The Haunted Garden
In this sad place
Memory hangs on the air
Fragile as Spring snail's tiny shell,
Coming to the sympathetic ear
Gentle as bud's green pulsing in the sun,
Suave as sin in a black velvet glove;
The old faces gaze
Wistfully as birds, among the nodding leaves,
They watch the pleasures they may never share;
And through the twilight hours
Old voices call along the river banks,
And out of the high-walled garden.
Why do they sigh,
The gentle ones in the flowering musk;
And what are the words of the song
The pale stranger sings as he walks
The garden's still, deserted paths,
Like a boy searching for his dog?
poem by Henry Treece
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Old Black Joe
1 Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay,
2 Gone are my friends from the cotton fields away,
3 Gone from the earth to a better land I know,
4 I hear their gentle voices calling 'Old Black Joe.'
5 [Chorus] I'm coming, I'm coming, for my head is bending low:
6 I hear those gentle voices calling, 'Old Black Joe.'
7 [Solo] Why do I weep when my heart should feel no pain
8 Why do I sigh that my friends come not again,
9 Grieving for forms Now departed long a go?
10 I hear their gentle voices calling 'Old Black Joe.'
11 [Chorus] I'm coming, I'm coming, for my head is bending low:
12 I hear those gentle voices calling, 'Old Black Joe.'
13 [Solo] Where are the hearts once so happy and so free?
14 The children so dear that I held upon my knee,
15 Gone to the shore where my soul has longed to go.
16 I hear their gentle voices calling 'Old Black Joe.'
17 [Chorus] I'm coming, I'm coming, for my head is bending low:
18 I hear those gentle voices calling, 'Old Black Joe.'
poem by Stephen C. Foster
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Nature Trail
At the bottom of my garden
There's a hedgehog and a frog
And a lot of creepy-crawlies
Living underneath a log,
There's a baby daddy long legs
And an easy-going snail
And a family of woodlice,
All are on my nature trail.
There are caterpillars waiting
For their time to come to fly,
There are worms turning the earth over
As ladybirds fly by,
Birds will visit, cats will visit
But they always chose their time
And I've even seen a fox visit
This wild garden of mine.
Squirrels come to nick my nuts
And busy bees come buzzing
And when the night time comes
Sometimes some dragonflies come humming,
My garden mice are very shy
And I've seen bats that growl
And in my garden I have seen
A very wise old owl.
My garden is a lively place
There's always something happening,
There's this constant search for food
And then there's all that flowering,
When you have a garden
You will never be alone
And I believe we all deserve
A garden of our own.
poem by Benjamin Zephaniah
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Snowbird
(words & music by gene maclellan)
Beneath this snowy mantle cold and clean
The unborn grass lies waiting
For its coat to turn to green
The snowbird sings a song he always sings
And speaks to me of flowers
That will bloom again in spring
When I was young my heart was young then too
Anything that it would tell me,
Thats the thing that I would do
But now I feel such emptiness within
For the thing that I want most in life
Is the thing I cant win
Spread your tiny wings and fly away
And take the snow back with you
Where it came from on that day
The one I love forever is untrue
And if I could you know
That I would fly away with you
The breeze along the river seems to say
That shell only break my heart again
Should I decide to stay
So little snowbird take me with you when you go
To that land of gentle breezes
Where the peaceful waters flow
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Them Cool Green Leaves
Them cool green leaves
That comes around
When spring breezy breeze
Is again here found
And night becomes like day
With its reddish sky
When song birds sing and play
In the twilight high
Them cool green days
When a heart beat's found
With playing soft haze
To the earth all bound
And the dark night's stray
Has said its goodbye
When love is okay
And blue is our time's sky
Refrain
Just listen to the songs
That flow so smoothly on
The many sing-alongs
Those never from life are gone
Every tune that fills the air
With beautiful tender plays
And we together share
In many different ways
Them Cool Green Leaves
That comes around
When spring breezy breeze
Is again here found
And night becomes like day
With its reddish sky
When song birds sing and play
In the twilight high
Refrain
* Peter S. Quinn - Them Cool Green Leaves Free Mp3 Download
http: //peter-s-quinn-them-cool-green-leaves-mp3-downlo ad.kohit.net/_/319663
(There are over 50 different texts written on this poem, this one made now, as I was listening…[will be revised later on, perhaps] I hope you enjoy it; -)
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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The Garden of the Sea
THE infinite garden of the sea is His
To play in. Gravely smiling He resigns
To man his choice—this rugged plot of earth,
Watches man tear it with his deep canals,
Wound it with iron rails, scar it with roads,
And spot its pleasant freshness with the sore
Of festering cities, oozing heavy smoke.
