Frangipanis
With bright arms spreading grabbing
the two frangipanis embrace each other,
reach with their fingers to the sun
in a age old gesture
and sometimes they look wild and disorderly
before their flowers burst out in light turquoise
and the wind spread their fragrance,
then they display flowers new and fresh,
while yellow weavers sing happily in their branches
and bees buzz past their flowers.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Pink eucalyptus flowers
Pink eucalyptus flowers
(The flowers are out)
Are scented honey sweet
For bees to buzz about.
Pink eucalyptus flowers
(The flowers are out)
Are fair as any rose
For us to sing about.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Flowers
(orbison/dees)
When I was a boy I ran among the flowers
Looking left and right at the bright array
I played through the spring, whiled away the hours
Lingered with the flowers every day
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
When the summer ends and the storms of life are over
When the winter comes and the petals fall away
They may write it on my stone, he was just a roller
But he stopped to pick some flowers along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, picked some flowers, along the way
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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a Sheaf of red roses
Today I saw
a sheaf of red roses,
which a florist displayed.
The petals was still closed
and was fresh,
as if just cut from the trunk.
The roses were spread wildly
and something of their fragrance,
drifted outside in the air.
The flowers caught
various people’s eyes and some bees,
were flying around at the door.
I just had to get those flowers,
but remembered
that my darling loves sweet peas more.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Outside The August Wind is Playing
Outside the August wind is playing
swinging branches up and down,
grabbing on flowers that are still standing
with fingers which are desiring
and I wait upon birds to appear again
after their around-the-world journey
while knobs are on the branches of fruit trees,
ready to unfold in blossoms
in early spring
but the cold is making its presence known
with ripe lying spread out in the early morning
while the winter season
is still doing its icy thing.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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07. Love, what is Love?
love, oh what is love?
flowers in so many shapes and hues
giving sweetness to butterflies and bees
in so many shapes and hues
in the field, a buzz, a joy, these insects
help create another world
another paradise, warm colourful flower garden
for lovers of the world
help spread cheers everywhere
with the sweetness the flowers
where the flowers are, the butterflies, the bees are
where there is love, joy spreads
wide as the field
just look at the butterflies and the bees
how they cheer up the field with their songs and dance
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Cyclical
CYCLICAL
life blooms
so blooms flowers
fragrance spreads
by wind
wind creates ripples
on rivers and seas
howling seas on beaches
murmurs of the river
brings people around
dwelling spreads
far and near
man’s greed’s so high
want to reach the sky
cracks hole in ozone-layers
that changes weather
the thought of doomsday
all around brings sigh
when reason wins over greed
man’ll go for your lotus feet
trees will grow forest spread
rivers flowers birds sing to greet
everlasting praise of Nature
life blooms
so blooms flowers
fragrance spreads
by wind
wind brings ripples
on rivers on seas
peace prevails all over
Rajkumar @Singapore
09-07-2009
@Rajkumar Mukherjee
poem by Rajkumar Mukherjee
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Bring Flowers
Bring flowers, young flowers, for the festal board,
To wreathe the cup ere the wine is pour'd;
Bring flowers! they are springing in wood and vale,
Their breath floats out on the southern gale,
And the touch of the sunbeam hath waked the rose,
To deck the hall where the bright wine flows.
Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror's path-
He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath!
He comes with the spoils of nations back,
The vines lie crush'd in his chariot's track,
The turf looks red where he won the day-
Bring flowers to die in the conqueror's way!
Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell,
They have tales of the joyous woods to tell;
Of the free blue streams, and the glowing sky,
And the bright world shut from his languid eye;
They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours,
And a dream of his youth-bring him flowers, wild flowers!
Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to wear!
They were born to blush in her shining hair.
She is leaving the home of her childhood's mirth,
She hath bid farewell to her father's hearth,
Her place is now by another's side-
Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride!
Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed,
A crown for the brow of the early dead!
For this through its leaves hath the white-rose burst,
For this in the woods was the violet nurs'd.
Though they smile in vain for what once was ours,
They are love's last gift-bring ye flowers, pale flowers!
Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer,
They are nature's offering, their place is there!
They speak of hope to the fainting heart,
With a voice of promise they come and part,
They sleep in dust through the wintry hours,
They break forth in glory-bring flowers, bright flowers!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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The Flower-School
When storm-clouds rumble in the sky and June showers come down.
The moist east wind comes marching over the heath to blow its
bagpipes among the bamboos.
Then crowds of flowers come out of a sudden, from nobody knows
where, and dance upon the grass in wild glee.
Mother, I really think the flowers go to school underground.
They do their lessons with doors shut, and if they want to
come out to play before it is time, their master makes them stand
in a corner.
