Lost Love (English Sonnet)
Sheer grief did drive him almost off his mind
and suddenly some strange things he can see
and odd things that no other man can find
becomes clear, but this is not sympathy
and he can see tiny flowers growing,
their buds opening petal by small petal
every bird's wing in motion fluttering
rocks glimmering with their inner metal
and amplified sound comes to his ear,
the wind rushing along in the distance
the chirping of some small finches in fear
and though almost godlike the hindrance
between him and his beloved dear wife
he cannot pass, enter that place alive.
poem by Gert Strydom
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From Severe Sorrow He Almost Went Mad
(after Robert Ranke Graves)
From severe sorrow he almost went mad
when he suddenly saw some strange things
in nature and the universe
and maybe it came from to much sorrow;
he noticed small things like falling leaves,
the smallest white flower slowly opening,
the first tiny whistle of a small bird,
thunder hitting far in the distance
even rocks glistening with black metal,
he even saw wings of birds fluttering,
the movement of every small snake,
but between life and death he could not reach
and he could not look at his buried wife
or living go to that other kingdom.
poem by Gert Strydom
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There Is A Kind Of Silence In Your Eyes (Stave Stanza Sestets)
There is a kind of silence in your eyes,
a glimmering purer than all the skies
that with tranquility speaks to my heart
draw me much nearer when we are apart,
there's something that I grasp, in a way hear,
something very frail when you are too near.
As a perfect white rose during the spring
is petal by tiny petal opening
so very fragile you do enclose me,
so very lovely is your sheer beauty,
there is something that becomes quite clear,
something very frail when you are too near.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Petal Game
pick a flower
to play the petal game
pluck a petal
he loves me
pluck a petal
I don't love him
pluck a petal
he keeps getting closer
pluck a petal
I keep pushing him away
pluck a petal
he is always around me
pluck a petal
I hide away from him
pluck a petal
he is always protecting me
pluck a petal
I just punch him in the gut
pluck a petal
he never seems to get it
pluck a petal
I really hate his guts
pluck a petal
he just really bugs me
pluck a petal
I need a new flower now
pick a flower
to play the petal game
poem by Amber Lyn Charneski
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Perhaps Especially In Old Age/How Happiness Comes Suddenly From Such Small Things
PERHAPS ESPECIALLY IN OLD AGE/HOW HAPPINESS COMES SUDDENLY FROM SUCH SMALL THINGS
Perhaps especially in old age,
How happiness comes suddenly from such small things-
The surprising sight of glistening leaves,
A shaft of sunlight on a cold morning,
The sky opening up after the rain-
Small perceptions and deep feelings
Happiness from such small things
even in old age.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Question
O bird with heart of wassail,
That toss the Bacchic branch,
And slip your shaken music,
An elfin avalanche;
Come tell me, O tell me,
My poet of the blue!
What's YOUR thought of me, Sweet?--
Here's MY thought of you.
A small thing, a wee thing,
A brown fleck of nought;
With winging and singing
That who could have thought?
A small thing, a wee thing,
A brown amaze withal,
That fly a pitch more azure
Because you're so small.
Bird, I'm a small thing--
My angel descries;
With winging and singing
That who could surmise?
Ah, small things, ah, wee things,
Are the poets all,
Whose tour's the more azure
Because they're so small.
The angels hang watching
The tiny men-things:-
'The dear speck of flesh, see,
With such daring wings!
'Come, tell us, O tell us,
Thou strange mortality!
What's THY thought of us, Dear?--
Here's OUR thought of thee.'
'Alack! you tall angels,
I can't think so high!
I can't think what it feels like
Not to be I.'
Come tell me, O tell me,
My poet of the blue!
What's YOUR thought of me, Sweet?--
Here's MY thought of you.
poem by Francis Thompson
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Dunno
oh my sweet valentine, i guess i knew you well.
Left my old better half to be all by myself.
Though i don't have long i know, i'll just let my lovin' show
Cause there aint nothin like a petal in a rainstorm
No there aint nothin like a petal in a rainstorm
No there aint nothin like a petal in a rainstorm
Love can't keep you warm my dear
And we're never far from home. that place where we all go.
And i can't wait to get there sometimes. sometimesit's such fun to be alive.
Oh my sweet serenade, i guess we tore it up
Nighttime sang our song until we gave it up
Though i don't have long i know, i'll just let my lovin' show
Cause there aint nothin like a petal in a rainstorm
No there aint nothin like a petal in a rainstorm
No there aint nothin like a petal in a rainstorm
Love can't keep you warm my dear
And we're never far from home. that place where we all go.
