Springtime of the Soul
Flowers scattered blue and white
Aspire cheerfully upon the ground.
Silverly the evening hour weaves,
Tepid wasteland, loneliness.
Life blooms dangerously now,
Sweet rest around cross and grave.
A bell rings its length of time,
Everything seems marvelous.
A willow softly hovers in the ether,
Here and there a flickering light.
Spring whispers and promises
And the damp ivy trembles.
Lushly bread and wine are green,
The organ sounds full of the power of wonder.
And around cross and passion
A ghostly light gleams.
O! How beautiful are these days.
Children go through the dusk;
Already the wind blows bluer.
Far away thrushes mock.
poem by Georg Trakl
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Ode to the Plum Blossom
Wind and rain escorted Spring's departure,
Flying snow welcomes Spring's return.
On the ice-clad rock rising high and sheer
A flower blooms sweet and fair.
Sweet and fair, she craves not Spring for herself alone,
To be the harbinger of Spring she is content.
When the mountain flowers are in full bloom
She will smile mingling in their midst.
Outside the post-house, beside the broken bridge, Alone, deserted, a flower blooms.
Saddened by her solitude in the falling dusk,
She is now assailed by wind and rain.
Let other flowers be envious!
She craves not Spring for herself alone.
Her petals may be ground in the mud,
But her fragrance will endure.
poem by Mao Zedong
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O You Beautiful Flower
O you beautiful flower
Of pinkish and white
Earth blossoming shower
In spring’s new light
Ground is your embrace
With the sun radiance
Each bud is of grace
And splendor appearance
Light wind singing bell
Will swing your sprout
Like a sway carrousel
In its movement about
A dance of new spring
In meadows of green
To ground now sing
Of budding fresh scene
Rose-tinted so fine
Under blueness of sky
Your growth in sunshine
Now mounting so high
O you beautiful flower
Of pinkish and white
Earth sweetest endower
And spring’s delight
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Impromptu Verse (My Frosty Hair Blows Loosely in the Wind)
White head dull loose all frost wind
Small pavilion rattan bed dependent sick appear
Report doctor spring sleep beautiful
Taoist softly ring fifth watch bell
My frosty hair blows loosely in the wind,
In this small pavilion, I lie sick on a rattan bed.
The doctor's reported my beautiful sleep this spring,
The Taoist rings the fifth watch bell with care.
Travel Flowers
When you travel ‘cross the country
You see along the roadways
Bright and cheerful flowers especially
In the warm spring and summer days
I love the beautiful sunflowers
Bold yellow blooms you see
Nodding in the gentle winds
Seem to say “hello” to me
White flowers ‘long side a trail
Roots go deep in red dirt
Stand out just beautifully
As they crop up in little spurts
Old barns off in the distance
In the midst of a field of dry grass
Are dotted with many flowers
Oh, I enjoy them when I pass
When spring time sets in and we have
Warm and gentle spring showers
I love to start my trips to see
Delightful travel flowers!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Windy night
The wind blows tonight
My lover has been and gone
The warmth he gave me
Still deep inside
The wind blows tonight
I hear the different sounds it makes
As i make love
As i kiss
As i come
With such force
I am swept away
Away to the place
That only you can take me
Your touch melts my skin
And soothes my soul
I receive your tenderness
As the wind blows
Through airpockets
Whipping sounds
As you thrust into me
What are you thinking
As you make love to me?
You are so silent
But your kisses say much
Your body responds to my touch
I moan as i watch your pupils dilate
The wind blows hard tonight
Bathing with you
As the wind blew outside
I allowed you to see me
I did not run
I did not hide
I was present
I let go of memories
As i breathed
I was with you
What did you see?
As i looked into your eyes
And felt the water swirling around my back
What did you feel?
As i washed
Your back your belly your cock
As the wind blew outside
Tonight i feel many emotions
Wild restless
Yet deep within
There is a contentment
A knowing
That i am loved
The wind blows outside
But i am warm
Change is coming
Spring whispers to me
And promises many beautiful moments
My lover nibbbling my ear
Kissing my neck
Licking me until i come
I want to give myself
I want to merge
And abandon single life
To be with you
But its not time
For me or for you
The wind blows tonight
I ask that it takes all the misery
I have felt in my life
And transforms it
Allowing new reflections
I see a new image of myself
A gentle me
Passionate
Tender
Soft
Yielding
Dangerously feminine
No anger in this mirror image
Or competitiveness
No jealousy
Or insecurity
No rage
I see
A woman
At the beginning
Of something wonderful
The wind blows tonight
And i am released
Of all that has been
And all that has not
And all that is yet to be.
