Sick-bed
My head throbs from a headache
and the flu gnaws
burning at my throat,
but the blue of the air
seeps friendly in through my room’s window.
Outside at the Tuscan mural
and the small bubbling fountain,
sparrows are washing,
splashing and chirping.
The garden’s odours vapours
through my blocked nose
and lavender and rosemary
lies snugly against me.
While illness bring my day to an end,
outside the day carries on
and the tranquillity
comes in from outside and surrounds me.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stealing Rosemary
If you need me
Ill be here
On my knees
On my knees
In the neighbors garden
Where the light is growing long
Stealing rosemary for you, my love
Its the tiny lies I tell
For you to please
You to please
Early in the morning
When the light is growing strong
Stealing rosemary for you, my love
Im stealing rosemary
Flowers crushing on my skin
Tuscan blue
All for you
Caught in rain and running
Home to you
Im coming home
Stealing rosemary for you, my love
Im stealing rosemary for you, my love
Stealing rosemary
song performed by by Bangles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Early one afternoon
Early one afternoon
I walked through the streets
of a small village
and it had to be in Italy
and was probably in Corona
or Tuscany.
a Baker with a white overcoat
and white hat on his head
rang on his bike’s bell for me
and pedalled pass,
with an old green bike
at the Pizza Palour.
There were long white breads
and green wine bottles,
in the baskets of his bicycle
and he had a big bush
of red blue lanvender flowers in one hand.
Across from me there were three small tables
with white table-covers,
at the Villa Toscana
and I could read some dishes
from the menu on the wall.
At the wall a young woman
with dark hair and an indigo dress
laughed sharp and bright,
while she waited
that a well built waitress
pour some more wine.
The image of the beautiful waitress
with black hair and deep dark eyes,
that bends forward
still stays with me.
In front of me at Le Art
there were a row of paintings,
depicting nudes to the finest detail
on painter’s easels.
I walked nearer
and I could see rows of violet lavender bushes
against the ridge in the distance
and Villa’s, that stand yellow gold
up on the hill
and looked impressive
against the deep blue sky.
When I got back to myself
I was at the fountain
in front of the mural
in our garden
and the golden Persian cat,
watched me from the top of the wall
with a woolly tail that curled down
and it looked with golden eyes at me.
[Reference: Tuscan mural by Mandi. See the painting at my webpage: http: //www.mabooki.com/poems/display/1417_Early_one_af ternoon.htm]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Garden in my inner square
I planted a vegetable garden
in the inner square opposite a mural
and next to it there are flowers that only in the morning hour
spread their cups and spiral up against every side,
where it finds a holding place and grow hillock on hillock
over every thing with purple flowers that only last a short time.
I planted a vegetable garden
in the inner square opposite a mural,
where mountains tooth out blue in the background
and field after field of purple lavender bushes stand at the front
and there’s a shop owner sending his servants on bicycles around
and at the bottom in fruitful red sand
a vegetable garden was planted by me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Rosemary
THERE was a long path through the fern,—
O Rosemary, dost thou not know?
A silver maple at the turn,
A little gate below.
There was a youth, there was a maid,
She in the light, he in the shade,
When all the world was fair to see,—
O Rosemary, O Rosemary!
There was a briar by the wall,—
O Rosemary, hast thou forgot?
A slender, tender hand and small,
Stained with a crimson spot.
There was a little cry of pain,
Two heads bent low, then raised again;
And all the sun seemed poured on me,—
O Rosemary, O Rosemary!
There came a sail upon the bay,—
O Rosemary, didst thou foreknow?
Two blue eyes wandered far away,
Two cheeks were all aglow:—
A sail which neared and grew until
It cast a heart in shadow chill;
When someone's ship came in from sea,—
O Rosemary, O Rosemary!
poem by Abbie Farwell Brown from The New England Magazine / Volume 23, Issue 3 (1897)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Going to Tuscany
Just outside the window
at the fountain
a place in Tuscany
runs into violet hills
of lavender
against the outer wall
and sweet lavender perfume
drifts into the room.
In the corridor
between the bedrooms
and your studio
paintings of scenes
in Tuscany
shows where your heart
wants to go.
On the bed next to me
twin peaks with delicate
red brown nipples
rise inviting
with their own
perfume drawing me closer
to fields of your lavender.
To some they could be
big South African rondavels
shading against the African sun,
but more likely they
are pale white villas
set high above your sea
where beyond auburn bushes
is as secret hidden pond.
