Continued - III
'Tis true the wisdom that my mind exacts
Through contemplation from a heart unbent
By many tempests may be stained and rent:
The summer flies it mightily attracts.
Yet they seem choicer than your sons of facts,
Which scarce give breathing of the sty's content
For their diurnal carnal nourishment:
Which treat with Nature in official pacts.
The deader body Nature could proclaim.
Much life have neither. Let the heavens of wrath
Rattle, then both scud scattering to froth.
But during calms the flies of idle aim
Less put the spirit out, less baffle thirst
For light than swinish grunters, blest or curst.
poem by George Meredith
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March Flies
Now comes the time when we douse flies
With various kinds of sprays
The sand flies, and the house flies,
And the flies with furtive ways.
But I keep my hate for the large flies
That come for the tree-lined creek
Those arch flies, the March flies
With a crosscut saw for a beak.
Now, most flies rouse in the autumn
From the summer's drowsy daze,
And they bite as nature taught 'em,
In various styles and ways.
They nip, or they stab or they burrow;
But the fly that knocks me out
Is the March fly, with the dull, dead eye
And a crosscut saw for a snout.
Now the house flies come to the table
Or busily play on the pane;
And our rage and heat they calmly treat
With the uttermost disdain.
And the buzz-flies buzz and blunder,
And the sandflies dig right in;
But my whole soul shrinks when the March fly sinks
His crosscut under my skin.
He's a sneak and an arrant coward,
And the lowest of low-down cows,
By nature ghoulishly dowered
With a weapon no law allows.
And it isn't the pain he gives me
Nor the blood he may chance to draw,
It's the loathsome way that he makes foul play
With his really terrible,
Most unbearable,
Horrible crosscut saw.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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I Am Forbiden
Under this terrible sun I lay to rest,
Mind and heart at it never ending struggle
Who should I embrace, oh spirit of nature.
My self is not content with self,
And I am force to adhere to my lower self.
Where all the ethers turn sour in moments.
Hmm….my tears would not flow,
For these ancient mysteries i must conceal.
From the idle nature of mankind,
Who see reality as it and never enduring to unveil?
Ignorant, false knowledge are the true embodiment
Of this animal nature, in it never ending stupendous nature.
Which I am forbidding to reveal.
I pray god save mankind.
poem by Samuel Donkor
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Mist Upon the Placid Morn
Bleed out your beauty, Autumn –
Give up a gentle wrist, and smear
Your bloody hues atop the green.
Cast a calming throw of heady peace
Upon the cooling land.
And as you grant the sun a final fling of warmth,
Charge the silent air
(Now lolling on a foliar deathbed)
With earthen whiff to intimate the fungal push.
Soon you’ll send a shiver down the watery spine of
Quivering ponds, punctual brooks, and
Listless lakes, to warn them of the freeze to come.
Behold! your mellow spirit
Hanging as a mist upon the placid morn –
A sight that draws a sneaking tear or two – forlorn
Observers are we all of colder climes to view!
Autumn Lady, must you be the summer waning –?
Our adieu to fairer-weather life?
Ah well, at least you hum a warming tone, ensuring
Nature’s rhythm still abounds.
But now you must prepare the mind for chilly times –
You know the drill –
Guiding us along a sloping path
To ease our psyche in to sleet and snow –
The blue-ice bite of winter.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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A Great Wonder Nature Is!
Sky, sea, mountains, falls, rivers, forests and fields;
Trees, leaves, flowers, fruits, bees, flies and birds;
Fish, reptiles, animals and men form living beings.
They are all creations of Nature created by God;
Naturally no doubt a great wonder Nature is ever!
Of all the beings man only has advanced by mind
And he feels a separate entity away from Nature
Due to attachment to body, matter and mind ever!
Galaxies, stars, planets and moon are boon of universe;
All pervading spirit is acting everything everywhere;
Nature is the matter It has created to do all wonders!
Man controls energy to do mechanical work by machines;
With materials he does all what is not naturally possible;
Yet, Nature’s wonders he cannot achieve by art or science!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Thirteen Lines
A brain peered through stoic eyes;
Yet all it saw was rendered into
Flawed interpretation –
No honoured contemplation of a
Gluon, muon, quark of any flavour;
Nor a vision or conception of its world
Within a universe anthropic in its physical laws,
Inside a boundless multiverse.
All it gleaned and modelled
Bore parochialism well beyond belief! –
Delusional perhaps.
Survival only matters here on planet Earth –
Evolution saw to that.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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A Greed For All Golden Eggs!
Furious attacks by Nature as earthquakes and storms,
Heart breaking scenes, are horrible imprints in mind!
Why is Nature so harsh to mankind remaining calm long?
Many poets have appreciated its beauty, grandeur, mercy
Almost to the level of Supreme Creator of all everywhere!
But Nature shows its other face though Moon hides ever!
