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Colour Of The Sun

Daffodils golden yellow in their hue,
Shining, dazzling across the grassy rise.
Seeming to find a way to hypnotize,
Presenting such a show, each spring anew.

Erupting through the soil with one accord,
Gathered all together, a carpet spread.
One on which many wouldn’t dare to tread,
And for their strong resilience, applaud.

The colour of the sun, they gleam so bright,
Glowing as each one sends forth its flower.
A sight that I could view, hour after hour,
And savour all I see with sheer delight.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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A Shift in Perception 2

I used to hate colour yellow.
It made my complexion look sallow.
And reminded me of jaundiced eyes,
Stubborn stains that won’t go despite
Trying every trick.
It used to make me sick.

Ugly yellow top cabs,
Yellow fumes in chemistry lab,
But now that I have mellowed
I have spotted beautiful yellows.

It is the colour of spring and sunshine,
That is our life line.
Bright mustard fields,
Sunny daffodils,
Cheerful sunflowers,
Clusters of Amaltas,

Marigolds and yellow roses,
Daisies and buttercups,
Elegant yellow glaidioli,
That fascinate me as I pass by
And feel compelled to stop
at the florists shop.

Butter scotch ice cream,
Mango sliced and diced.
Golden yellow apples,
And musk melons,
Pale yellow peach liqueur,
A must after dinner.

Yellow candle flames,
Brass temple bells,
Brightest colour of the spectrum
It catches everyone’s attention
It’s the colour that now lifts my mood
How could I hate it I find myself brood

Just a change in mental association
How it alters one’s perception.

poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Flowers

She is like a flower.

I like every type of flower that populates on this earth.

But one is beautiful like yellow acacias that grows from a seed into birth.

I want to plant seeds to make a garden of a family with her.

She is a flower that is sweet as honeysuckle

We are on top of a moonflower like beatiful lovers.

She lights up my day like a sunflower.

She is nothing like spring beauty and lives life by every hour.

Her love is good like red roses she never wanted me for the money.

Her beauty is like pink lotuses because she is the bomb.

And the hatred by other girls is who she exposes.

She blooms up into my life and I wouldn't mind making her my wife.

Im like a bumble bee all I need is her love like honey.

Like Winnie pooh a honey addict and yes I'm addicted to her love.

I'm her sunlight I keep her shining bright.

She is every flower

I love day and night.

poem by Anteaus Berryhill
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My Shining Hour

This moment, this minute
And each second in it
Will leave a glow upon the sky
And as time goes by, it will never die
This will be my shining hour
Calm and happy and bright
And in my dreams, your face will flower
Through the darkness of the night
Like the lights of home before me
Or an angel, whos watching oer me
This will be my shining hour
til Im with you again

(like the lights of home before me)
(or an angel watching oer me)
This will be my shining hour
til Im with you again

song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wilderness Flower

Wilderness flower
Wilderness flower
Beautiful in its innocent blue
In morning young hour
And rain falling shower
Your color is sweetness so true

Like pearls on spring earth
With glowing of light
Each pure and so worth
In arrangement and sight

Wilderness flower
Wearing its headdress so right
My love calls to you

(In the Icelandic wilderness, the first sign of spring are the little flowers you see everywhere – in their blossoming freedom)

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Winter Daffodils

January, and the daffodils are showing their heads;
Pushing their way up from their deep, wintry bed.
At the sight of them, I can't help, but be amazed.
With them, the grassy bank will soon be ablaze.

Daffodils in January, I have never before known;
Their heads, in winter, are never normally shown.
They will soon brighten up these dark, winter days;
Adding a splash of colour to the browns and greys.

To my day, they add some much needed cheer;
I'm reminded that spring, once again, draws near.
Daffodils are amongst my very favourite flowers;
To cheer people up, they possess a special power.

Safe in their buds, the precious petals are protected;
In the winter air, a slight chill can still be detected.
In only a few weeks, their buds will be ready to burst,
And, by the sun and rain, the flowers will be nursed.

The flowers will grow up so very tall and strong,
And, together, they will create such a merry throng.
Their presence is bound to attract much attention;
Their stunning natural beauty, many will mention.

To see their finished form, I simply can not wait;
A breathtaking sight, the daffodils will soon create.
That they do not last very long, it is a great shame;
They will wilt and die, like an extinguished flame.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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A Death In The Morning...!

A single solitary sun ray
Dashing through the morning dew
Touched the side of the little yellow flower
Trying to wake up spredding yellow petals
A top the green grassy hill...

The birds washing their faces
Whistling little tunes
Glanced at the flower
With a delight in their eyes...

Like the blade of a fencing sword
Racing through the wind
The sharp edge of the grass cutters cutter
Caught the little flower
Chopping it into thousand yellow specks...

