Patterns Of Herringbone
Step out along those well worn pathways,
through dappled woods, beneath lush trees.
View verdant grass as it gently sways,
wafted by a soft balmy breeze.
Tread blithely down well known byways,
over winding hills and flowing streams.
Out across the salty golden bays,
where the sand is kissed by bold sunbeams.
Move slowly through well paved alleyways,
between the old walls of brick and stone.
Knowing that people back in past days,
walked these block patterns of herringbone.
Stroll towards well hidden bridleways,
where wild flowers edge the gritted tracks.
Stand still and watch the sheep as they graze,
then take a nap, against warm haystacks.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Emerald Isle
The Emerald Isle
Sailing into Cork I saw green hills, the sea was jade,
I understood why Ireland was called the emerald island.
On the sheer slopes sheep grazed; chancers I thought
the slightest slip and they will fall into verdant waters.
Why not graze on the plateau be happy with modest
fodder if not as succulent as grass too unsafe to get at?
Sheep do fall sometimes they are rescued by a passing
voracious fishing vessels, and end up as Irish stew.
Cork was pretty port it had a no hasty feel back then,
it became a busy place ignoring the hazardous slopes,
but holy is economic progress, lush living for everyone.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Walls
Walls of stone and walls of brick,
Some walls thin and some walls thick,
Walls so high and walls so low,
Walls to hide and walls to show.
Walls quite short and walls quite tall,
Some walls, last well, some walls fall,
Walls for comfort, walls of hate,
Walls for security, walls ornate.
Some as a barricade, some to support,
Walls of wood and walls of iron wrought,
Walls as a barrier, walls to enclose,
Some are to sit on, some to lean and doze.
Walls we build ourselves, these aren't good,
Walls for privacy, walls that have stood,
So many years through weather foul or fine,
Walls, that are yours, walls that are mine.
Brick by brick they are built to last,
Whether built now or in the past,
They shelter us from so many things,
And shield us from whatever this life brings.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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My Heart Yearns For Melodies
my heart yearns for the melodies
that move in glistening streams skirting me
into which to slowly immerse myself
tasting every sweet word of the creation
with half-closed dreamy lids
in the solemn silence of the starry night
on the banks of the flowing time
gently fanned by the soft breeze.
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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The Hills Abide
The everlasting hills their secrets keep
concealed in paces where men rarely tread.
Lie mouldering bones of men who are long dead
What caused their death nobody knows or cares.
In quietude and solitary they sleep.
Their skeletons defy the passing years.
The peaceful hills have seen men come and go.
Some few remain but most are passing through
In search of land to settle. Somewhere new.
Where they can raise their crops and live in peace
in the more fertile bottom lands below.
Protected from the winds that never cease.
Across the ancient hills which can endure
as they have done for passing centuries
The heat of summer and the winter’s freeze.
The hardy breed of men who chose to stay.
Were slow and steady men but very sure
they could and would survive in their own way.
The half wild sheep which graze these ancient hills.
Know much more than their shepherds know
of secret trails that wander to and fro.
Across the vast expanse beneath the sky
from sheltered sheepfolds to the flowing rills.
The sheep accept and do not wonder why.
11-Jun-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Fruit Rats
Fruit Rats
Nature in the vale sleeps today last
night a storm raced through it, twigs
and almond petals litter lanes, birds
sit with heads under wings, wide open
Algarvian sky a few clouds sails slowly
about and the sun warms my face.
This is a tilled landscape, like a stroll
in a city park only less noisy, wolves,
foxes, brown bears and boars have
gone, I stand near a sign that warns
of cattle crossing, but I haven’t seen
a ruminant around here for years.
Flocks of dumb sheep usually graze
under the olive trees, if not now, and
I’ll not tread on wet grass; it saddens
me to see oranges fall unpicked to
the ground, but rats eat them and in
time of need I can eat a healthy rat.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Salty Sea
Oh, how I love the salty sea,
And if it were up to me,
I would stay there night and day,
While felling it's soft, sweet spray.
I would sit on the salty sea shore,
Watching the seagulls dip and soar.
I would sit on the sand, soft and white,
And stay 'till the sun was out of sight.
When the sea tide is low,
I will stay while it tickles my toes.
When the sea tide is high,
I will not bid it good-bye.
Oh, how I love the salty sea,
I wish it belonged just to me.
If I could hold my breathe forever,
I would never move, never!
So, on the sand I would lay,
And wait for the tide to take me away...