Materialist man has taken for granted Nature's love for all
Just us we all breathing air forget ourselves of its existence!
Perhaps that's the case Nature shows its wrath of its presence!
Nay, man's blunder in exploiting natural resources beyond limit
Without any sense of recycling them at all and selling farms
For urbanisation of villages Nature shows its wrath so harsh!
Instead of thanking Nature's generous gesture man destroys
All like the greedy man who killed goose to take all golden eggs!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Summer's Form
Summer has been suspended this year;
nature has acceded
because all of summer's light and it's flowerings
are contained in you
coming into your majority.
Flowers bloom in those eyes
especially the blues and greens;
beauty caresses your body
alighting across those rose bud breasts
animal flora and mineral all align;
your hands
carry fire-flies
providing light for lovers in the gloaming night
lovers
who swim in their own perfumed senses;
beauty true is intoxicating.
Summer heat
rises here
I have tasted it
in your single kiss.
All can see why
Summer therefore concedes
this year
there is no need
for her arrivals
because Summer's delights
have all been contained
in the form of you
in this Night Garden
of our delights.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Art is contemplation. It is the pleasure of the mind which searches into nature and which there divines the spirit of which nature herself is animated.
quote by Auguste Rodin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Art is contemplation. It is the pleasure of the mind which searches into nature and which there divines the spirit of which Nature herself is animated.
quote by Auguste Rodin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Beau to the Virtuosos
Hail curious wights, to whom so fair
The form of mortal flies is!
Who deem those grubs beyond compare,
Which common sense despises.
Whether o'er hill, morass or mound,
You make your sportsman sallies;
Or that your prey in gardens found
Is urg'd thro' walks and alleys,
Yet, in the fury of the chase,
No slope could e'er retard you;
Blest, if one fly repay the race,
Or painted wing reward you.
Fierce as Camilla, o'er the plain,
Pursu'd the glittering stranger;
Still ey'd the purple's pleasing stain,
And knew not fear nor danger.
'Tis you dispense the fav'rite meat
To nature's filmy people;
Know what conserves they choose to eat,
And what liquers, to tipple.
And, if her brood of insects dies,
You sage assistance lend her;
Can stoop to pimp for am'rous flies,
And help 'em to engender.
'Tis you protect their pregnant hour;
And when the birth's at hand,
Exerting your obstetric pow'r,
Prevent a mothless land.
Yet oh! howe'er your tow'ring view
Above gross objects rises;
Whate'er refinements you pursue,
Hear, what a friend advises.
A friend, who, weigh'd with yours, must prize
Domitian's idle passion;
That wrought the death of teasing flies,
But ne'er their propagation.
Let Flavia's eyes more deeply warm,
Nor thus your hearts determine,
To slight dame Nature's fairest form,
And sigh for Nature's vermin.
And speak with some respect of beaux;
No more, as triflers, treat 'em;
'Tis better learn to save one's clothes,
Than cherish moths that eat 'em.
poem by William Shenstone
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To the Virtuosi
Hail curious Wights! to whom so fair
The form of mortal flies is!
Who deem those grubs beyond compare,
Which common sense despises.
Whether o'er hill, morass or mound,
You make your sportsman sallies;
Or that your prey, in gardens found
Is urged through walks and alleys,
Yet, in the fury of the chase,
No slope could e'er retard you;
Blest, if one fly repay the race,
Or painted wing reward you.
Fierce as Camilla, o'er the plain,
Pursued the glittering stranger;
Still ey'd the purple's pleasing stain,
And knew not fear nor danger.
'Tis you dispense the favourite meat
To nature's filmy people;
Know what conserves they choose to eat,
And what liqueurs, to tipple.
And, if her brood of insects dies,
You sage assistance lend her;
Can stoop to pimp for amorous flies,
And help them to engender.
'Tis you protect their pregnant hour;
And when the birth's at hand,
Exerting your obstetric power,
Prevent a mothless land.
Yet oh! however your towering view
Above gross objects rises;
Whate'er refinements you pursue,
Hear, what a friend advises.
A friend, who, weigh'd with yours, must prize
Domitian's idle passion;
That wrought the death of teasing flies,
But ne'er their propagation.
Let Flavia's eyes more deeply warm,
Nor thus your hearts determine,
To slight Dame Nature's fairest form,
And sigh for nature's vermin.
