Feri's Dream
I Had a little dog, and my dog was very small;
He licked me in the face, and he answered to my call;
Of all the treasures that were mine, I loved him most of all.
His nose was fresh as morning dew and blacker than the night;
I thought that it could even snuff the shadows and the light;
And his tail he held bravely, like a banner in a fight.
His body covered thick with hair was very good to smell ;
His little stomach underneath was pink as any shell;
And I loved him and honoured him, more than words can tell.
We ran out in the morning, both of us, to play,
Up and down across the fields for all the sunny day ;
But he ran so swiftly--he ran right away.
I looked for him, I called for him, entreatingly. Alas,
The dandelions could not speak, though they had seen him pass,
And nowhere was his waving tail among the waving grass.
The sun sank low. I ran; I prayed: ' If God has not the power
To find him, let me die. I cannot bear another hour.'
When suddenly I came upon a great yellow flower.
And all among its petals, such was Heaven's grace,
In that golden hour, in that golden place,
All among its petals, was his hairy face.
poem by Frances Darwin Cornford
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Three Flower Petals
When saw I yesterday walking apart
In a leafy place where the cattle wait?
Something to keep for a charm in my heart-
A little sweet girl in a garden gate.
Laughing she lay in the gold sun's might,
And held for a target to shelter her,
In her little soft fingers, round and white,
The gold-rimmed face of a sunflower.
Laughing she lay on the stone that stands
For a rough-hewn step in that sunny place,
And her yellow hair hung down to her hands,
Shadowing over her dimpled face.
Her eyes like the blue of the sky, made dim
With the might of the sun that looked at her,
Shone laughing over the serried rim,
Golden set, of the sunflower.
Laughing, for token she gave to me
Three petals out of the sunflower;-
When the petals are withered and gone, shall be
Three verses of mine for praise of her,
That a tender dream of her face may rise
And lighten me yet in another hour,
Of her sunny hair and her beautiful eyes,
Laughing over the golden sunflower.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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A Dog Has Died
My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.
Some day I'll join him right there,
but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.
Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with sex.
No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he'd keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.
Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.
There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.
So now he's gone and I buried him,
and that's all there is to it.
Translated, from the Spanish, by Alfred Yankauer
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Day In Day Out
in the morning you work
the work is dull till you see her
with hair as golden as the sun
a face that only compairs to the gods
the day gose quickly and you go home
though you only think of her
the worker known as the boss
you see her in the dark and
in the light but you are sleeping
next to your wife
the next day you go to work
though you find know one
that has a face that more
gorgeous as a god
or hair as golden as the sun
insted you find that the goddess
with the hair as golden as the sun
the face that makes even the god jelouse
never egsisted but in your mind
though when you get home
your eye go as wide as tho sun
when you see the face that make god jelouse
is the one that you married shes your wife
so you see her every night with flower in hand
for the ladie with the golden hair
poem by Daniel Thompson
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Pink Flowers.
Do not text me or think otherwise
I am just picking flowers from my garden.
Last evening I picked a red rose but
Wow! It proved to be too red for my date
Today I visited the same garden
The only flower I found was a white rose.
Where is my favourite pink rose?
This morning I cycled to the market
Sure, to buy my date a pink rose
But the only roses there were yellow and purple.
Tried to enquire where I could get one
But no one knows where to find.
Went to my flower vendor but nowhere to find
Where will I get my pink rose for my date?
Tomorrow, I'll travel far and wide
Only to get this precious pink flower
And if I succeed, my date will be happy
And my heart will find a solace rest
Amidst the residue of love petals
Just with the pink flower petals.
Where will I get my Pink rose flower?
(Dedicated for my pink flower date)
poem by Aron Lelei
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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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I've Got a Golden Ticket
I never thought my life could be
Anything but catastrophe
But suddenly I begin to see
A bit of good luck for me
'Cause I've got a golden ticket
I've got a golden twinkle in my eye
I never had a chance to shine
Never a happy song to sing
But suddenly half the world is mine
What an amazing thing
'Cause I've got a golden ticket
It's ours, Charlie
I've got a golden sun up in the sky
I never thought I'd see the day
When I would face the world and say
Good morning, look at the sun
I never thought that I would be
Slap in the lap of luxury'
Cause I'd have said it couldn't be done
But it can be done
I never dreamed that I would climb
Over the moon in ecstasy
But nevertheless, it's there that I'm
Shortly about to be
'Cause I've got a golden ticket
I've got a golden chance to make my way
And with a golden ticket, it's a golden day
Good morning, look at the sun'
Cause I'd have said it couldn't be done
But it can be done
I never dreamed that I would climb
Over the moon in ecstasy
But nevertheless, it's there that I'm
Shortly about to be
'Cause I've got a golden ticket'
Cause I've got a golden ticket
I've got a golden chance to make my way
And with a golden ticket, it's a golden day
poem by Roald Dahl
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The Flaw
I remembered last night.