Streets meander up and down
soft and firm
arms and legs
while Tuscany rises
in the middle of me
and a hot welcome breezes
like the Tuscan wind
against my hand
and I feel passionate rain
between your legs
and I see daylight and stars
in your eyes
and your lashes
open and close
like table-clothes
jerked by a storm
coming in from the sea
in great old Tuscany
and I drive my Tuscany into you,
into a street of wondrous delicacies
and we go to Tuscany
where fields of lavender grow
and I know that it is like heaven
but somewhere here on earth
and Tuscany reflects in your eyes
and I hear it in your sighs
and Tuscany is right here.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Blue Room, The
We'll have a blue room
A new room for two room
Where ev'ry day's a holiday
Because you're married to me.
Not like a ballroom
A small room, A hall room
Where I can smoke my pipe away
With your wee head upon my knee.
We will thrive on, keep alive on
Just nothing but kisses
With Mister and Missus
On little blue chairs.
You sew your trousseau
And Robinson Crusoe
Is not so far from worldly cares
As our blue room far away upstairs
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That blue sea...
The waves are splashing against the cloud mountains
I stop and listen as I take a drink from life's fountain.
The clouds roll in on me so heavily
I feel the rains presence as I hear to the roaring sea.
That blue sea that takes you in and washes you away
To somewhere you may or may not want to stay.
That blue sea that you look in for answers
that blue ocean that questions your questions
or gives you an answer within a question
That blue sea that leaves your thoughts
within its deep blue content.
That feeling it gives leaving you absent...
of what could happen as that blue sea waves.
Washing away the thoughts and emotion you felt
That blue sea that your secrets swim within
That blue sea you float in continuously
That blue sea of reality.
where the dolphins are swimming
while the sunlight is dimming.
as they swim across the blue open sea...
you realize the dolphin that you are meant to be.
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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Rosemary Rose
Rosemary rose,
Nature sure gave you such a beautiful nose.
though youre not beautiful as someone would know,
That rosemary rose,
Has eyes of blue,
And someone is treasuring a picture of you,
Taken on a holiday when you were just three,
My sweet rosemary.
You look nothing like a child,
Yet youre such a little baby.
Chewing on your liquorish gum, and cigarettes.
Rosemary rose,
Carefully sewing on your buttons and bows.
Hoping that someone will be wanting to know,
Of rosemary rose.
You look nothing like a child,
Yet youre such a little baby.
Chewing on your liquorish gum, and cigarettes.
Rosemary rose,
Carefully sewing on your buttons and bows.
Hoping that someone will be wanting to know,
Of rosemary rose.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In water tray (dectina refrain)
Look
at the
bird splashing
in the water,
in clear rainwater,
bathing while slapping wings,
chattering telling others
how nice it is to be washing,
inviting them nearer, splashing them wet.
Look at the bird splashing in the water.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Choice
When skies are blue and days are bright
A kitchen-garden's my delight,
Set round with rows of decent box
And blowsy girls of hollyhocks.
Before the lark his Lauds hath done
And ere the corncrake's southward gone;
Before the thrush good-night hath said
And the young Summer's put to bed.
The currant-bushes' spicy smell,
Homely and honest, likes me well,
The while on strawberries I feast,
And raspberries the sun hath kissed.
Beans all a-blowing by a row.
Of hives that great with honey go,
With mignonette and heaths to yield
The plundering bee his honey-field.
Sweet herbs in plenty, blue borage
And the delicious mint and sage,
Rosemary, marjoram, and rue,
And thyme to scent the winter through.
Here are small apples growing round,
And apricots all golden-gowned,
And plums that presently will flush
And show their bush a Burning Bush.
Cherries in nets against the wall,
Where Master Thrush his madrigal
Sings, and makes oath a churl is he
Who grudges cherries for a fee.
Lavender, sweet-briar, orris. Here
Shall Beauty make her pomander,
Her sweet-balls for to lay in clothes
That wrap her as the leaves the rose.
