Paradise Blessed
Rippling blue, sky's reflection,
Sea and river, winds direction.
Water lapping, briskly flowing,
Twinkling facets, motion growing.
Sunshine glinting, sparkling array,
Shining sunbeams, jewelled ballet.
Waves disturbing, turning grey,
Lightning flashes, sparks ricochet.
Gloom descending, thunder cracks,
Whipping twister, storm attacks.
Lashing downpour, terror felt,
Endless tumult, hailstones pelt.
Calmness gathers, squall complies,
Raindrops ceasing, uproar dies.
Gentle breezes, warming air,
Peaceful nature, silence rare.
Azure welkin, zephyr caressed,
Abundant freshness, paradise blessed.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Summer Day on the Current River
for Robin on our 22nd anniversary
The placid Current River ever growing
brightly shimmers in the mid-day sun,
its azure waters cool and southward flowing.
Buried caverns through the limestone bring
fresh fountains pouring cold ablution
into the placid Current ever growing.
Around the bend another rushing spring
bursts forth to lend aquatic motion
to the crystal water’s southward flowing.
Cheerful floaters revel, tanned and smiling,
celebrating pleasant summer fun
upon the tranquil waters ever growing.
Gentle breezes set the leaves to rustling
while time stands still for everyone
along the peaceful river calmly flowing.
Shaded skies foretell the day’s conclusion
and a stellar fantasy has now begun
to dance above the moonlit river glowing:
its azure waters cool and southward flowing.
June 26, 2009
poem by Robert Charles Howard
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Boots And Brollies
Drumbeat rhythm, on the rooftops,
Hear the vibrations of the raindrops,
Hailstones pelting, high-voltage flash,
Puddles forming, high winds thrash.
Boots and brollies are needed when,
Rain’s been forecast by the Weathermen.
Thus keeping us all from getting wet,
When the squall becomes a threat.
Rhythmic tapping, at the windowpanes,
Water gushing hastily, down the drains,
Tempest pounding as thunder roars,
Lashing out as it downward pours.
Boots and brollies are needed too,
To keep us dry, the whole storm through,
Then suddenly, as if the Lord was nigh,
Comes a clear blue, cloudless sky.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Storm
Blue hills, along the horizon hugging,
Like a mountain range in mist,
Lightning flashing, thunder crashing,
Part of God's almighty fist.
Clouds descending, bowing deeper,
Within their centre, shadows form,
And, as if this world's a sleeper,
It lays waiting for the storm.
After the onslaught of the raindrops,
Silence all around is heard,
Then within this peaceful stillness,
Awakes the sweet notes of a bird.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Lightning And Thunder
Crashing through blue skies
A hope's eternal flame
Like a piece of colored glass
An array of breath-taking luster
Incandescent stars
Burns the fuel that lights the fire
Shining figures take shape and grow
A stream of running water
Baby star-lings are vivid through
Clouds of liquid silver
Falling like the rain
Flashes of shocking lightning
Give way to claps of thunder
poem by Autumn Winds
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Twister
Yeah
Well, well, milton bradleys got a def one
Its a twister (twister, twister, twister)
Yeah, all the girls and homeboys
Playin twister (twister, twister, twister!)
Spin the spinner and call the shot
Twister ties you up in a knot
Thats twister
Yeah, twister
Check it
Right foot blue (right foot blue)
Left hand red (left hand red)
Left, right, yellow, blue, green
Yeah, twister
Now, everybodys chillin
With the twister (twister)
Wherever things are illin
Youll find twister (twister, twister!)
Thats twister
Yeah, twister
Yeah buddy
You gotta get it
Yeah twister
From mb
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Boat I Sail
I'm looking into a picture of a turbulent stormy sea,
And imagining I am battling against its wild fury.
The winds are whipping cruelly around the boat I sail,
Lashing it with salt spray, hurricane and gale.
The waves are rising skywards, fifty feet or more,
And I can hardly see at all, in this violent downpour,
Clouds are dark and heavy, rumblings can be heard,
But in the midst of this cacophony, I spy no living bird.