I told the child
that that was not blood
on our friend's body,
only red flower petals
all wet from the rains,
and to be quiet,
or we would wake him up
and ruin the special dreams
that come from sleeping
under red flower petals.
There is a flaw in the face of man
called war
that begs the question:
does the memory of the dead
hold up the living?
Perhaps sleeping
under red flower petals
will cause me to forget about it.
poem by Rebekah Gamble
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Cosmos
So much rain fell
that the grass
was like a swamp
and next to the road
suddenly wildflowers bloomed
in colours of white, pink
and crimson-brown.
On long green stems
they grew together
the petals almost
in the shape
of a fortget-me-not
but much more spread
at the front edge.
Some kids might take them
to play the I love you game,
but do so in vain.
The smell of cosmos
hangs soft in the air
and there were patches
of colour everywhere.
I picked some with regret
to see the petals fold over
to hide their heads
of yellow and black specks.
Far to brittle to the touch,
still their beauty was too much
and I thought God,
You made nature really great.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Little Touch Of Heaven
Golden ringlets in her hair,
freckles on her nose,
cheeks all flushed from laughter
like petals from a rose.
Chubby little fingers at play
into everything,
finding joy in touching,
listening to all I sing.
Feet and toes always bare,
can't stand to wear a shoe.
Loves the feel of the carpet and grass
wet with morning dew.
Snuggles up in my arms at night,
tired from all the play.
Feels my kiss on her peach fuzzed brow
and in her own precious way
gives way to the night and falls asleep
with a quiet breathing sound.
I stand and gaze at her beauty
which to me is heaven, I've found.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Morning Petals
Greenish and pinky
Reddish and yellow flowers
In this season blossom,
From the East, the sun strikes
how fine is my darling's face
Angel face on screen, written
The cupid re-strikes my heart,
I'm won, here are petals,
The morning flower petals!
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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A Farm House by the River
I know a little country place
Where still my heart doth linger,
And o'er its fields is every grace
Lined out by memory's finger.
Back from the lane where poplars grew
And aspens quake and quiver,
There stands all bath'd in summer's glow
A farm house by the river.
Its eaves are touched with golden light
So sweetly, softly shining,
And morning glories full and bright
About the doors are twining.
And there endowed with every grace
That nature's hand could giver her,
There lived the angel of the place
In the farm house by the river.
Her eyes were blue, her hair was gold,
Her face was bright and sunny;
The songs that from her bosom rolled
Were sweet as summer's honey.
And I loved her well, that maid divine,
And I prayed the Gracious Giver,
That I some day might call her mine
In the farm house by the river.
Twas not to be - but God knows best.
His will for aye be heeded!
Perhaps amid the angels' bliss,
My little love was needed.
Her spirit from its thralldom torn
Went singing o'er the river,
And that sweet life my heart shall mourn
Forever and forever.
She dies one morn at early light
When all the birds are singing,
And Heaven itself in pure delight
Its bells of joy seemed ringing.
They laid her dust where soon and late
The solemn grasses quiver,
And left alone and desolate
The farm house by the river.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Cherry Blossoms Adrift
Pink petals passing
Scents above so high
Painted porcelain perfection
Blossoms caress the sky
Swaying silent shroud
Suitors strolling by
Pink petals passing
Lover's gentle sigh
Pastel hues falling
Slow fluttering grace
Pink petals passing
Lining streams in lace
Pink petals passing
Smoothest transit by
Soft essence floating
In most subtle lullaby
Inducing springtime slumber
Upon a satin shore
Sailing with the current
Pink petals pass before
(1999)
poem by Mary Fumento
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The Tempest
It started out a bright sunny day
as on his boat he sailed.
The wind in his hair, the sun on his face
the salty sea air was inhaled.
He'd learned how to master the giant waves.
He'd sailed with his dad in a squall.
He'd been taught to bravely face a storm.
He lived for it since he was small.
He saw the gulls aloft in the air.
He watched their flight and thought
'I feel as free as those white-winged birds, '
happy with what he'd been taught.
The time went fast. He glanced at his watch
and then he searched the sky.
Off in the distance he saw dark clouds
and turned towards shore with a sigh.
All around darkness closed in
and the winds and rains did blow.
He struggled to keep his boat aright
and his fear started to grow.
This can't be. He loved the sea
but the violence in the sea had spread.
He tried to think calmly and heard his dad.
'Don't fight it son or you're dead.'
He could not see to steer with care.
The waves broke over his head.
He tied his body to the boat he loved
and thought about being dead.
Bruised and battered but breathing still
he prayed with all his might.
And with the darkness came God's answer.
'Sail away with me into the night, '
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Dirge
PLACE this bunch of mignonette
In her cold, dead hand;
When the golden sun is set,
Where the poplars stand,
Bury her from sun and day,
Lay my little love away
From my sight.
She was like a modest flower
Blown in sunny June,
Warm as sun at noon's high hour,
Chaster than the moon.
Ah, her day was brief and bright,
Earth has lost a star of light;
She is dead.
Softly breathe her name to me,—
Ah, I loved her so.