Take roses red and lilies white,
A kitchen garden's my delight;
Its gillyflowers and phlox and cloves,
And its tall cote of irised doves.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Dark Blue By Jack Mannequinn
I have, I have you breathing down my neck, breathing down my neck
I don't, don't know what you could possibly expect under this condition so
I'll wait, I'll wait for the ambulance to come, ambulance to come
Pick us up off the floor what did you possibily expect under this condition so
Slow down, this nights a perfect shade of
Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning and burning down
Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning 'til there's nothing but dark blue
Just dark blue
And this flood, this flood is slowly rising up, swallowing the ground
Beneath, my feet. Tell me how anybody thinks under this condition so
I'll swim, I'll swim as the water rises up sun is sinking down and now
All I can see are the planets in a row suggesting it's best that I
Slow down this nights a perfect shade of
Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning and burning down
Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning dark blue
We were boxing, we were boxing the stars
We were boxing (we were boxing) you were swinging from Mars
And then the water reached the west coast
And took the power lines, the power lines
And it was me and you and the whole town underwater
There was nothing we could do
It was dark blue
Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning and burning down
Dark blue, dark blue
Have you ever been alone in a crowded room while I'm here with you
I said the world could be burning now there's nothing but dark blue
If you've ever been alone you'll know dark blue
If you've ever been alone you'll know, you'll know
poem by Joshua Burckhard
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Forever
The bright blue
folds open through the room’s window
and I see rows of purple morning glories
that shoots in domes up to the wall.
There are purple irises
that keeps butterflies busy
and bees turn around the roses
and I can hear
them passing outside
and the soft sweet smell of jasmine
mixes with lavender
on the fresh morning breeze
and the ginger golden Persian cat
stretches himself out long
on the wall
of the fish pond
where he lies
looking at the world.
Somewhere Sussa
(the big black dog)
talks grumbling with herself
and I hear Flippie
passing carefully
on her small paws
in the corridor
and we are safe
in our fortress
and your hand lies
soft and spoiling over me
and I hear your breathing evenly
and while you sleep next to me
and I could stay forever like this.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Lavender Days
Lavender inspiration guides me...
Through orchards and vineyards grown
Revitalizing my inner essence
Blessing the Lavender-Blue sown;
In my minds eyes i oft' meditate-
'Tis Lavender Fields now or never...
Transporting me into Vales O' Bliss
Leading me into my Lavender Forever;
O' mighty Spirit O' Nature...
Strengthen me with your sweet power--
Free me in your fields O' Blue and Purple...
Shelter me in your Emerald Bower;
poem by Theodora Onken
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In Lavender And Green
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With bells about your feet,
And music in your step,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With sunshine in your eyes,
And springtime in your hair,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With softness in your words,
And healing in your touch,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With your name upon my lips,
And delight within your kiss,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green,
In dreams at midnight’s rest,
Or afternoon’s recline?
Come then to me in lavender and green.
Will you come to me in lavender and green,
At the setting of the sun,
When my days are nearly run?
Still come to me in lavender and green?
Will you come to me in lavender and green,
If I wait at heaven’s door,
As I waited once before,
While you walked to organ’s tune,
On a summer’s afternoon.
Now dressed in springtime hues?
My love, companion, muse,
A vision still I see,
Dressed in lavender and green.
poem by Greg Davidson
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To someone that I loved
I. The odours of jasmine
The odours of jasmine, gardenia
and lavender sneaks in
through the room’s window
and it smells like a perfumery
while rays upon rays march over the bed
climbing over your arms, body and legs
while we lie stretched out
close to each other,
ignoring the sounds from the street,
where cars rush by,
the barks of the dogs
yelping at passing strangers,
only when you wake up,
I draw the curtains shut
as we feel the coldness of twilight
and join in body and soul.
II. On the porch we watch the setting sun
On the porch we watch the setting sun,
while sweet St. Anna wine
sparkles in our glasses
and there’s an intimacy,
a type of tranquillity
in the experience of early evening
while lights shine yellow and white in the distance,
the bottom of the clouds is almost ruby-red,
the black are already darkening some clouds,
while other remains snowy-white
the darkness catches us
with a full yellow moon
and like naughty children
we sneak into our house,
we sneak into our own bedroom
while joy foams like champagne
we are very intimately together
melting into one body
and while your hand later
still caress my back like a butterfly
barely touching here and there
I realise that you are the best part of me,
with your soft sweet lips
barely touching my cheek,
your hot breath against my body.
III. While the night is being born
While the night is being born,
the darkness sneaks into our house,
sneaks into our bedroom,
a sudden breeze begins blowing
far off against the horizon
near to the Magaliesberg mountains
blue-white streaks of thunder
flashes like canon fire
while we can smell
the scent of rain, of wet earth
on the breeze that is blowing stronger,
tossing the small potato trees to and thro
your face is full of terror
in the light of a lightning bolt
falling just outside of the window
and your eyes look big and white
while I cuddle you close to me
and your arms enfold, wrap around me drawing
me still closer and suddenly
the night is chilly
while big drops of rain pound down,
splashing until the rain pours like a torrent
and we find comfort in each other
melting with passion into one another.