And i can't wait to get there sometimes. sometimesit's such fun to be alive.
song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Must Have Been In Early Part Of Spring (Cornish Sonnet)
It must have been in early part of spring
that bees and butterflies were still around
I saw small things fluttering on a wing
some small deer were threading through the dark wood
leaving tiny tracks all over the ground
while silently, looking, grazing some stood
while some did disappear in the mist
sadness was in my heart on that bright day
while of them I got not a single gist
as some wildness did suddenly sweep in
before that old thick fog did burn away
and my sightseeing really did begin
It must have been in early part of spring
while some did disappear in the mist.
poem by Gert Strydom
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There Is
there is beauty in smaller things
a single red petal of a rose
in my pocket
a white pebble hidden
in my shoe
a lock of hair of my beloved
inserted
in a page of my favorite poem
a little space where i sit
in my garden
a single tree to shade
my head
a little bird singing above
my hair
a small rock where i can
just sit
and feel the slow
movement of this earth
in here
there is peace and quiet
in here
i am king
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Worm And The Flower
and so it happens
that each kept each nature
unique to itself
even in their own terms
of loving
the flower bloomed
the worm ate it
petal by petal
time justifies the consumption
upon the wings of
a beautiful butterfly
the wind still loves the sound
of the flutters
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Things Clear Only to Me
The Wind swirls around me,
It swirls and shoots up a tree.
It rustles the leaves,
And over the Dryad weaves.
The wind I can see,
And things clear only to me!
Up a branch the Dryad prances,
And with the wind she dances!
Floating, the wind goes,
Up to the roof, and slows.
To the horse weathervane,
And there it ruffles his mane.
Then down I see him turn,
Not a horse, but flying unicorn!
The wind I run after,
To hear hearty laughter.
Behind the large rock I peek,
The laughing one to seek.
There a joke is read to a troll,
from a very old scroll.
I laugh too as I go,
Now the wind swoops low.
Down to the flowers small,
Where I hear tiny fairies call.
I cannot understand the sound,
Like me with grown-ups around.
Then I watch, and sigh,
As the wind lifts a dragon high.
Up there I cannot go,
Only feel the fire blow!
This is when I turn back,
The wind has gone slack.
I no longer see it swirl,
Or the other things in its' curl.
A blazing sun in the sky,
Is left from the dragon's fly.
On the flowers buzz bees,
No fairies below my knees.
I walk past the stone,
It and I are alone.
The horse up on the roof,
Makes no move, he's aloof.
The tree is empty and still,
The Dryad gone, gone until…
Until the wind comes again,
Swooping through this lane.
Then the wind I will see,
And things clear only to me!
poem by Elisabeth Hines
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No Colour
Soft is the petal of a rose.
Wet is the dew on it’s head
Sweet is the fragrance of a flowers scent.
Loud are the cries from an infant.
What colours adorn these things?
What beauty do I miss?
The petal is soft under my touch,
almost velvet in suggestion.
My teardrops taste salty,
as they run my cheek.
Waves of fragrances sweep through the air,
as their perfume surrounds me.
Strange cries I hear in morning hours,
awake me from a sleepy head.
You take all this for granted,
what I miss as I pass this way.
You see what I can’t imagine,
now and everyday.
I walk with a white stick,
as I travel on my way.
You walk with eyes wide open,
still missing everything I say.
No colours adorn my world,
nothing is what my eyes see.
But, can you describe a colour?
So a blind man can see.
poem by David Harris
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Weltschmerz
my hands are always small
enough to cover
a weeping face, my body too frail
to stay at the corner of one
hospital where one by one
the friends of friends are dying...
my heart too tiny for grief,
the universe is grief, and the stars are too small to appease the tears of rain...
my feet are always not enough
for the thorns
the rocks
my brain is a tiny speck of dust
to the howling storm of misunderstanding
i wish i had enough space to scatter whatever i have
till i am finished with this
struggle for emptiness...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Children Of Stare
Winter is fallen early
On the house of Stare;
Birds in reverberating flocks
Haunt its ancestral box;
Bright are the plenteous berries
In clusters in the air.
Still is the fountain’s music,
The dark pool icy still,
Whereupon a small and sanguine sun
Floats in a mirror on,
Into a West of crimson,
From a South of daffodil.
’Tis strange to see young children
In such a wintry house;
Like rabbits’ on the frozen snow
Their tell-tale footprints go;
Their laughter rings like timbrels
’Neath evening ominous:
Their small and heightened faces
Like wine-red winter buds;
Their frolic bodies gentle as
Flakes in the air that pass,
Frail as the twirling petal
From the briar of the woods.
Above them silence lours,
Still as an arctic sea;
Light fails; night falls; the wintry moon
Glitters; the crocus soon
Will open grey and distracted
On earth’s austerity:
Thick mystery, wild peril,
Law like an iron rod:—
Yet sport they on in Spring’s attire,
Each with his tiny fire
Blown to a core of ardour
By the awful breath of God.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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The Curse
Oh, lay my ashes on the wind
That blows across the sea.