It's as if the world is angry, stirring up a fearful fight,
I try to hold the craft on course, struggling in my plight,
The ocean is never static, it is restess all the while,
Forever in perpetual motion, and constantly hostile.
I stand back now from the image, of power uncontrolled,
The painter creates a vision that's forceful, strong and bold,
He has captured all the terror, the brutality of the deep,
In just a few deft brush strokes, this drama begins to seep.
Into my mind, and whilst dreaming, a fantasy can start,
About being heroic and daring, fearless, brave and smart.
Such a confrontation here, between me and the water's rage,
Thinking I could possibly, such ill humour, thus assuage.
But I know I would wait forever to see calmness in this scene,
For it is a painting, sealed in time, and could never be serene.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Reflections On A Storm
There was a calm felt before the storm
and also some uneasiness in every form
a hushed anticipation of what was soon to be
perhaps a fateful outcome of each one’s destiny.
During this time it became very dark and foreboding
that everything around lost all its charm and standing.
Suddenly there were flashes of lightning and clashes of thunder,
which rolled from the clouds, seen and heard by all there under.
Then a strong wind blew and a heavy rain began to fall
lashing onto everything around as it turned into a squall.
As the tempest raged on in a crescendo and reached its peak;
turning day into night and night into day, all seemed so bleak.
There many creatures all scampered and sought the safety of shelter,
out of the maelstrom unleashed by nature, in a state of helter-skelter.
They all knew their places when it came to that threat of danger;
out of harms reach they tried to flee even if it was with a stranger.
After the storm had spent all its fury and slowly subsided
a calm settled in again which had lately just been divided.
And all appeared to have been molested and somewhat shaken
as light broke through the clouds to make that day re-awaken.
While the storm in its wake seemed to have wreaked much devastation
the forces which had come into play reminded one of the act of creation,
when those seeds of life were implanted ages ago at the very beginning,
causing all things to gradually spring into existence with some meaning.
poem by George Krokos
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Transporting Minds
Steep hills stretch off into the distance, blue,
a wide expanse of valley in between.
Hawks are hovering in the sparkling sky,
and glide so elegantly o’er the scene.
Such vastness on view takes ones breath away,
transporting minds into another place.
One walks over the ground of tufted grass
green carpet, spread for miles across this space.
A river winds along its snaking way,
clear water shining bright under the sun,
And trees in thickets, dot the broad landscape,
giving sweet shade to cows, such coolness won.
To sit, to dream and thus to contemplate,
endless vistas that so attract the eye.
Nature in all its colours, fill this earth,
and compliment the wide clear azure sky.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Grey Tide
The cold green rocks and lapping waves
Are all my world as here I sit
With downcast eye and heart that craves
The bush and blue sky over it.
The tide of years is washing by,
The misty water drifts between
A soul with wings that may not fly
And shadowy realms that might have been.
Too late, too late, alas, I know
The track that winds by shining leaves
From where the flood reflects, below,
The greyness of the heart that grieves.
Another yet may tread the way,
And offer at that hidden shrine
His gift of rolled and twisted clay,
And set his lips to holy wine.
Another yet may tinge the flame
Upon that altar blue or red,
And freely call upon Her name,
And taste at will the blessed bread.
The waves are grey about the rocks,
A cold wind sets across the sea,
A travelling ray of sunlight mocks
The shadow on the heart of me.
poem by John Le Gay Brereton
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What's Between The Lines...
The clouds roll in,
the thunder roars,
another stormy night,
elegant in it's own way,
the lightning strikes,
the thunder crashes,
the rain ever so clever,
seeps through the slightest cracks,
the night ever so fragile,
now,
caressed in the motionless fog,
the fog ever so graceful,
never doth touch the dark damp ground,
the ground ever so cold,
stares wide-eyed at the world around,
and watches as the clouds subside,
the thunder and lightning,
one again hide,
and the storm is gone,
now again,
the sun may shine.
poem by Linda Kessler
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Tempest's Fury
Tempest's Fury
'Long the horizon, I watched it form.
Harbinger, of deeds foul.
Blue sky, smiling sun obscured.
By nimbus rack, rolling dark.
