En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Reflections In A Country Churchyard (Cavatina Sequence)

At the very foot of some green hillocks
covered in
orange flowering aloes and proteas
some rows begin
in a place of tranquillity and rest;
avoid of sin
my father and some saints await the call
of God's clarion gathering large and small.

Some cypress trees are waving in the breeze,
wild doves wander
cooing in the trees, in some rocks a small
salamander
hides from the heat while grass covers the veldt,
no noise slander
through the aeons the rest of forefathers
while that graveyard them together gathers.

Those people had a true great compassion
for fellow men,
were religious zealots but different,
they did know when
to stand back and be selfless in their love,
to find Eden,
daily in sincerity they walked,
of much greater Godly things they talked.

Strange it may seem today but all their time
and wealth was spent
to follow their Godly master's calling;
sacred, decent
were their lives in their love of Him and man,
each small talent
went only to the Lord's eternal cause
for themselves they did not even pause.

poem by Gert Strydom
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I Know The Harsh Wilderness (Roundelay)

I know the harsh wilderness, the wild veldt,
the craggy hillocks I had at times beheld,
the wide open scorching cobalt-blue sky
but the tranquillity I cannot deny.

There are some aloes growing in the crags
their orange-red flowers waving like flags,
like old spots of blood dotted on the eye
but the tranquillity I cannot deny.

Sugar-bush and medlar in spring does flower,
while grass jumps knee-high after each shower,
up in the air falcons and eagles do fly
but the tranquillity I cannot deny.

Time has not influence on this rugged land
where high cliffs are between the grass and sand,
I had seen rock-rabbits run at a single cry
but the tranquillity I cannot deny.

poem by Gert Strydom
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In the Highveld

(after Toon van den Heever)

I

In the Highveld with the sky cobalt blue and open
where rock rabbits, steenbok and baboons revel,
you see the wind skipping through the long grass
and you can still believe in God and His angels,

the rain gathers with thunder
where through the open spaces you can see far into the veldt,
you are astounded by the beauty of flowering proteas
and you still can realize your dependence

but when the city’s rumbling becomes too much,
the jacarandas start flowering in the streets,
buildings of steel and concrete start to curtail you,
you dream about wild flowers appearing everywhere

and it’s the places of a child that you miss,
in the Highveld where the veldt stretches out into the distance.

II

In the Highveld where the veldt stretches out into the distance
and the wind rollicks through the grass
the sky is pure blue and you can look for hours at it,
there you can find freedom from the city’s imprisonment.

When the wind rustles through the march you loose all sadness,
you see the African red-knobbed coot gathering her chickens,
you can hear the finches’ caper, branches full together,
you see every great small happening,

how wild flowers of every imaginable colour
grow as if planted in secret
(and I will go back if I only could)
where I can find some serenity, can have peace
where I will know about God’s heritage;
there the sun shines.

III

There the sun shines
where proteas and aloes flower wildly,
bright up to the horizon
coming out of the earth by themselves

with violets growing purple-blue right through the marsh,
with daisies stretching white over the veldt,
with long tailed widow birds flapping their wings
and the earth is covered with long green grass.

To this piece of ground I am trapped
even when my days are drawing to their end,
it goes even to my heart’s deepest yearning,
with every plant, bush and flower

as it’s bought with sweat and blood,
nobody can strip it from me.

IV

Nobody can strip it from me,
I have to go back to where the sun hangs golden
in the sapphire heaven, I have got to strip the city from me
(but if I only could)

the big desire stays and out of the town I must go
away from the ambulance and police sirens that cuts through everything,
trains whistling almost endlessly,
I have got to go to where only the frog choir and crickets sing.

Again I have got to get the smell of sugar bushes,
smell the rain, spring, summer and even autumn
I must get away from a world where tinned pleasure seduces,
where people use other people for their own pleasure.

I want to stand in the green fields of grass,
when the day dies.