16th august 2006
poem by Black Panther Eyes Eastick
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Sweet death
After spring there are many Jacaranda flowers
that lies purple at my feet,
while the trees shed
their beautiful blossoms.
Like the sweet blooms
that die,
I know that I
have but a short time
to spent in this life.
There’s a sweet perfume
that rises from the road
where the scattered flowers lie,
before it disappears
with the new rain
and I wonder if my words and deeds
will be a blessing for a time
when I am gone?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Spring Spring Dance
Spring spring dance
Away from all loneliness
Come here in your trance
And give of its caress
Sweet light of grace
That comes with daybreak
In shadowed tint plays
When the air is awake
Spring be now sweet
In all your endeavor
Every adore so neatly treat
From winter’s cold war
O love of heavens blue
That gives the clearest view
For light to come thru
To bring on prosper true
Spring of beginning life
Mother of seedlings low
How much you must strife
To give the morning its glow
For blooms to grow high
And increase leaves to green
Opening up sunshine sky
Where summer has been
Spring be now sweet
In all your endeavor
Every adore so neatly treat
From winter’s cold war
O love of heavens blue
That gives the clearest view
For light to come thru
To bring on prosper true
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Flower Basket
Bring to me the flowers of Spring
In a woven straw basket brown
Pretty Little Maids all in a row
Petal's strewn 'cross the town
Oh so delightful in the Springtime
Resplendent in the Summer air
A garden basket of sweet scented blooms
Of The Maiden's Fair
Most beautiful to all breath-taking
Their aroma's splash the breeze
Velvet soft-like petals abloom
In The Secret Garden With Ease
They living out their complete prime
Beautifying Others Life
Their fragrance emulating upon a zephr
Numbing all of this worlds strife
Long before the rustic fall comes calling
With It's Oft' Northern Breeze
Chasing away the flowers and the green
Ending the blooms sweet life
With Ice Cold Freeze
poem by Theodora Onken
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The Cold, Dark Wind
A cold wind blows 'cross the mountainside
Clouds fill the sky
Overcoming with their dark'ning might
Beasts of darkness that shun the light
Only come out when the wind blows 'cross the night sky
Gath'ring the beasts of darkness that shun the light
Mighty, mighty
Storms igniting
Ever-changing with the cold wind
That blows through the trees
An unknown evil has a grip on this world
With a dreadful fate is about to show
That there is good, but more is sin
Left to fly with that cold, dark wind
poem by by unknown author
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A New Spring (In Answer To Ernst Van Heerden)
There is something radically new to this spring
something fresh, matchless, pure, even bright
it continually brings the realization of new life
of unfolding growth, hope and true love
if we continually love each other, will I already
see you glow in early pregnancy
when the Seven Sisters, Orion and the Southern Cross
glow romantically, with candles smouldering to their ends?
And now when you lie warm in my arms
with your body enchanting, I feel your heart beating
the moon gleams golden and magical
every moment is full of passion
It is visible that the earth is different
trees are covered in exuberant new buds
the grass is full of life and green
when butterflies are fluttering, bees are working buzzing
while thunder blazes down blue-white
with the rain pouring pattering, bringing life
the fluttering, flapping of chattering birds
over glorious trees, at flowers that are blooming, at crops
is a glad exaltation where the farmer, the gardener
and every lover of nature
see the splendour of new life
knows that God does answer prayers
brings rain, wind and sunshine at His time
and in the fishpond goldfishes stare
in love at each other
while the mirror image
catches nature full of life
poem by Gert Strydom
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Inside The Cross of Iron Shadow
Inside The Cross of Iron Shadow
====================
Shape to Guide Aligned by Light
Formed of Cross Divide of Shadow
Light to Darken The Cross Within
The Dark Surround The Light With Out
Shape To Confine The Shadow Caste Of Iron Cross
Pieced Together The Puzzle Within
Immediate Light of Circumstantial
Fade to Black
Cross Fade to Light
The Sound Staged Within
Shadow Sounds Free of Night
Forged Of Iron Shadow
Holier Than Thou Be This Shadow Cross of Age
Cast of Moon Beam of Light to Burn
Outline of Cross Confines The Shadow Dark
Which Binds A Mind To Light
Fore There In No Way Exist
This One Without The Other Side of Good
As Day to Blackest Night of Evil
As Sun Give Rise to Dawn To Cast Away
The Nightmare Within A Mind Of Day and Shadow
Night of Day To Darkest Cross Beam of Light
To Light A Mind Eclipsed In Shadow
Forever In Light To Dark Shade of Gray Matter
Inside The Cross Of Iron Shadow.
poem by Ricardo Antunes
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Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter
Soft fluffy Snow fresh on frozen ground,
Green grass, and newly blue blooming buds bulging from all around,
Days becoming longer, heat growing stronger,
Birds and animals making their beautiful sounds.