Trees of the brake, as if sensing squall.
Their leaves turned askew.
'Cross my body,
puffs of breeze caressed.
Not long at all,
zephyr's whisper grew to gale's howl.
Nature's warning issued, duly I noted.
In haste, stout shelter I sought.
From safe haven I watched,
and harkened to, gust's angry pant.
As if wild beast enraged,
tossed whatever loose awry.
My refuge, I felt tremble.
As if hostage soon it might be,
of Nature's furious rant.
Roiling, for whatever unknown temptation,
enticed its wrath.
Yet, one thought my mind entertained.
To what extent 'fore ceasing,
might this tempest rage?
To yield once again,
to blue sky, smiling sun.
19Jun11
poem by Kurt Hearth
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By the Grey Gulf-water
Far to the Northward there lies a land,
A wonderful land that the winds blow over,
And none may fathom or understand
The charm it holds for the restless rover;
A great grey chaos -- a land half made,
Where endless space is and no life stirreth;
There the soul of a man will recoil afraid
From the sphinx-like visage that Nature weareth.
But old Dame Nature, though scornful, craves
Her dole of death and her share of slaughter;
Many indeed are the nameless graves
Where her victims sleep by the Grey Gulf-water.
Slowly and slowly those grey streams glide,
Drifting along with a languid motion,
Lapping the reed-beds on either side,
Wending their way to the North Ocean.
Grey are the plains where the emus pass
Silent and slow, with their dead demeanour;
Over the dead man's graves the grass
Maybe is waving a trifle greener.
Down in the world where men toil and spin
Dame Nature smiles as man's hand has taught her;
Only the dead men her smiles can win
In the great lone land by the Grey Gulf-water.
For the strength of man is an insect's strength
In the face of that mighty plain and river,
And the life of a man is a moment's length
To the life of the stream that will run for ever.
And so it comes that they take no part
In small world worries; each hardy rover
Rides like a paladin, light of heart,
With the plains around and the blue sky over.
And up in the heavens the brown lark sings
The songs the strange wild land has taught her;
Full of thanksgiving her sweet song rings --
And I wish I were back by the Grey Gulf-water.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Shadow Of The River
As I look around under the shady trees breezy atop the river
Even as the shadows of the tree are seen in it like a mirrror
My curious nature got more of me as i ask myself where is the shadow of the river?
Why does it create shadow for other nature like itself and keep its own shadow hidden?
I said to myself as I look into the river, a glared around into the forest and its horror
And it becomes clear to me that Even the river brings calmness to evil wherever it finds itself.
So i found my answer.
The shadow of the river is in its calmness, the gentle flow that puts your heart to rest even when it overwhelms you.
Its contradiction to body temprature and yet so agreeable.
Under the shady leaves and the calmness around, i have found the shadow of the river.
poem by Yewande Adedokun
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I write these lines upon a sheet of paper
I write these lines upon a sheet of paper
That someone made from what was once a forest
Without much thought (as I suspect) for nature:
Does this not fill my heart with guilty sorrow?
Or is its lifeblood more akin to water
That runs in rivers under cloud and sunshine?
Why am I so affected by the sunshine?
All that I do - whether I read the paper,
Or, being thirsty, drink a glass of water,
Or walk amid the tall trees of the forest,
If there's no sun, my mind is fill'd with sorrow,
And if it shines, gladness is in my nature.
But gladness is not always in the nature
Of all terrestrial things, whether the sunshine
Dispels from my own mind some part of sorrow
For many men and creatures, as the paper
I read informs me, live within a forest
Of woe, and some have not a dropp of water.
One dropp of that mysterious liquid, water,
Would save a living animal, by nature,
Whether it dwelt in pasture or in forest,
However little it received of sunshine,
It cannot be exprest by lines on paper
How marv'llously that liquid quenches sorrow.
How much may we, the lucky living, sorrow,
For those who have been drown'd by cruel water,
The greater part of whom are not on paper
Recorded: but the cruelty of Nature
Alone knows. May their souls in heavenly sunshine
Be rested, and walk peaceful through that forest.