V

When the day dies
letting its last rays fall,
with the birds flying to their nests
darkness comes to this part of the universe,

the doves at dusk still call to each other
as if their voices bind them in the darkness,
you can see the moon sailing golden-yellow through the sky,
you are sometimes blinded by the bright rays,

the city lights glitter far away
in all the colours of the rainbow,
here you want to bond your life to a loved one,
catching her moments long in your eye

when people come together here,
the madness of the human existence is exorcised.

VI

The madness of the human existence is exorcised
even in later years past your own youth,
when you are in the world that your heart desires,
you want to invite the new spring to stay with you

shaking out that which bothers and torments to the early summer wind,
feeling the effervescence of new life,
blinded by the sun you want to find healing
while the whole of spring washes through your life

with the light, air, the flowers, birds and sun splashing down
as if your autumn is only in your imagination,
you want to wash yourself clean from old age,
you are searching for exorcism from the darkness

there are still flowers sprouting out everywhere,
when the colours of autumn smoulder in the trees.

VII

When the colours of autumn smoulder in the trees
with branches being full of coloured leaves,
the sun is still heating as in summer
before the first biting winds begin to whine.

I see opened pod upon opened pod
that lays brown scorched without any signs of seeds,
the dull blue sky has clouds in milky white,
trees become a wild watermill

that is halfway skeleton, halfway still carrying leaves,
afternoons are still drawn out
and even when days earlier end in winter
it’s a time without equal,
as if the summer can last forever,
in the Highveld with the sky cobalt blue and open.

poem by Gert Strydom
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My beautiful flowering trees

My beautiful flowering trees

One day I shall buy some land
Plant countless seeds
And watch them grow
Into beautiful flowering trees

A cool breeze
Will bring me
Sweet fragrances
From a thousand flowering trees

I shall listen
To the songs
From birds perched
In the tall flowering trees

I shall play
With my children and theirs
In the vast expanse of green
Amongst beautiful flowering trees

One day I shall rest
Passing into oblivion
My ashes scattered
Amidst the beautiful flowering trees

by Ash (Rishi's Dad)

poem by Rishi Menon
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The Wattlebirds Kept Busy All The Day

The wattlebirds kept busy all the day
From flowering gum trees chasing them away
But wattlebirds though big are not so fleet
And they can't catch purple crowned lorikeet.

Green neck and back and shoulder patch green brown
And reddish face and purple patch on crown
And orange patch on neck and undersides light blue
They live in small flocks as most small lories do.

These lorikeets in many places rare
But in You Yangs park one sees them everywhere
They feed in groups and fly from tree to tree
And make much noise and prove quite hard to see.

Gregarious birds they spend their daylight hours
Taking nectar from the eucalyptus flowers
And wattlebirds kept busy all the day
From flowering gum trees chasing them away.

poem by Francis Duggan
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A glimpse of God

It’s twilight and there is such serenity, Lord
where I sit at a pond and the water
doesn’t even ripple out,

the eastern sky is still more yellow than orange,
has a soft warm embrace
and I hardly move scared that my presence here

will disturb or destroy the silence
will be blasphemy to your presence
that is still lingering

and the reflection of the rising sun
is a large orange ball on the glittering pool
and the sheer beauty with the wild aloes,

protea flowering trees remind me
of how Eden must have been
and in the slight wind that is now blowing

leaves barely tremble
and this place, this world you are drawing me into
has no threat, no pain or terror

just the grace and splendour of your everlasting love
and the cobalt sky has purity to it, freshness
that is overwhelming.