Oh, how I love the sea!
poem by Layla Stone
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Spring's Accomplishments
Spring brings with it a warm, gentle breeze
Along with the trees sprouting their baby soft leaves
Gently tapping the ground are the soft showers
Bringing around soft, springtime flowers
Now here they come, the butterflies and the bees
Attracted to the gardens and newly awakened trees
The trees emanate such a calming scent of sap
And the birds nestle down for a peaceful nap
As Easter approaches, the sunshine gets stronger
And as spring continues, the days get longer
The spring goes into a deep slumber
And who takes over then? It's summer!
poem by Caroline Bulleck
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On the open plain (Catena Rondo)
Some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds,
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun;
on this earth so it's been since time begun,
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds,
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun
they rejoice over a day that is new
are fresh with the glistening morning dew;
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun
they rejoice over a day that is new
as bees and butterflies flutter along
birds do sing the happiest kind of song
they rejoice over a day that is new,
as bees and butterflies flutter along
wild deer graze at the soft tender green grass
while they in massive herds do slowly pass
as bees and butterflies flutter along
wild deer graze at the soft tender green grass
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds
grow to strength in a world full of big weeds,
wild deer graze at the soft tender green grass,
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds,
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun;
on this earth so it's been since time begun,
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Enigmatic
Within the woodlands dappled shade.
I came across a block of stone
I had no doubt it was man made
Though when and why cannot be known.
So perfect was the craftsmanship
which had been lavished on this stone
A place of ritual worship
It had to be an altar stone.
Though no one worships here today.
The altar stone still stands alone.
Within the woods hidden away
But sadly there is little known.
There’s no recorded history
To help me solve the mystery.
(09 August 2011)
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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In some fields of grass under the hills (sestina)
This afternoon the peaks throw a big shade
with the black cliffs shining up on the hills,
while we lay together in the long grass,
I look in your eyes that are amber-green
while under my head there is a small stone
and you smile at me like the prettiest lady.
I had once known another charming lady;
that part of my life is now left in shade,
bad churchmen were casting stone upon stone,
while I had to flee from them to the hills
to pastures were everything is green
to find the Lord in divine fields of grass.
Under your head there is a crown of grass
and your mother is a gracious, kind lady,
around us everything is lovely green
while we are still resting in the cool shade,
we are softly chatting about life’s hills,
about walls of very hard granite stone.
Your eyes are much brighter than emerald stone
while all of your words are softer than grass,
reaching higher and beyond all the hills,
the high mountain which is dangerous lady,
while from our pain nothing gives any shade,
nowhere is a place of rest that is green.
Your summer dress is lovely, is bright green,
suddenly all our ails have turned to stone
I follow you further; see your small shade,
I am seen as one that woos any lady,
we walk past some flowers growing in grass,
climbing up higher into the foothills.
Bright streams are splashing down some of the hills,
with water transparent, sometimes cold and green,
love and lust burns like in a youthful lady
while I at that moment feel cold as stone,
we notice a deer feeding on lone grass
while our garments lie under a tree’s shade.
Far into the hills you want love till dusk’s shade,
where you peep like some green moss from the grass,
are tossing me with a stone like no lady.
poem by Gert Strydom
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This Lovely Day
Lattice gates of noble paradigms
Glance old stone fences of spring
Vivacious air amidst the able breeze
We stroll into eternal flowers
Ring the bells of summer love
Everything profound seems simple
Profound azure emanates beauty
Your dress of flowers temps me
Hills and glades alive with wind
Pedals of awesome love
Your laughter is ebullient praise
Praise for free solemn beauty
I have withered away in self
This fresh air brings frontiers
My darling you bring me joy
By the river we watch the geese
Clouds seem like breathing angels
Meadows like blankets of elves
You my love are a wondrous gift
This lovely day shall never wane
Let us take each step slowly
Count the butterflies as we go
Feel every hug and savor every kiss
Watch the flowers sigh in the wind
This lovely day is ours forever
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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My Home Town
The last time I saw my home town, her trees were dressed for spring,
And her people walked beneath those trees and birds found songs to sing.
The last time I saw my home town, her heart was warm and gay,
No matter how cruelly they change her, I'll remember her that way.
I dodged and hided in the fields of golden corn that I had dodged for years.
The chorus of the wind blowing the heavy loaded stems was music to my ears
I thought of happy hours and pure childhood lost, and laborious people who toiled their day
Old women, selling flowers, in markets at dawn, kids rushing to their play
Lonely I was, scanning with lonely eyes, seeking her in vain
Her streets are where they were, but there's no sign of her; the pain is insane
Where are the children who ran in the park and in sun sandy paths
And those who danced under summer night looked at the stars and laugh
I used to watch as a child the fair morning fog clearly chiming in its flowing before my eye;
Warmly and broadly the south winds were winding and blowing over the sky.
One after another the white clouds over the fields of wild tulips were fleeting;
Every heart that gorgeous May morning in joyance was brimming and beating
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The lightest touch.
Softly he touched me, gently as a breeze
that wafts this way and that, swaying summer hats.
Gently he caressed, with words so honey combed and sweet,
to melt the coldest heart, my moment was complete.
Sinking into sugar brown eyes, his soft brown skin
and big ‘huggy' grin, we seemed to melt each other from within.
The summer grass, it filled my head within this bed of ecstasy,
I lay beneath the lilac tree; its scent was drifting over me.
Our hands found each other, we kissed, my eyes brimmed over
to think, some day, this moment I might miss.