I think that life itself is like the forest,
A dark one, where one knows not whether sorrow
Will come, or else a glade o'erspread by sunshine,
That suddenly becomes a fall of water
That patters down in raindrops, in its nature.
Will those trees bloom or turn to crumpled paper?
I'll use no further paper from the forest:
My nature does not wish for you to sorrow,
But sit by flowing water in the sunshine.
poem by David Mitchell
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The Eye of a Needle
God, tell me the mystery of your will.
For as far as I can see is your majesty.
The desert is as small as the eye of a needle.
And it is, in this paradise, a travesty.
The flowing springs are sparkling clear and cool,
And they water the green foliage and flowers.
From hill to hill, beauty is on display,
And, in every direction, proof of your growing powers.
poem by Albert Price
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Now I know what is wasting!
Flowing away the water
Clueless was the river
You came as a dyke
And held………
Which gave the meaning of
Flowing ………
Now I flow,
Now I blow
Like a wind
Like a water in the river
Now I know what is wasting ……!
Lots of things polluting the air
Big clueless was the nature
You came as a rain
And washed away…..
Which gave the meaning of
Purity and holiness ……
Now I am holy
Now I am pure …
Like a pain
Like a dew of the morning …..
My tongue was tied
Clueless was I
You came as a twister
Now I can sing the songs delicious
You touched my finger
Now I can make music melodious
I am very thankful to you
As you thankful to nature.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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I Am
I've risen from the burning rocks
At birth when earth was forming,
And traveled icy streams to lochs
When spring the snow was warming.
And high above in mist and cloud
I've felt the cool winds blowing.
Saw lightning flash, heard thunder loud,
The land, the heavens sowing.
Far from the light by rock and sand,
By clear streams darkly flowing
Beneath the surface of the land,
To caverns deep there going.
And to the great and briny sea,
There countless times returning;
But restless, to the clouds I flee,
Take flight, while sun is burning.
By coral bright and river wide,
By mountain tarn and fording,
I've felt the ebb and flow of tide,
My kin the sea there hoarding.
Eternal life, the secret found,
I live though life is dying.
When mortals weep, a mournful sound,
I am the tears they're crying.
I wear the rock, I shape the land,
My waves, on headlands falling;
As rain I beat upon the sand,
As winter winds are squalling.
From tropic sea to frozen lake,
In each and every quarter
I can a transformation make,
I am - a dropp of water.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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Sustenance for Friend Penny
Across the valley echoing
I hear a sound like distant drums.
It is the day of reckoning.
The storm god comes, the storm god comes.
His silver lances pierce the ground
and lightning streaks across the sky.
The thunder growls a fearsome sound.
The sun seared earth no longer dry.
The pouring rain is merciless,
the earth absorbs it thirstily
Its needs appears to be endless
The downpour stops quite suddenly.
The sun resumes his reign again.
There is no water to be seen,
it is as if there’d been no rain
but now the land is turning green.
The rain has reached the dormant seeds
Which wait in patience for their turn
the rainfall has fulfilled their needs
Now grasses and the flowers return.
The soil no longer sere and brown
but clad in multi coloured hues
of flowers which have quickly grown.
It is impossible to choose
which flower that you like the best.
Amongst the riotous display
each striving to outdo the rest
and does in fact in its own way..
Although the flowering seasons short.
The plants mature at lightning speed.
Producing seeds of every sort.
Which will survive until the day
the storm God will return again
to bless with rain the dry hard pan.
Reintroduce the flowers reign
all part of nature’s master plan.
(5-Nov-07)
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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And then, the unspeakable purity and freshness of the air! There was just enough heat to enhance the value of the breeze, and just enough wind to keep the whole sea in motion, to make the waves come bounding to the shore, foaming and sparkling, as if wild with glee.
Anne Bronte in Agnes Grey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ah!
winds of desire
from all direction
how they engulf
at an impromptu blink!
dreams stood still
hey, do you believe
in miracles?
i do sometimes!
yes, i keep dreaming
can i move closer to you
at least in private dreams?
your reflection
how it stares
from the cracks
of aging walls!
the sky felt dry
burnt readily
do you hear
silence scream!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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