[Reference: Glimpse of God by Tatamkhulu Afrika.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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A Butterflies Beauty

Butterfly with beautiful wings,
Glides through the summer
breeze,
As the sun shines upon the wings,
Fluttering oh so silently,
Colors of the rainbow begin to
show brightly,
Like the beautiful colors of
the flowers,
Butterflies blend in so perfect,
Making nature look pretty,
Unique patterns on every wing
has its beautiful story,
Just like nature has its own
story,
Where beauty never ends,
Butterflies will always blend in
with almost anything,
Blending in with flowers, grass,
even trees tall and small,
Including a rest on a fawns little
nose,
It is only to say hi and thank you,
for letting me rest my wings,
Now I must be on my way to enjoy
the summer breeze,
Soon it will be winter and I will
have to leave,
No worries I will return when the grass
is green and trees grow their leaves,
When rivers flow with the sunshine warmth,
Animals tall and small roam again from
slumber,
Flowers blossom beautifully,
that is how you know I will return
again,
Fluttering upon the spring and summer
breeze,
All my family will also return to fill
nature with colorful beauty.

poem by Derek James
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Small Trees

I am little like the small trees,
These are at least bigger than flowering plants,
The richness of theirs is far superior to us.
Since they are richer and we are taller,
The magnificent colours shine as they do.
Greenness is our nature as trees,
Whilst they are always colourful
More than us.
The tree of bigness is a lethal organ,
One we sit by and watch growing older.
Then the small trees subjugate the other trees
Far smaller, but we are supposed to respect
The bigger trees, they are certainly not the biggest.
The best of us are longer in health,
Whilst I am little for I am a small tree.

poem by Naveed Akram
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The Joy Of Little Things

It's good the great green earth to roam,
Where sights of awe the soul inspire;
But oh, it's best, the coming home,
The crackle of one's own hearth-fire!
You've hob-nobbed with the solemn Past;
You've seen the pageantry of kings;
Yet oh, how sweet to gain at last
The peace and rest of Little Things!

Perhaps you're counted with the Great;
You strain and strive with mighty men;
Your hand is on the helm of State;
Colossus-like you stride . . . and then
There comes a pause, a shining hour,
A dog that leaps, a hand that clings:
O Titan, turn from pomp and power;
Give all your heart to Little Things.

Go couch you childwise in the grass,
Believing it's some jungle strange,
Where mighty monsters peer and pass,
Where beetles roam and spiders range.
'Mid gloom and gleam of leaf and blade,
What dragons rasp their painted wings!
O magic world of shine and shade!
O beauty land of Little Things!

I sometimes wonder, after all,
Amid this tangled web of fate,
If what is great may not be small,
And what is small may not be great.
So wondering I go my way,
Yet in my heart contentment sings . . .
O may I ever see, I pray,
God's grace and love in Little Things.

So give to me, I only beg,
A little roof to call my own,
A little cider in the keg,
A little meat upon the bone;
A little garden by the sea,
A little boat that dips and swings . . .
Take wealth, take fame, but leave to me,
O Lord of Life, just Little Things.

poem by Robert William Service
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0011 For the Godless but good-natured

If mankind has dethroned the ancient gods,
then what has mankind brought upon itself?

since - no more prayer, requests – no special treats
for those who offer up humility?

no god above the lesser gods – the One
who favoured those who followed ‘our’ stern creed;

no longer faith, or hope, or charity,
no longer blest by loving-kindliness?

what shall we place upon those empty thrones
and still avoid the legion of Man’s sins?

those virtues which our forefathers saw as good –
which made the gods to smile – have they now changed

and Lying, Cheating, Killing, our new gods?
it cannot be.. so what of Reason’s rule?

and what of Love – that even the gods themselves
declared the essence, binding ‘them’ and ‘us’?

so Reason says – what godly things we sought
by some divine decree declared ‘out there’

we must now seek within ourselves; as did
the Greeks; as do the Hindus now;

and find a glorious god within, at rest
until we waken him or her, and shine

as godly good in our most inward self;
believe ourselves so wholly perfect thus,

remembering in ourselves, magnificence
which pours out glory as those gods declared..

but where to start? with gratitude; and praise;
for all those things which so enrich our days;

for thanks and praise in life stand by themself;
they call forth love, which makes all things, oneself.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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About Flowers And Trees

I

Why did the chrysanthemum wait long
to open it's quivering twisted rays?
When other flowers are gone it grows strong
in these much more colder wintry days

with cups making blossoms like anemones
some seen as feathery, plumed, or spidery
growing big or smaller in shaded tones,
in the winter portraying nature's imagery

in bronze, brown, purple, red, pink and white
with a single or semi-double blossom
growing to man's and the Creator's delight
when ripe makes growing very unwholesome.