And speak with some respect of beaus;
No more, as triflers, treat them;
'Tis better learn to save one's clothes,
Than cherish moths that eat them.
poem by William Shenstone
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Tortured Nature
Nature must be love
It is made by god above
Nature is in place
Nature is always with grace
The nature is green
It is colorful when seen
Nature is serene
It is peaceful ever seen
But people is bad
They make mother nature mad
When nature gets mad
It feels like the wrath of god
Disaster of nature
Is enough of your torture
Nature is flower
It gives love like a lover
poem by Ronald Jay Fiesta
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Though Much About Nature's Ways
Though much about Nature's ways some claim to know
Our wonder of her only does seem to grow
Without effort great beauty she does create
The artists and writers her does celebrate
Her beauty is everywhere all around me
The magpie larks birds known to some as pee wee
Builds a cup shaped nest of mud on branch of tree
A marvellous wonder of Nature to see
Though Nature's wonders beyond me to explain
Such marvellous insights from her we do gain
When the frogs are singing in the pond and the drain
And the swallows fly low Nature's saying it will rain
Us air breathing life forms are born to die
But Nature lives on since the facts never lie.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Discovery of Divine Spirit!
Is it indwelling spirit or Nature activating human?
Nature kindles mind to realise divine everywhere;
Going deep in all things reach one finally to the core
Where lives the eternal spirit activating all ever...!
Unlike animal going by instinct man explores by mind
All only to be confused as peeling onion endlessly on
And willingly suspending all ideas mystically indulges
In Nature at last to find an answer conclusive ever...!
Mind in communion with Nature man feels divine spirit
That opens door of heart like opening petals of lotus
To reveal the golden yellow divine dwelling deep finally
That actually activates mind, heart and soul of man...!
Discovery of inner spirit having communion with Nature,
Universal Spirit finally brings peace and bliss all long for!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Like the Flies in Winter
like flies at the end of summer/we all slow down as age advances, as age, time and clocks advance/ the coming ocean of time/like London Bridges, we all fall down
Like flies in winter, near a cold white windowpane, who are slowing like molasses. Cold lonliness on one side/white paint chips on the other
Like flies in winter/flies in autumn, who are swimming throught the air in slow motion.
Not so much the flies of summer
godblessamen
like fireflies flickering in the end/we are here and we are gone,
we eventually burn out.
poem by Samuel Stuart Pennell
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In Harmony with Nature
"In Harmony with Nature?" Restless fool,
Who with such heat dost preach what were thee,
When true, the last impossibility—
To be like Nature strong, like Nature cool!
Know, man hath all which Nature hath, but more,
And in that more lie all his hopes of good.
Nature is cruel, man is sick of of blood;
Nature is stubborn, man would fain adore;
Nature is fickle, man hath need of rest;
Nature forgives no debt, and fears no grave;
Man would be mild, and with safe conscience blest.
Man must begin, know this, where Nature ends;
Nature and man can never be fast friends.
Fool, if thou canst not pass her, rest her slave!
poem by Matthew Arnold from Sonnets (1849)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Country Walking
I walked a league and o'er the moor;
I walked and walked as ne’er before,
And on to walk from dale to hill
And on again to claim the thrill.
Behold! that walking does for me:
The senses heightened, mind of glee,
While rolling vistas pass me by
To swell the heart, enthrall the eye.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Time And Love
Time flies. The swift hours hurry by
And speed us on to untried ways;
New seasons ripen, perish, die,
And yet love stays.
The old, old love – like sweet at first,
At last like bitter wine –
I know not if it blest or curst,
Thy life and mine.
Time flies. In vain our prayers, our tears,
We cannot tempt him to delays;
Down to the past he bears the years,
And yet love stays.
Through changing task and varying dream
We hear the same refrain,
As one can hear a plaintive theme
Run through each strain.
Time flies. He steals out pulsing youth,
He robs us of our care-free days,
He takes away our trust and truth,
And yet love stays.
O Time! take love! When love is vain,
When all its best joys die –
When only its regrets remain –
Let love, too, fly.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Inspiration
Inspiration can't be seen.
I mean…you can only feel it.
Your wit won't help a bit
So that to convey the feelings,
To create a real art
That comes straight from the heart,
Like a holy writ recommit
God's gift and revelation.
How do I feel my inspiration?
It's not a certain motivation,
But only my emotions
And certain commotions.
Just the same in other words:
Inspiration is like birds or …
It is something very crazy,
Something very lazy,
Something weepy,
Something very sleepy,
Something very heavy
Or impossibly high.
This something
Becomes suddenly light,
Light as a cloud, and flies,
Flies, flies, flies, flies…
Up to the moment it dies.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 8th of September,2012
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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The Joy of Lovemaking
The mind’s flight eases the body
As it heats up every sensual parts
Then the craving begins to defy
The makings of a nurtured mind
To explore, it’s a jungle out there
Anyone can mimic a tiger’s roar
So when the gate opens, let it in
For the best of it has yet to come.
When flesh’s endurance encased
Its motions could make one flies
If there is heaven, it is here now
But its beauty won’t last forever
So take its desirous contemplation
To the uppermost level of ecstasy
If one prefers it as the “7th heaven”
Let there be till their flight is over
Fiction cannot substitute real
But if the heart longs for another
In an empty place of spaced time
It clinches thirst for temporal joy!
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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