IV. The alarm clock wakes me
The alarm clock wakes me
while it’s still twilight
and with the falling rain
the early morning is still dark
as if the night is lingering.
Outside the large jacaranda trees
wave in the storm wind
dropping purple-blue flowers
like a shower of confetti
and the street gleams
while cars drive past splashing
water in a spray
and we have to get ready
for the new day
and quite lazily you stretch out,
drawing me back to bed,
drawing me close to you,
drawing me into your warmth
while our lips, bodies and limbs
intertwine to become one.
V. We agree to meet for lunch
We agree to meet for lunch
in a restaurant just off church street
on a autumn day
on the twentieth of May
and you are smiling,
lifting a glass of red champagne,
when so near that we can feel the wind of it
a tremendous explosion erupts shattering,
shattering the innocent people in Church Street
with deadly sharp pieces of glass and concrete
and I pull you down to the ground
as we take cover behind the small table
where we were eating,
the air is suddenly full
with the sound of people
screaming in pain and terror
and as we rush out,
going into Church Street
and there’s blood and guts everywhere
with terrified, screaming, mutilated
and wounded people
where ever we look
and you cry in relieve of escape,
in sheer terror and shock
and the world has gone amok.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lavender Hill
I want to walk eternity,
In through the land of make believe.
And watch the clouds roll over me,
And let the sun shine down on me.
The only place that I wanna be,
Lavender hill for me.
Wish I could live on sugar and milk,
Then I could live on lavender hill.
Then I could raise my head to the sky,
And let the sun saturate me with love.
I wanna walk you up lavender hill,
Everybody loves lavender hill.
Even the bird that sits in the tree,
Seems to sing sweet melodies.
Even the breeze is whispering,
Lavender hill for me.
While people eat their biscuits with tea,
They dream of daffodils that sway in the breeze.
And every sunday afternoon,
Tidy ladies shine their shoes.
And every little lady dreams,
Lavender memories.
Lavender hill for me.
Lavender hill for me.
I wanna walk you up lavender hill.
I wanna walk you up lavender hill.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Colorful Autumn
The fountain sings, the clouds stand
In clear blueness, white, delicate;
Silent people wander thoughtfully
Down there in the evening-blue garden.
The ancestors' marble has turned grey.
A line of birds streaks into the distance
A faun with dead eyes gazes
On shadows that glide into darkness.
Leaves fall red from the old tree,
Rotate inside through the open window.
The room glows in dark fires,
In it shadows, like ghosts.
Opal smoke weaves over the grass,
A cloud of wilted, bleached scents,
In the fountain the sickle moon shines
Like a green glass in freezing air.
poem by Georg Trakl
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This life
Silent tears fall.
The darkness that calls.
The walls are so tall.
We sigh for this all.
The rumors that are told.
The food covered in mold.
This room is so cold.
All this news is old.
The black surrounds.
The headache that pounds.
But there is no sound.
With this she is bound.
The little girl that cries.
The boy that tries.
Her hands are tied.
by others lies.
The girl is now somewhat free.
But still held by darkness that no one can see.
The boy tries to find her by following her pleas.
I know this for the little girls is me.
poem by Abbigael Lee
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Connived
Weaving fine fibres of unripe
beliefs, from a fire base, a blue bird
scrambles, shading the stone valley.
There was no thrift for the cadavers.
The burnt relics were eating away the greens
of tearful eyes. Sun was slugging again.
A gag, a prison, a list; the trial was not
ending. A smell of burning leaves from a
guilt of smouldering garden, seeps through
the procession of thoughts, something which
cannot be questioned. Red blossoms of
clouds distract the blue flames of stars.
poem by Satish Verma
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My Lover Rain
My lover rain knocks droplets at the window
Visiting to quench my desert thirst
Streaming liquid tips where lines and furrows
Are tied in knots and boxed with worry burst
He grumbles with rolled bowling sounds
To come inside and scare me from my gloom
By strobing blue electric where he grounds
And crack the bulb out in my lonely room
Then leaks beneath doors threshold on his own
Filling all my cavities with life
Washing each sick sin I've ever sown
With lavender and mint and rinsing twice
Then quietly he leaves me with my fat hair
And humid long kissed skin that's dewy sweet
I hardly realized that he was there
So sad before I knew next time we'd meet
poem by Sara Fielder
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