Trees becoming bald and brittle,
Swaying in the wind like evil puppets,
Children dressed in creepy, costumes.
The feeling of death creeping over everyone.
Lying on a frozen landscape,
Looking up at the falling white oblivion,
Millions marching in all working together to drowned the green army,
Giving up and going dormant realizing there is no escape,
Plants and animals, wrapped, chained, and bound.
Every Year, season, month, week, day, hour, minute, second, leading into the next, all the way till that last tick on the clock, when my pulse goes numb and faith is lost in an endless internal dark void.
Stop! Go back!
Every year, season, month, week, day, hour, minute, second, I will get to spend with the most beautiful girl in the world! Beauty unimaginable. Every second, minute, hour, day, season, year, decade, century, spent happily with her till the day my pulse goes numb and I drift off into a bright, white, light for eternity with my sweet lover in my arms!
That's my life season by season, spent in happiness, bliss, and virtue forever and ever! Forever and always! And I wouldn't have it any other way.
poem by Jacob Gifford
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Story Teller
Now as spring light fades into a softly
blue evening I turn to you and ask,
If you can tell me more?
The river doesn't flow as rapid as
before and the lake is dry, no breeze
blows away dust of broken dreams
if you can tell me more tell it now
before light is an empty space and
stillness has lost its echo.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Sunset Thoughts
The sun sets slow to the West
The routine evening rest.
I quietly sit and watch
Feeling somewhat tranquil, yet melancholy -
I think of the great pleasure
That this moment is.....
And wonder why,
So few are -
Opaque clouds scattered, streak the salient sky
Like living lines
On an intent artist's brush,
The blue and the gray overhead
Are now at peace
Above the country, so free.....
Orange, yellow, purple, and red
Blaze, and burn through the horizon
Into the black-burnt transcendent treeline
Just below the setting sun, saying
'Goodnight, my sweet children' -
A pure gift,
so beautiful...
The wonder of it all
Is nothing less than
A marvelous miracle.....
It reverberates with eternities
Endless echoes,
(the mystical Music of majesty,
flowing through the cosmos) .....
Cloudy fingers hold the light
As God enfolds
The earth, the sun, the universe, and even
my own very fragile soul.
All here - together - in this delicately devine
End of day.......
The sun sets low, into the West.....
Is it merely routine
This evening rest?
.....I think not.....
poem by Smoky Hoss
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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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The Cross
Black day, stormy night
No love, no hope in sight
Dont cry, he is coming
Dont die without knowing the cross
Ghettos 2 the left of us
Flowers 2 the right
Therell be bread 4 all of us
If we can just bear the cross
Sweet song of salvation
A pregnant mother sings
She lives in starvation
Her children need all that she brings
We all have our problems
Some big, some are small
Soon all of our problems
Will be taken by the cross
Black day, stormy night
No love, no hope in sight
Dont cry 4 he is coming
Dont die without knowing the cross
Ghettos 2 the left of us
Flowers 2 the right
Therell be bread 4 all, yall
If we can just, just bear the cross, yeah
We all have our problems
Some are big, some are small
Soon all of our problems, yall
Will be taken by the cross
The cross
The cross
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bluer Than Blue
After you go
I can catch upon my reading
After you go
I'll have a lot mroe time for sleeping
And when you're gone
It looks like things are going to be a lot easier
Life will be a breeze you know
I really should be glad
But I'm bluer than blue
Sadder than sad
You're the only life this empty room has ever had
Life without is going to be
Bluer than blue
After you go
I'll have a lot more room in my closet
After you go
I'll stay out all night if I feel like it
And when you're gone
I could run through the house screaming
And no one will ever hear me
I really should be glad
But I'm bluer than blue
Sadder than sad
You're the only life this empty room has ever had
Life without is going to be
Bluer than blue
I don't have to miss no t.v. shows
I can start my whole life over
Change the numbers on my telephone
But the nights will sure be colder
And I'm bluer than blue
Sadder than sad
You're the only life this empty room has ever had
Life without you is going to be
Bluer than blue
Bluer than blue
Bluer than blue
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sweet Summer Lovin
Though the sun may be dawning
Youre the one that lights the morning
As I awake to the heaven
Of your sweet summer lovin
By a stream in the country
Running barefoot and feeling free
While the love in our hearts blend
Into sweet summer lovin
Sweet summer lovin in the dandelions
Sweet summer lovin keeps me high as candy wine
When that big red balloon sets
Like a painting across the west
As the sky turns a crimson blue
As the world turns for me and you
By the light of the moon glowing
While the warm summer wind blows
cross the sill of your window
Well be letting our love flow
Sweet summer lovin in the dandelions
Sweet summer lovin keeps me high as candy wine
Sweet summer lovin in the dandelions
Sweet summer lovin keeps me high as candy wine
Sweet summer lovin
Sweet summer lovin
Mmm...