Gentle let your tribute be;
None may better know
Her true worth than I who weep
O'er her as she lies asleep —
Soft asleep.
Lay these lilies on her breast,
They are not more white
Than the soul of her, at rest
'Neath their petals bright.
Chant your aves soft and low,
Solemn be your tread and slow, —
She is dead.
Lay her here beneath the grass,
Cool and green and sweet,
Where the gentle brook may pass
Crooning at her feet.
Nature's bards shall come and sing,
And the fairest flowers shall spring
Where she lies.
Safe above the water's swirl,
She has crossed the bar;
Earth has lost a precious pearl,
Heaven has gained a star,
That shall ever sing and shine,
Till it quells this grief of mine
For my love.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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One Moment in Time
A single orange daisy.
Blooming from the sidewalk crack.
In the early morning.
Dew dripping off its delicate petals.
The sun is rising.
The flower struggles to survive.
Rising up from the concert it blossoms with new hope.
I’m going to live.
A small girl.
Pink dress and shiny black shoes.
She sees the flower.
The flower.
Wet petals, bursting with new light and hope.
She waddles over.
And picks it.
The flower.
It’s life.
Gone.
In just one moment in time.
-Madelyn
poem by Madelyn Burnham
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Golden Loom
Smoky autumn night, stars up in the sky,
I see the sailin boats across the bay go by.
Eucalyptus trees hang above the street
And then I turn my head, for youre approachin me.
Moonlight on the water, fishermans daughter, floatin in to my room
With a golden loom.
First we wash our feet near the immortal shrine
And then our shadows meet and then we drink the wine.
I see the hungry clouds up above your face
And then the tears roll down, what a bitter taste.
And then you drift away on a summers day where the wildflowers bloom
With your golden loom.
I walk across the bridge in the dismal light
Where all the cars are stripped between the gates of night.
I see the trembling lion with the lotus flower tail
And then I kiss your lips as I lift your veil.
But youre gone and then all I seem to recall is the smell of perfume
And your golden loom.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Morning Has Broken
Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the world
Sweet the rains new fall, sunlit from heaven
Like the first dewfall, on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where his feet pass
Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning
Born of the one light, eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
Gods recreation of the new day
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am A Rose In Your Garden
A sun ray tickled to my face this morning,
Waking me up from sleep,
I straighten up my stalk and look toward the sun,
And shake off the fresh dew out from my face,
So i can take deep breath and have a new beginning.
But suddenly i'm seeing my reflection in dew drops around
And i am so amazed
'Who am i? ', i asked to myself
I am a rose, with velvet petals,
I am so delicate, perfumed and red
All other roses start looking at me
'Who are you really', they asking me
'You are so beautiful, what you are doing here
Among all these thorns and weeds?
Here, you dont belong '
I am so confused
Why i'm here?
Why i'm alone?
Who's taking care of me?
And suddenly you show up,
You are so handsome and looking at me with love,
I am looking at you and melting in your eyes
Your face is moving slowly down to me,
And look to me so deeply.
Drops of your tears is falling on my petals
Seeing me, you are so happy
So do i, feeling your love
You made my heart beat faster, stronger
Even i dont need water
I am feeding with your love.
Dont leave me, stay with me,
I need your love to live,
Protect me, nurture me with your lovely words.
Enjoy my perfumed petals
And reward me with a smile
Do not forget me ever,
I am a rose in your garden.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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You”re Still You
The same hair curling on your head
At 49, you look younger,
There are no wrinkles on your forehead
The cheeks still smooth and tight
Your eyes still glow
Like fireflies reflected in the mirror
The moon against the sky
The way you talk defies the years of your absence
The way you look at me
Your way your gaze flies like a butterfly
Hovering back to me like tender hands
Of a woman
Caressing my face
Like golden yellow wing
Fluttering on the petals of a flower
Indeed, you are still you
Loving me
In gentle restraint and
I am deeply saddened
By my own kind of same
Usual indifference
Of the clouds drifting
Without even the thought
Of stopping by the
Peaks of trees
As you open yourself to the sun like
A tight bud opening its petals
Finally exposing its true gentle colors
A flower blooming
To the kindness of sunshine
And the freshness of the air
That this world can offer
I spread my wings like a yellow butterfly
Fluttering away to another garden
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Star's Song
Flower! Flower, why repine?
God knows each creature's place;
He hides within me when I shine,
And your leaves hide His face.
And you are near as I to Him,
And you reveal as much
Of that eternal soundless hymn
Man's words may never touch.
God sings to man through all my rays
That wreathe the brow of night,
And walks with me thro' all my ways --
The everlasting light.
Flower! Flower, why repine?
He chose on lowly earth,
And not in heaven where I shine,
His Bethlehem and birth.
Flower! Flower, I see Him pass
Each hour of night and day,
Down to an altar and a Mass
Go thou! and fade away.
Fade away upon His shrine!
Thy light is brighter far
Than all the light wherewith I shine
In heaven, as a star.
poem by Abram Joseph Ryan
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