How sad in life all things move on and like the flowing waves
we lovers separated to go our different ways,
but as tears sting my eyes and burn into my heart
I've one more memory to share; he had the lightest touch.
poem by Ruth Walters
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The Scenes One Sees
I sat upon a dry stone wall,
And looked towards the distant hills,
The ferns around my feet grew tall,
Convolvulus too, with its long tendrils.
Down in the valley a church I spied,
With a weathervane atop its tower,
A solitary place, now unoccupied,
Whose clock did chime on every hour.
On the horizon sat a misty haze,
A softening blue, so cool a look,
And down the lane, the sheep did graze,
Alongside a rippling, and singing brook.
I stood and stretched my weary form,
And started down a rutted track,
The air was sultry and so warm,
Pleasant too, as I started back.
How fine, the countryside in spring,
In summer and in autumn hues,
And winter, when we went rambling,
Pulling on waterproof walking shoes.
The changing seasons come and go,
And all have beauty to be seen,
The summer sunshine and winter snow,
Through which emerge, trees evergreen.
So stop and dally for a while,
And breathe the fresh and balmy breeze,
Then thank God for this treasured isle,
And marvel at the scenes one sees.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Harmless Gossip
An avenue of stately trees
whose branches meet high overhead
exchanging gossip with the breeze.
This is the way that rumours spread.
When lovers stroll beneath the moon.
The trees observe their every move.
They dance to day to the same tune
their forbears danced to when in love.
Though fashions change, some things do not.
The trees have seen it all before.
All that they’ve seen is not forgot
but added the their growing store
of gossip which the trees then share
with every passing breeze that blows.
The trees will spread it everywhere
to all and sundry I suppose.
Be very careful what you do.
Although no one can see.
Know that the trees are watching you
and they will share quite happily.
Everything that they have seen
with any breeze that happens by.
With consequences unforeseen
By trees and breeze or you and I.
When strolling in a moon lit glade
Beware the moons soft silver rays.
That stir the blood of man and maid
to think this is the time and place.
19/09/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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From Across the Meadow
From across the meadow
that comes between the highway
and our house, I can see the stand
of tall trees marking our place
on this wide earth.
They wave to us
in the warm summer breeze,
watch anxiously as we
cross the busy tracks
and make the wide turn,
safe again,
home -
and when we stroll
through the green evening yard,
inspecting rose and blushing tomato
these guardian spirits
patiently wait
as the veil of crimson
silently falls.
poem by Steven Federle
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Scream.
Haystacks and Augusts,
And country lanes.
Woodland swooping birds.
Winding roads and pubs.
Rivers, bridges, waterfalls.
Cornfields and bubbling streams.
Willow trees and rivers in bloom.
July is my lover.
Blossom pink flowers
Floating away,
Bang!
And the dream is over.
poem by Peter Vealey
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A Love Spring
So Spring warm weather upon with you watch
bloom flowers: Tulip, Orchid, Cherry ect..
That awake Springtime beautiful blue sky
With me, feeling of peace with Spring
Pollen of the flowers trees everywhere
To let you know the Spring coming
Green grass with flowers fill us with joy
Outdoor full of activities
Spring gently warm our souls
To the Spring 's love within you and me forever.
poem by Natasa Tocuc
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The gift of nature
May I stay awhile with you?
May I walk your narrow tracks
That meander across your back
Like a spiders web on dewy mornings.
May I stay awhile with you?
Among the freshest air and flowing grass?
Such beauty never matched
yet always to yourself so true
The flowing stream that cuts a dash
Crystal clear and ice cold too
meanders down your very spine
Bringing life to all that share your beauty.
For upon this crest of natures very soul
My every sense is teased and caressed
From mighty oaks that stand on guard
Aloft the fern that sways to scented summers breeze
So here I am. I will stay awhile
Upon this mountain top that holds my heart
Stare into the abyss that is nature at her best
For none is richer than I today...
poem by Dave James
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A Day
Written by john curulewski
Lead vocals by john curulewski
Woke up in rainy autumn
Morning mist beginning to wane
And the birds of the winged trees
Calling my name
Care less the clouds above me
The wind is gently lifting my hair
Where the rivers of the wind fall light rain
Now stand bare
Listen to the flowing streams
Golden in the shelter of my dreams
Playing a song on the meadow that echoes with love
Walk alone through the garden
The leaves are wet with mornings tear
And the whispering of someone
Is drawing me near
Content to rest awhile
Pondering the motion of time
Over unforgotten memories
Dipped in wine
Listen to the flowing streams
Golden in the shelter of my dreams
Playing a song on the meadow that echoes with love
[extended instrumental solos]
The God of dusk is falling around me
The night air now restless and dank
Yet the fields are specked with flowers
Few and rank
Moon reflecting off the water
Rippling an image to me
Of the way that it is
And the way that its going to be
Listen to the flowing streams
Golden in the shelter of my dreams
Playing a song on the meadow that echoes with love
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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