Sweet summer lovin
Mmm...
Sweet summer lovin
I love your sweet summer lovin
Sweet summer lovin
Sweet summer lovin
Mmm...
Sweet summer lovin
Mmm...
Sweet summer lovin
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dying Child
He could not die when trees were green,
For he loved the time too well.
His little hands, when flowers were seen,
Were held for the bluebell,
As he was carried o'er the green.
His eye glanced at the white-nosed bee;
He knew those children of the spring:
When he was well and on the lea
He held one in his hands to sing,
Which filled his heart with glee.
Infants, the children of the spring!
How can an infant die
When butterflies are on the wing,
Green grass, and such a sky?
How can they die at spring?
He held his hands for daisies white,
And then for violets blue,
And took them all to bed at night
That in the green fields grew,
As childhood's sweet delight.
And then he shut his little eyes,
And flowers would notice not;
Birds' nests and eggs caused no surprise,
He now no blossoms got;
They met with plaintive sighs.
When winter came and blasts did sigh,
And bare were plain and tree,
As he for ease in bed did lie
His soul seemed with the free,
He died so quietly.
poem by John Clare
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The Camp of Souls
1 My white canoe, like the silvery air
2 O'er the River of Death that darkly rolls
3 When the moons of the world are round and fair,
4 I paddle back from the 'Camp of Souls.'
5 When the wishton-wish in the low swamp grieves
6 Come the dark plumes of red 'Singing Leaves.'
7 Two hundred times have the moons of spring
8 Rolled over the bright bay's azure breath
9 Since they decked me with plumes of an eagle's wing,
10 And painted my face with the 'paint of death,'
11 And from their pipes o'er my corpse there broke
12 The solemn rings of the blue 'last smoke.'
13 Two hundred times have the wintry moons
14 Wrapped the dead earth in a blanket white;
15 Two hundred times have the wild sky loons
16 Shrieked in the flush of the golden light
17 Of the first sweet dawn, when the summer weaves
18 Her dusky wigwam of perfect leaves.
19 Two hundred moons of the falling leaf
20 Since they laid my bow in my dead right hand
21 And chanted above me the 'song of grief'
22 As I took my way to the spirit land;
23 Yet when the swallow the blue air cleaves
24 Come the dark plumes of red 'Singing Leaves.'
25 White are the wigwams in that far camp,
26 And the star-eyed deer on the plains are found;
27 No bitter marshes or tangled swamp
28 In the Manitou's happy hunting-ground!
29 And the moon of summer forever rolls
30 Above the red men in their 'Camp of Souls.'
31 Blue are its lakes as the wild dove's breast,
32 And their murmurs soft as her gentle note;
33 As the calm, large stars in the deep sky rest,
34 The yellow lilies upon them float;
35 And canoes, like flakes of the silvery snow,
36 Thro' the tall, rustling rice-beds come and go.
37 Green are its forests; no warrior wind
38 Rushes on war trail the dusk grove through,
39 With leaf-scalps of tall trees mourning behind;
40 But South Wind, heart friend of Great Manitou,
41 When ferns and leaves with cool dews are wet,
42 Bows flowery breaths from his red calumet.
43 Never upon them the white frosts lie,
44 Nor glow their green boughs with the 'paint of death';
45 Manitou smiles in the crystal sky,
46 Close breathing above them His life-strong breath;
47 And He speaks no more in fierce thunder sound,
48 So near is His happy hunting-ground.
49 Yet often I love, in my white canoe,
50 To come to the forests and camps of earth:
51 'Twas there death's black arrow pierced me through;
52 'Twas there my red-browed mother gave me birth;
53 There I, in the light of a young man's dawn,
54 Won the lily heart of dusk 'Springing Fawn.'
55 And love is a cord woven out of life,
56 And dyed in the red of the living heart;
57 And time is the hunter's rusty knife,
58 That cannot cut the red strands apart:
59 And I sail from the spirit shore to scan
60 Where the weaving of that strong cord began.
61 But I may not come with a giftless hand,
62 So richly I pile, in my white canoe,
63 Flowers that bloom in the spirit land,
64 Immortal smiles of Great Manitou.
65 When I paddle back to the shores of earth
66 I scatter them over the white man's hearth.
67 For love is the breath of the soul set free;
68 So I cross the river that darkly rolls,
69 That my spirit may whisper soft to thee
70 Of thine who wait in the 'Camp of Souls.'
71 When the bright day laughs, or the wan night grieves,
72 Come the dusky plumes of red 'Singing Leaves.'
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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