Among the green slivers
That showered back on to the grass
Little golden yellow specks
Smiled sadly a last smile

Shattered dew drops
Lazily settled down
Kissing the yellow dust
Trying to feel the flower
Trying to kiss its face...!

poem by Rowving Smith
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If I had [De-aş avea]

If I had a pretty flower
Fresh and sweet and full of power
Like all those that bloom in May,
Charming daughters of the day,
Growing on a grassy field
Where the grass is moved by wind,
And where people hear above
Gentle whispers full of love;

If I had a little flower
Nice and younger than the hour,
Dressed like lilies at their best
And white like the snowy breast,
Sometimes with a shade of pink,
Sometimes purple like a drink,
Like a song one hears above
Soft like whispers full of love;

If I had a dove as white
As a girl's face shining bright,
A meek girl, a lovely thing,
Like a sunny day of spring,
I would sing her all day long
The traditional folk song
And the notes will rise above
Soft like whispers full of love.

poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Love Well The Hour

HEART of my heart, my life and light,
If you were lost what should I do?
I dare not let you from my sight,
Lest Death should fall in love with you.

Such countless terrors lie in wait.
The gods know well how dear you are:
What if they left me desolate
And plucked and set you for their star?

So hold my hand--the gods are strong,
And perfect joy so rare a flower
No man may hope to keep it long,
And I might lose it any hour.

So, kiss me close, my star, my flower,
Thus shall the future spare me this:
The thought that there was ever an hour
We might have kissed and did not kiss.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Visibility

Because my eyes were none to bright
Strong spectacles I bought,
And lo! there sprang into my sight
A life beyond my thought:
A world of wonder and delight
My magic lenses brought.

Aye, sudden leaping in my sight
The far became the near;
Life unbelievably was bright,
And vividly was clear.
My heart was lifted with delight,
Then--then I shrank in fear.

For faces I had thought were gay
I saw were lined with care,
While strange corruption and decay
Surprised me everywhere:
Dismayed I put my specs away,--
Such truth I could not bear.

And now I do not want to see
With clarity of view;
For while there's heaven hell may be
More tragically true:
Though dim may be Reality,
Sheer love shines through.

poem by Robert William Service
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Daybreak is A Glowing Bright Ball

Daybreak is a glowing bright ball
from which the fiery rays shine,
sometimes drops falling along with thunder,
with freshness embracing me when I go outside.

Early morning is a bright sun hanging in the heaven
when the colour of the bright blue
catches you with something full of mystery,
with the wind sometimes clinging to you with fingers.

Spring is flower upon flower
that is spread over fruit trees,
the beauty that astonishes you
when the garden of God stretch into the fields.

Summer is fruit that waits ripe and luring
when everything becomes adult,
sunny day upon sunny day
where the prettiest flowers are still flowering.

Autumn is coloured leaves that are everywhere,
the summer still lingering for the last time
and everything has a secret knowledge
that winter is coming, even every sunray

and nowhere I can find the words of a child,
while I am blinded by the glorious world from being young.

poem by Gert Strydom
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This Is Our Hour

A word for you,
A word for me;
The hour of the legend-to-be.

The moment is here,
The moment is now;
We will not lay down.

Tis time to take the stage,
To light our world,
Have our flags unfurl.

Dress for the battle!
Strap on your armour,
For this is our hour!

Instant in season,
Ready day and night.
Ready to carry the fight.

Never asleep, always awake,
Starting in defence,
Finishing in offense.

In the homes and schools,
Parks, capital, and beaches
Will we fill the breaches.

Though weak yet strong;
Though dead yet alive;
Through Jesus we survive.

Even when wounded,
We will our sword swing.
We will never give in.

With our last breath,
Will we push down walls.
We will see giants fall.

We will see mountains move.
We will see the dawn of light.
Upon strength upon might!

For we are called by Jesus:
Jesus Christ our only king.
And so let us sing:

This is our hour!
Rise up ye men of valour!
This is our hour!

Follow the King's example.
Though faced with tribulation,
Will we find elation.

To the weary eye
Comes a fiery gleam,
As we now scream:

This is our hour!
This will be our hour,
This is our hour!

poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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The Wild Hills

Fly me across the wild hills in autumn,
With soft amber shades, brown, russet and brick,
Peach, copper and bronze all blending together,
A carpet of sadness, in this sight so tragic.

Fly me across the wild hills in winter,
With amethyst shades, puce, purple and grey,
Blue, ebony and pewter, all fusing together,
A carpet of starkness, in this scene of decay.

Fly me across the wild hills in springtime,
With pale emerald shades, sage, olive and lime,
White, yellow and silver, all mingling together,
A carpet of lushness, in this new view sublime.

Fly me across the wild hills in summer,
With magenta bright shades, pink, dark mauve and red,
Lemon, orange and gold all in harmony together,
A carpet of richness, in this panorama spread.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Yellow Violet

When beechen buds begin to swell,
And woods the blue-bird's warble know,
The yellow violet's modest bell
Peeps from last-year's leaves below.

Ere russet fields their green resume,
Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare,
To meet thee, when thy faint perfume
Alone is in the virgin air.

Of all her train, the hands of Spring
First plant thee in the watery mould,
And I have seen thee blossoming
Beside the snow-bank's edges cold.