Why was it not sprouting, rising, growing
at the beginning of the lovely spring?

II

At the beginning of the lovely spring
in the veldt among big acacia trees
when the first drops of rain are visiting,
drawing new life, flowers and buzzing bees

I find the bulbous hyacinth flowering,
and its appearance, its fragrance
is almost totally overpowering
when it makes its sudden appearance

with pale-blue petals of strings all opening
smelling like a tiny perfumery,
with bell shaped small cups that are hanging
bright among the green and brown scenery

displaying the joys of living and life,
many times have I counted groups of five.

III

Many times have I counted groups of five,
in things making the way that nature is
and have seen five eggs coming to live,
five leaves on flowers with five small bees.

Even on some trees that number is right
but strangely sometimes it might be wrong
and while in nature I walk along,
I see different flowers in a throng,

hear various birds singing their beautiful song,
there's something in all flowers, in each tree
that tells something about its makers will
who makes all things how they are to be

I have seen even five bundles to a sheaf;
the trees are butting in flower and leaf.

IV

The trees are butting in flower and leaf
as if some kind of magic word was said,
in rejoicing without any small grief,
the growing long green stems upwards do spread

as if new life has come to them again
like from scratch they are programmed to do,
after receiving power from summer rain
but like humans sometimes they do die too

carrying more bountiful each summer day
to the custom of their kind and their breed
till the summer suddenly dwindles away,
again they are stripped as if in need

and I like the fragrant fresh smell the best,
while walking through a huge pine forest.

V

While walking through a huge pine forest
a gentle wind like a friend greeted me
and for lingering long moments I did rest,
feeling from the whole big world somewhat free

and it was filled with the catching smell
of pine trees and soft in its embrace
for many moments long did I there dwell,
by songs of twittering birds amazed

and I then longed forever to be
among the flying birds, the buzzing bees
and the soft shadows, the tranquillity
of the peaked mountain, the large trees,

but sometimes lightning falls in a blue-white spark,
when the stormy wind blows strong in the dark.

VI

When the stormy wind blows strong in the dark
and the dark black evening suddenly glows
and the wind whispers with a howling bark
among the waving, rocking trees and throws

branches breaking, snapping, twisting, tearing;
you can hear that great savage strange beast
walking about, awoke from slumber stirring
during winter in the forest, in the east

suddenly coming to its greatest strength
somewhere in the thick enveloping fog
as the long night draws out darker at length
while its breaking, mauling log upon log,

from this windy monster I want to be free,
let me find some peace and tranquillity.

VII

Let me find some peace and tranquillity
at some places where man have never trod,
experience the greatest kind of beauty
that still is spared from the iron rod

with which man rules cities, huge countries
let me see miracles, see nature's joys,
away form buildings and big industries,
far away from the scorn, the manmade noise.

Let me smell some sweet wild flowers and lie
on wild grass to find nature's peace and rest
under a clear blue unpolluted sky,
away from even them whom I love best

and I wonder before the winter comes along,
why did the chrysanthemum wait long?

poem by Gert Strydom
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The garden in the hillocks (Tartoum)

Against the rocky slope lies the old white house,
there are roses, lilies and irises that are flowering
between blocks of rock stacked together.

There are roses, lilies and irises that are flowering,
succulents, aloes, torch lilies grow
like tongues of flaming exuberance.

Succulents, aloes, torch lilies grows
as red dots against the rocks that are flaming
as if nature is singing about God’s creation.

As red dots against the rocks that are flaming,
as God’s own lovely garden
proteas, wild wormwood and every wild flower blooms.

As God’s own lovely garden,
as dots full of gleaming fire allows flower
while doves, finches and bush shrikes sing with joy.