When the rain come they have their holidays.
Branches clash together in the forest, and the leaves rustle
in the wild wind, the thunder-clouds clap their giant hands and the
flower children rush out in dresses of pink and yellow and white.
Do you know, mother, their home is in the sky, where the stars
are.
Haven't you see how eager they are to get there? Don't you
know why they are in such a hurry?
Of course, I can guess to whom they raise their arms; they
have their mother as I have my own.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Lily-Bell and Thistledown Song I
Awake! Awake! for the earliest gleam
Of golden sunlight shines
On the rippling waves, that brightly flow
Beneath the flowering vines.
Awake! Awake! for the low, sweet chant
Of the wild-birds' morning hymn
Comes floating by on the fragrant air,
Through the forest cool and dim;
Then spread each wing,
And work, and sing,
Through the long, bright sunny hours;
O'er the pleasant earth
We journey forth,
For a day among the flowers.
Awake! Awake! for the summer wind
Hath bidden the blossoms unclose,
Hath opened the violet's soft blue eye,
And awakened the sleeping rose.
And lightly they wave on their slender stems
Fragrant, and fresh, and fair,
Waiting for us, as we singing come
To gather our honey-dew there.
Then spread each wing,
And work, and sing,
Through the long, bright sunny hours;
O'er the pleasant earth
We journey forth,
For a day among the flowers.
poem by Louisa May Alcott
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Season-8
Ah
Spring of love flowers
Vasant
Green
Signals to flourish
Fertile
Waltz
Around flowers
Butterflies
Buzz
Bees and beetles
Honeysucklers
Paired
Couples ring the bell
Wedlock-season
poem by Indira Renganathan
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African Bee
The African Bee.
Yellow flowers in a ring protected by olive trees
no one knows their name I have to ask a botanist
for their Latin name. The dale side here has many
stone walls, tiny if seen from the moon overgrown
now those small plots of land yielding nothing but
poverty and deep seated resentment. The flowers
are not lilies, I can see that, it will soon be Easter
and the little church will be full of women, while
most men will hang about outside, near the bar,
white and yellow butterfly flies unsteadily around
in the wind and, and bumblebees drink from deep
red poppies. A swarm of killer bees fly by, I do not
speak or move till they are gone. My brother in law
Nené who live in Kinshasa, Congo, tells me that
the bees there live, exclusively, on orchid dew and
they are big as sparrows and can sting an elephant
till it dreams of yesterday, maybe it isn’t true but
I would not like to b stung by them. Now that the ice
on the poles melts will we see a fauna of rare flowers?
if so there must be bees there too and the friendly
bumblebee,
poem by Oskar Hansen
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I Feel That I am Free
To me the sky looks bluer,
And the green grass greener still,
And earth's flowers seem more lovely
As they bloom on heath and hill.
There's a beauty breathing round me
Like a newborn Eden now,
And forgotten are the furrows
Grief has graven on my brow.
There is gladness in the sunshine,
As its gold light gilds the trees,
And I hear a voice of music
Singing to me in the breeze.
There is in my heart a lightness
That seemeth not of me,
For today I've burst from bondage,
And I feel that I am free.
Free in the golden sunshine,
Free in the fresh pure air,
Where the flowers of the forest
In their wild homes flourish fair.
Free to thought to give expression,
To sing, to dance, and show
That the stern world has not crushed me
With its weary weight of woe.
Are the years of care and sorrow
But a dark dream of the past,
Or this new life but a vision
That is all too bright to last?
How exaltingly my spirit
Flashes forth its newborn glee,
As amid rejoicing nature
I can feel that I am free.
I have neither friend nor loved one
To welcome me, nor home;
And lonely through the wide world
As a stranger I must roam;
I know not where tomorrow
To procure my daily bread,
And tonight the waving branches
Must canopy my head.
But if I had a palace,
If of friends a gladsome throng,
If some darling one were near me
To cheer with love and song,
If I'd riches which were boundless,
No more joyous could I be
Than what I am, exulting
In the thought that I am free.
Free in the bright glad sunshine,
Free in the fresh pure air,
My heart with gladness throbbing,
And on my brow no care.
There's the blue sky all above me -
Not a prison roof between -
And at my feet the flowers
Nestle in the verdure green.
Hark! I hear the breezes singing -
'Lift thy heart to God on high,
Who hath brought theee back from sorrow
To this world of hope and joy.'
And the little nodding flowers
In a chorus sing to me -
'If God from sin shall free thee,
Then thou shalt indeed be free!'
poem by Owen Suffolk
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The Maple Tree
The Maple with its tassell flowers of green
That turns to red, a stag horn shapèd seed
Just spreading out its scallopped leaves is seen,
Of yellowish hue yet beautifully green.