He sees and He forgives. Then gently takes
His pliant sea into His yearning hands—
As an old mother might caress a doll
When all her sons are dead—and wistfully
He moulds it. O, that He might so thrust man—
That interloping soul of stubbornness—
The solitary irreconcilable
Of His subservient Universe—within
The grim, unalterable grooves of law!
But, ah! the sea, the fecund woman-sea,
Is His to fashion as He wills! He girds
It round with whitely gleaming paths of beach;
Then, at His word, the blossoms of the spray
Rise on their swaying wave-stalks, bloom and break,
And scatter desolate petals on the foam.
League-long His flower-bordered avenues
In bending sward of blossom run. Lo, now
A winter comes unwonted, heaping high
His garden world with snow of wasted blooms.
Or Spring sweeps in resistless, and the sea
Shimmers—an orchard in her nuptial white!
And sometimes He will smooth His garden plot,
And cover with trim tapestry of grass
Its restless beauty, till there shyly break
The daisies through, like pale hands timorous
And fragile, groping blindly to the sun.
Sometimes he plans great curving pathways, where
'Neath sullen shoulders of cool greenery
The shadows crouch, and high above the sun
Whispers his sunny secrets to the boughs
That sway and ripple everlastingly.
And sometimes, hidden by a moving ridge
From ships that flit like furtive white moths by,
The Master of the garden gravely walks
The cool green paths in reverie along:
Ah, what if I could turn into that lane
Of pulsing wave, and see Him pacing there,
As once of old they saw Him, with that look
Of wistful sadness on His old kind face!
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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Gentle Sigh
There is a gentle sigh
as a warm summer evening calls
and lovers slip away
to their hideaways.
The stars twinkle bright
playing peek-a-boo with the moon
and not a stirring word is heard,
except the gentle sigh
that inherits the breeze
that faintly rustles the leaves
on a warm summer evening
just before darkness calls.
The world sings a hushaby melody
to children tucked in their bed
waiting for the sandman to call
and for a few minutes,
everything is still
listening to the gentle sigh
when warm summer evenings call.
poem by David Harris
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The Song of an Angel
Be still, and listen to the wind,
As it whispers through the leaves,
For the gentle song of angels,
Is blowing in the breeze.
A song that sings of little hands,
That did so many jobs,
Hands that now are gently clasped,
Within the grasp of God.
A song that sings of a little heart,
That always poured out love,
A heart that now is full of joy,
As God holds him up above.
A song that sings of little smiles,
That brightened many days,
Smiles that now warm the hearts,
Of angels on their way.
A song that sings of a little boy,
That always was a friend,
A little boy who's shown us all,
That God's love never ends.
Be still, and listen to the wind,
As it whispers through these leaves,
For the gentle song of an angel,
Is blowing in its breeze.
-In loving memory of Charles McMichael
poem by Jean Penner
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Secret Garden
Shell let you in her house
If you come knockin late at night
Shell let you in her mouth
If the words you say are right
If you pay the price
Shell let you deep inside
But theres a secret garden she hides
Shell let you in her car
To go drivin round
Shell let you into the parts of herself
Thatll bring you down
Shell let you in her heart
If you got a hammer and a vise
But into her secret garden, dont think twice
Youve gone a million miles
How fard you get
To that place where you cant remember
And you cant forget
Shell lead you down a path
Therell be tenderness in the air
Shell let you come just far enough
So you know shes really there
Shell look at you and smile
And her eyes will say
Shes got a secret garden
Where everything you want
Where everything you need
Will always stay
A million miles away
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For The Sake Of Progress
We wander down the paths,
we used so long ago, when we were young,
before the world we now know.
