamanda
Allamanda neriifolia)
All that ye possess is just simplicity
Simply the yellow bright like sun light
Lighting around to show cluttered leaves
Leaving ye upon just a rubbish atrocity
'Atrocious', ye try to trumpet to all
All but don't hear your toungless voice
Voicing with hidden stamens somewhere ajar
Ajar in rustling dried leaves of yours
Yours albeit a scentless beauty, lot useful
Useful curative cleansing body and mind
Minding when all jasmines fail to bloom
Blooming Lord asks for golden Allamanda
Allamanda, vine to blush purple and supple
Supple enough to be shrubby bushy in clusters
Clusters of ye flowers binding all hearts
Hearts at the Lord's feet with ye Allamandas
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Autumn Leaves
The autumn leaves swirl to the ground in their millions.
Gold, russet, ochre, burnt umber, and deep vermillion.
Down to the ground, the dying leaves flit and flutter;
On to the grassy bank, the pathway, and into the gutter.
Some of the colours of the leaves are deep and so very rich.
Whirling along the ground, some leaves tumble into the ditch.
A thick layer of multicoloured leaves now carpets the earth,
Leaving the trees bare, in readiness, for next spring’s rebirth.
With changing leaf colours, many people love this time of year,
But, that summer is well and truly over, it is now perfectly clear.
The many colours mixed together are a magical sight to behold;
I love the shades of yellow, crimson, sienna, and ruby red, so bold.
Some leaves are mottled, with two glorious colours or more;
Adding to the fabulous display, which now lies upon the floor.
Children love nothing better, than to frolic through the fallen leaves;
When workmen collect them up, they’re left feeling very aggrieved.
Even though the weather is getting cold, the colours look so warm.
Fiery reds and oranges, and golden hues, like those of ripened corn.
Photographers find this time of year, so very evocative and inspiring;
The spectacular displays before them, they spend much time admiring.
As the season draws on, the once vibrant colours begin to dull and fade.
Soon, all that is left are brown leaves, which once boasted brilliant shades.
When leaves first change their colour, they create much admired foliage,
But with age and weather, over the coming weeks, there is much spoilage.
I love the dark green leaves, with their edges tinged with a brilliant red.
But, alas, those colours will fade, now that the leaf is no longer being fed.
The crisp, bright colours can offer cheer on even the very dullest of days,
But in our minds, we know it won’t be long before winter comes our way.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Forcing The Window To Flow
At the window, rain drives
Drizzles and drizzles glow and go
Pushing and loosing the window to and fro
And some-one asked, who is at the window?
Pushing and pushing the window and dash?
In the dark of the night free and roll
Going for the next fresh candle of the day
At the window a hand goes and more, who is at the window?
She cried and roared the mall
And forced the window and banged and go.
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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