As dots full of gleaming fire allows flower
between blocks of rock stacked together
like tongues of flaming exuberance,
as if nature is singing about God’s creation
proteas, wild wormwood and every wild flower blooms
while doves, finches and bush shrikes sing with joy.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Where Does A Poem Begin?

WHAT DOES A POEM MEAN?

Where does a poem begin
And where does a life end
And what does it all mean?

The life the poem who and what we are
The stars will go on until they burn out and die in a time we will never see
The earth itself will go until it dies in the heat given by a dying sun.

All things lovely and beautiful
Grass and trees and lilacs and cities of love and people who care for each other
All good and great things-

Greater poems by far than this will forever not be
And music that makes the heart and mind more sublime.

All is vanity of vanity says the preacher.
Though not because it all returns to what it was
And repeats without end what it will continue to be
But because once and only once
Even our Universe will die.

Oh time oh life oh love oh peace
Oh words that try to mean
And cannot stay more than our own small instant of hearing and fearing
Death is our name
Death death death.

God forgive me
Only You can save us.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Men's Rules

The Organized Church gathered to pass some new church policy today,
But why not just check to see what the Eternal Word of God might say?

They spout we will be a stronger organization, just you wait and see,
But it isn't man who makes you strong, but obeying God's Holy Decree.

But, as a body of men they go on saying we've voted like this before,
It is true, but usually major truths of God's Word have been ignored.

The Pharisees were admonished by Christ for such man made tradition,
I ask you friend; what is the difference with the church's situation?

It's present day Pharisaical doctrine this body molds and rearranges,
The True Foundation, The Lord Himself, The Word of God never changes.

If Jesus Christ the very Head of The Church, today remains the same,
How can a body of sinful men make change and still profess His Name?

For The Lord asked men why call me Lord, and do not the things I say.
Is this question at the root of all the trouble these men face today?

The Lord clearly said call no one else Father for He is up in Heaven,
But they call a man Father, say he's infallible and incapable of sin.

Isaiah warned in the end there'd be people, who follow men's rules,
And just like the Pharisees, The Lord will rebuke hypocritical fools.

So today is the day to get back to The Bible for Godly instruction,
For those who choose to distort God's Word, will come to destruction.

(Copyright © 07/2002)

poem by Bob Gotti
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Lost In Rural Suburbia

Streetlights flicker on at the end of day,
the day is gone,
I am on my way far too suddenly
with headlights on,
all around me many tall buildings rise
solid like stone
there are some busy people everywhere,
are always rushing, going here and there.

Coming is darkness of the early night,
some neon lights flash,
the large city does never really sleep,
some people dash
to be in time for dinner appointments,
heaps of old trash
line some of the long backward narrow streets
where whores and slimy characters meet.

No tranquillity is in this city,
I drive away
to somewhere in a old rural suburb,
the headlights play
over a very old graveyard with trees;
on no new day
all the kinsmen that sleep there will awake,
from the high palisade some old paint flake.

I stop across at a small grocery shop,
life I ponder,
were the lives of all those people fairer?
Here and yonder
they daily worked their farms and cornfields
and I wonder
about changing times, about rural bliss,
about how full of crime daily life now is.

This suburb has a own kind of gentleness
with big old trees,
teenagers in love not knowing about
flowers and bees;
I have got to rush to still shop in time,
some employees
are busy leaving, are on their way home
and I get a smile as the owner's welcome.

poem by Gert Strydom
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An Amber Autumn

Beneath the leaves
Of an amber autumn
I hide myself, deep away
At the foot of the trees

Colors above
That sway in the soft breeze
But I can see only one
The branch of the turtle dove

This cool autumn
Has taken away love
And has thrown it from the trees
It rests at the bottom

So far from here
Over the fields of cotton
The small white turtle doves fly
A journey lasting years

A time has passed
I can think without tears
Back to the amber autumn
That now rests in the past

poem by David DeAngelo
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Obstacle 2