Thy parent sun, who bade thee view
Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip
Has bathed thee in his own bright hue,
And streaked with jet thy glowing lip.

Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat,
And earthward bent thy gentle eye,
Unapt the passing view to meet,
When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh.

Oft, in the sunless April day,
Thy early smile has stayed my walk;
But midst the gorgeous blooms of May
I passed thee on thy humple stalk.

So they, who climb to wealth, forget
The friends in darker fortunes tried;
I copied them--but I regret
That I should ape the ways of pride.

And when again the genial hour
Awakes the painted tribes of light,
I'll not o'er look the modest flower
That made the woods of April bright.

poem by William Cullen Bryant
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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An Aurora Borealis

O STRANGE soft gleam, o ghostly dawn
That never brightens unto day;
Ere earth's mirk pale once more be drawn
Let us look out beyond the gray.

It is just midnight by the clock--
There is no sound on glen or hill,
The moaning linn adown its rock
Leaps, but the woods lie dark and still.

Austere against the kindling sky
Yon broken turret blacker grows;
Harsh light, to show remorselessly
Ruins night hid in kind repose!

Nay, beauteous light, nay, light that fills
The whole heaven like a dream of morn,
As waking upon northern hills
She smiles to find herself new-born,--

Strange light, I know thou wilt not stay,
That many an hour must come and go
Before the pale November day
Break in the east, forlorn and slow.

Yet blest one gleam--one gleam like this,
When all heaven brightens in our sight,
And the long night that was and is
And shall be, vanishes in light:

O blest one hour like this! to rise
And see grief's shadows backward roll;
While bursts on unaccustomed eyes
The glad Aurora of the soul.

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When The Blue Hour Comes

Orbison/ crowell
The good times are all gone
The night keeps coming on so strong
You cant hold on, no matter what you do
Will there be someone who cares for you
When the blue hour comes?
When the blue hour comes?
And when your restless heart
Tears your world apart
And everywhere you turn
Its falling down on you
Will there be a light that shines for you?
When the blue hour comes for you
If theres anything that you would have me do
Just call on me and Ill be coming through
I will always be there for you
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes
Good times dont last forever
Sometimes its now or never
Darling, reach out for me
You know where Ill be
I will always be there for you
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes for you
If theres anything that you would have me do
Just call on me and Ill be coming through
I will always be there for you
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes
I will always be there
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes
When the blue hour comes....(repeat to fade)

song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Joyous Spring Colors

Spring always starts with a little yellow
As dandelions pop out their heads
Then we see daffodils’ smiling faces
They don’t even need flower beds

We enjoy blossoms along the streets
Some are pink and some are white
After a long dreary winter, folks
They are such a welcome sight

Azaleas and Rhododendrons galore
Burst forth with many colors
Every size you can imagine as well
And flourish like no others

Let’s not forget the Hydrangea
Dressed in blue, pink or white
Huge balls of blossoms they are
And just fills us with delight

I would enjoy them all year long
If only I had my druthers
But since I don’t have a choice
I treasure joyous spring colors!

poem by Marilyn Lott
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That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

quote by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Daisy.

Daisy.
So lazy.
In a field.
A sunlit shield
Of meadow green.
Bows
To fan your beauty.
Vows
It's never a duty.

So serene.
An open portrait
For the sky
To paint
With cumulus billowed white.
As skylarks duet
In choral flight.
With floral smile
Of sweet delight.

Daisy.
So crazy.
All now is revealed.
As Heaven peeled
The sun away
Your moondance lit,
In beam you sway.
White petals gleam
In every ray.
A tiny flower
That lives one hour
In hidden bouquet.

That sea of colour
Could lose a minnow
It's true.
Yet daisy I know
Again
I will find you
In midnight blue.

poem by Kevin East
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A spring evening

Outside the irises flower yellow and purple
and I haven’t seen a red one yet
and there are some pink and white blossoms
on the fruit trees
and the streetlights burn continually
glowing orange-yellow
all day and all night
as if the municipality
does not know how to do things right
and in the fading evening light
the moon is full and white
and the evening star is already shining bright
and a hot breeze sweeps in
through the open windows
and I wonder when the first spring rain
is going to fall
and in the distance I see thunder
crashing down
in blue-white flashes, but the storm
is blown away and again the sky is clear
and the black speckled by stars.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Rising With The Morning

Colour me bright yellow, so I reflect the sun,
Let me sink down gently when the day is done,
Rising with the morning, summer's warmth inbue,
Shining with the happiness of always loving you.

Colour me bright amber, like the autumn's glow,
Let me sink down gently, onto falling leaves below,
Rising with the morning, misty with the dew,
Enveloped with the happiness of truly loving you.

Colour me bright silver, as in the sparkling snow,
Let me sink down gently when the cold winds blow,
Rising with the morning, winter's ice to strew,
Trembling with the happiness of warmly loving you.

Colour me bright emerald, now spring's on the way,
Let me sink down gently on our soft duvet,
Rising with the morning, seeing things brand new,
Sighing with the happiness of me just loving you.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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