Bark ribb'd like corderoy in seamy screed
That farther up the stem is smoother seen,
Where the white hemlock with white umbel flowers
Up each spread stoven to the branches towers
And mossy round the stoven spread dark green
And blotched leaved orchis and the blue-bell flowers -
Thickly they grow and neath the leaves are seen.
I love to see them gemm'd with morning hours.
I love the lone green places where they be
And the sweet clothing of the Maple tree.
poem by John Clare
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Active Bees Fly In The Garden
Beautiful flowers in the orchid,
Active bees fly in the garden round and round,
They are humming around each and every flower,
They go around smelling for honey flavor,
Are those flowers Poppy or Rose?
While the bees find lots of flower,
They are happy and dance forever,
They will consume lots of honey,
They will inebriate and buzz
as if consumed wine in a winery!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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Graves
I dreamed one man stood against a thousand,
One man damned as a wrongheaded fool.
One year and another he walked the streets,
And a thousand shrugs and hoots
Met him in the shoulders and mouths he passed.
He died alone.
And only the undertaker came to his funeral.
Flowers grow over his grave anod in the wind,
And over the graves of the thousand, too,
The flowers grow anod in the wind.
Flowers and the wind,
Flowers anod over the graves of the dead,
Petals of red, leaves of yellow, streaks of white,
Masses of purple sagging…
I love you and your great way of forgetting.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Care for the Worst
Yellow flowers absorbed around her feet
Tears that reflect mother’s golden sun rays
A quiet walk in the arms of placid fields
Where no one sees her restless body lay
Her weak fingers trace drawings in the dirt
As the day brings warmth to her little face
Slowly she drifts farther away hurtles
To her own creation of bliss places
People with sparked sympathy of sad stares
Embrace the earth stroking her dainty hands
They only take notice to express their care
When the worst grows and takes a dreadful stand
Yellow flowers absorbed around her feet
An eternal moment of spirits free
poem by Marijke McKinney
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Flowers
Do you not say
I’m omnipotent,
Omnipresent?
I created you,
Your family
And the nature
Around you.
Would I not be able to
Smell and see the flowers
That surround you?
Why pick them up in lots,
Pluck them off their
Lives, sew them with
Needles, and gift them
As garlands to an image
Of me: your temple deity.
What joy I get, tell me?
If I see my creations
Being ravaged by man’s
Ruthless hands. Like you,
They would love to live
A carefree life of freedom
And sunshine.
Why smother them
Prematurely, wither them
With your plucking fingers?
Don’t crush them to offer me
Pushpanjali.
Let them breathe in the
Breeze of the garden
Where they belong…
Let the bees savour their nectar.
Do not give me bouquets
Of dying flowers…
I’m just as happy
To see them
Blossom :)
In the branches of
The swinging trees.
Why make them bare and barren?
They look so naked without their
Adornments – the beautiful flowers
That drape them in beauty…
Listen to me, my dear devotee.
You happen to see me everywhere,
Don’t you?
You talk of my omnipresence,
So why don’t you see
That I don’t need
Flowers from thee
To please me.
They are there for nature to show us
How flowers look beautiful in their
Natural beauty…don’t pluck, please.
Won’t you heed me?
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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The Sylvan Grave
Lay me not, when I die, in the place of the dead,
With the dwellings of men round my resting place spread,
But amidst the still forest, unseen and alone,
Where the waters go by with a murmuring tone;
Where the wild bird above me may wave its dark wing,
And the flowers I have loved from my ashes may spring;
Where affection's own blossom may lift its blue eye,
With an eloquent glance from the place where I lie.
Let the rose and the woodbine be there, to enwreath
A bright chaplet of bloom for the pale brow of death;
And the clover's red blossom be seen, that the hum
Of the honey-bee's wing, may for requiem come:
And when those I have loved, ‘midst the changes of earth,
The clouds of its sorrow, its sunshine of mirth,
Shall visit the spot where my cold relics lie,
And gaze on its flowers with a tear-moisten'd eye—
Let them think that my spirit still sometimes is there,
My breath the light zephyr that twines in their hair,
And these flowers, in their fragrance, a memory be,
To tell them thus sweet was their friendship to me.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Love Of Flowers
Petals of flowers are bursting with joy,
Instilling the hatred and love of humanity,
Flowers are godly when discussed,
Inciting ink and heavenly pens.
The flowers of religion are past design,
The causes of our men and women of heart
Recline on the causes of all.
Let religion burst with colours
We find pleasurable and kind,
And no plant or animal must create us
Like the one who does.
poem by Naveed Akram
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