I'm gonna pull you in close gonna wrap you up tight
gonna play with the braids that you came here with tonight
I'm gonna hold your face and toast the snow that fell
because friends don't waste wine when there's words to sell
i feel like love is in the kitchen with a culinary eye
I think he's making something special and I'm smart enough to try
if you don't trust yourself for at least one minute each day
well you should trust in this girl cause loving is coming our way
if you can fix me up girl you'll go a long way
if you can fix me up girl you'll go a long way
I'll stand by all this drinking if it helps me through these days
(take my love in these small doses)
It takes a long time just to get this all straight
(take my love in these small doses)
I'll showcase on route 7 when i find the right place
(take my love in these small doses)
It takes a long time just to get this all straight
(take my love in these small doses)
in my mind
this is my free time
because friends don't waste wine when there's words to sell
if you can fix me up girl you'll go a long way
if you can fix me up girl you'll go a long way
I'll stand by all this drinking if it helps me through these days
(take my love in these small doses)
I've spent a long time corresponding in my own way
(take my love in these small doses)
I'll showcase on route 7 when I find the right place
(take my love in these small doses)
It takes a long time just to get this all straight
(take my love in these small doses)
in my mind
this is my free time
to break it all away
spend it all today
spend it all today
it took time then I found you
it took time then I found you

song performed by by Interpol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bluster Too

We live in times replete
where mere contentiousness
and peace
compete;
where the loving soul
hides
not knowing how to sing in the dark.

If the herd stampedes to some popular view
pause first
rather than follow
will blim and bluster shape the morrow?
Small things in years
will matter least.

Life is the shaping force;
the sculpting of character
where the difference is learned between
large and small matters;

let the small ones die
bury them
with a loving flower
and your hand will gain the golden touch
which plucks
and spreads
true happiness
and with it the seeds
of true peace
and incidentally
abandoned
blim
and bluster.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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In Our Small Way

Refrain
Maybe you and I cant do great things
We may not change the world in one day
But we still can change some things today...
In our small way
Empty words are not enough
Where theres hurt well be a crush
When theres thirst well fill each others cup
Because we care we love enough to share
Refrain
Maybe you and I cant do great things
We may not change the world in one day
But we still can change some things today...
In our small way
In despair well be the hope
And the prayer that frees the soul
Well be there to share each lonely road
Because we love, I know
We care enough
Refrain
Maybe you and I cant do great things
We may not change the world in one day
But we still can change some things today...
In our small way
Just a little time is all it takes
What a difference just a smile can make, youll see
Love is all we need
Refrain
Maybe you and I cant do great things
We may not change the world in one day
But we still can change some things today...
In our small way

song performed by by Michael Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shield Bugs

I was assiduous
organizing my collection.

Had you not been told
what they were,
you might have thought
they were trees and stars,

or an orchard,
a small one of nine large trees,
three to a row,

or a large one of forty-five small conical trees
in nine groups of five,
three to a row,

or, taking part in a contest
to find the largest possible number of trees,
you could add the two together
and have fifty four
and think you had them all.

Some bright spark,
a contestant,
got the idea to replace the lot with wind turbines.

Someone was sure the turbines had been there
before the shield bugs.

Another, threw theory into chaos:
while agreeing that
a tree can be made of stars,
he also asserted,
a star can be made of trees!

Within a steady state of coexistence
each possibility pulsed
in and out of sense.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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I love chinese food! !

I love chinese food, and chinese food loves me,
but in my imaginary land, i am the queen.

The clouds there are orange chicken, the grass is chow mein,
I love my land, mostly because there's no candy canes.

The mountains are huge potsickersand the trees are eggrolls,
whatever I'm craving it falls into a bowl.

It doesn't fall in big, it falls in small,
I'll tell you how small, as small as a golf ball.

It rains soy sauce, and the bushes are broccoli,
the beef is a part, and that part is it's berries.

Whenever go there, it's always fun,
so next time I go, you should really come.

poem by Aubrey Harmel
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