And I shall meet a fisherman
Out of Capri,
And he will say, seeing me,
"What a Strange Thing!
Like a fish's scale or a
Butterfly's wing."
Oh, lay my ashes on the wind
That blows away the fog.
And I shall meet a farmer boy
Leaping through the bog,
And he will say, seeing me,
"What a Strange Thing!
Like a peat-ash or a
Butterfly's wing."
And I shall blow to YOUR house
And, sucked against the pane,
See you take your sewing up
And lay it down again.
And you will say, seeing me,
"What a strange thing!
Like a plum petal or a
Butterfly's wing."
And none at all will know me
That knew me well before.
But I will settle at the root
That climbs about your door,
And fishermen and farmers
May see me and forget,
But I'll be a bitter berry
In your brewing yet.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Height In Depth
HE turned his face apart, and gave a sigh
And a strange whimper—such a pitiful thing
As haunts the heart for days. “Yes, Love can bring
Unto a pass so low that it seems high:
And, when we see a brave and strong man cry
With a poor infant's feeble sorrowing,
It is a nobler passion than to wing
Shafts of small angers and small prides,” thought I.
There is a love so deaf that it can hear
Not even its own voice which bids it seek
A name for its own meanness: it would find
The outlet else. But thus it is a sheer
Humility—an earnestness so meek
That your knees bow and sharp tears make you blind.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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One Small Step
So many people
Need to go so many miles
How do we move them
To where the answer lies
Reach out to the ocean
Beyond the stars that shine
Weve got to take one small step in time
If we are the dreamers
Then the world must be the dream
Driven to question
All the things weve never seen
We search the horizon
Looking for a sign
Weve got to take one small step in time
One step beyond
All our hopes and our passion
There is the light of the universe flashin
All that it takes is one leap of faith
One small step, (one small step)
One small step in time
Deep in the darkness
(deep in the blackness)
Theres a wind that never dies
(theres a wind that never dies)
Out in the vastness
(out in the vastness)
Theres a road across the sky
(a road across the sky)
Out there is the reason
That we were meant to find
Weve got to take one small step in time
Weve got to take one small step in time
(one small step, one small step)
One small step in time
(one small step, one small step)
One small step in time
(one small step, one small step)
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Dying Flower
Each Flower Petal Slowly Dying
Light Whispers Of Death
Hanging In The Brisk Afternoon Air
Lightly A Petal Floats Towards The Ground
A Gust Of Wind Quickly Whisks It Away
One By One The Flower Becomes Bearer
As Each Petal Vanishes.
The Day's Become Darker
The Nights Lighten
And The Flower Becomes Lonely
Till Eventually Only A Stem Remains
To Show It's Cycle Of Life.
The Flower Willows Towards It's End
The Petals Become Scarce
What Once Used To Be A Colour Delight
Now Hangs In Deaths Mist
As An Emerald Waiting...
Waiting For The Last Petal To Die.
Finally The Emerald Stem Dies Away
And Slowly Decay
For Again One Day
It Shall Show Its Colours
And Whistle In The Wind
With All It's Petals In Full Bloom...
poem by Ian Humphreys
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Improvisations: Light And Snow: 08
Many things perplex me and leave me troubled,
Many things are locked away in the white book of stars
Never to be opened by me.
The starr’d leaves are silently turned,
And the mooned leaves;
And as they are turned, fall the shadows of life and death.
Perplexed and troubled,
I light a small light in a small room,
The lighted walls come closer to me,
The familiar pictures are clear.
I sit in my favourite chair and turn in my mind
The tiny pages of my own life, whereon so little is written,
And hear at the eastern window the pressure of a long wind, coming
From I know not where.
How many times have I sat here,
How many times will I sit here again,
Thinking these same things over and over in solitude
As a child says over and over
The first word he has learned to say.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Sandpiper
The roaring waves that is shaking the beach
the hissing surf that shines like glass
is part of its world and continually it is just out of reach
where wave upon wave is passing as it runs fast
and it is quick on little brittle dark feet
where sucking small sand grains
sweep in and out and water foams on sheet upon sheet
and there the rushing little bird remains
while its world is at times filled with vapour
and then again suddenly clear
it is focussing on things minutely small while waters roar
are drawing very near
it is continually searching for some allure
it runs and runs on little feet that are sure
poem by Gert Strydom
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Gradually you grow into my life
Gradually you grow into my life,
you reconnoitre my body, soul and spirit
as if you are suddenly starting a new journey,
taking to the road without any fear
and on the way you become part of me
as my own wonderful wife
and before long
I am madly in love with you,
when hours suddenly escape in your presence,
when the morning comes far too suddenly after the night,
when continually I miss you when we are apart,
when small things suddenly do amaze me,
when together we take on weeks, months and years
when as the most lovely woman you are beside me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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