Down the country lanes, shaded and narrow,
by fields of wheat and marrow.
By sunlight, by moonlight, we lazed on our way.
Passed the green lands we did not stray.
Years have descended on us and our pleasures there,
it made a waste land of our garden fair.
Air is more darker.
Factories belch smoke here and there.
No more the soft white clouds, or birds on the wing.
Just black pools of floating fish,
while greasy faces smirk.
The green of fields are replaced,
for the green greed of crispy notes.
No longer postcard pictures,
but sewers up turned towards the sky.
The faces are not happy, their scorn is waste and wild.
Another of natures landmarks, scared black every row.
For the sake of progress,
or at least they tell us so.
2 June 1981
poem by David Harris
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Never Again Would Bird's Song Be the Same
He would declare and could himself believe
That the birds there in all the garden round
From having heard the daylong voice of Eve
Had added to their own an oversound,
Her tone of meaning but without the words.
Admittedly an eloquence so soft
Could only have had an influence on birds
When call or laughter carried it aloft.
Be that as may be, she was in their song.
Moreover her voice upon their voices crossed
Had now persisted in the woods so long
That probably it never would be lost.
Never again would birds' song be the same.
And to do that to birds was why she came.
poem by Robert Frost
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Nameless
because my heart's full in the morning
I want to share with somebody
because there's nobody to be called
I look to the garden hearing voices
because the garden's silent and still
I turn on the radio to listen a song
because the radio's broken
I start humming to myself
because there's no sound comes out
I close my eyes try to remember a song
because there's no song play in my mind
I begin to find words can explain
because I lost in words
I wonder why I'm feeling so lonely
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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In the spring garden
In the spring garden
~
In the spring garden
Birds sing and chatter
While flowers raise their heads
To greet the morning sun
A garden filled with colour bright
A garden which now fills with life
The bee and the butterfly hover
From flower to flower gathering nectar
Seeding the flowers blossom
Throughout the spring garden
The dew glistens upon the grass
While the wind gently rolls in the tree
All the world slowly waking
Soon to this bounty of great beauty
Every hue from natures pallet
Is here free for all to see
In the spring garden
poem by Matthew Holloway
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My Garden Fair
Flowers are blooming in
my garden fair. Their
sweet perfume fills the
air. My Garden fair is
beautiful to see., with all
its glory surrounding me.
My garden fair is romantic
and bright, and so redeeming
in sunlight where song birds
nestle in the trees, and sing
with each flowing breeze.
My garden fair is a glorious
sight, that I rush to greet
at twilight my garden fair is
most supreme with such lovely
enchanting scenes.
poem by Dr. Janice Marie Murrell
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Near Where the River Meets The Sea
The river widens and deepens as it nears the ocean and into a huge mass of water does grow
To look at it does hardly seem to be flowing at a snail's pace it does crawl along so slow
For dabbling and diving water birds ideal to live in with plenty fish and other water food to eat
The World is quiet by the high and brown paddocks near where the sea and the river do meet
The grebes, musk duck and black duck, the coot and dusky moorhen
The cormorants, egrets and darters birds shy of children, women and men
The omnivirous silver gulls in freshwater like to wash their feathers and preen
Near to where the river meets the ocean so many waterbirds for to be seen
When you tell me of one who does not love Nature you tell me of one to beauty blind
You tell me of one who is not observant with darkness of soul and of mind
So much beauty there is in Nature her wonders every day I see
On the bank of the slow flowing river a magpie sings on a stringybark tree
So calming for to stand on the brown banks where the river crawls on to the sea
I like billions of others love Nature the mother of the wild and the free.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Garden of simple things
There is a place
I embrace and call my own
Where seeds are sown and grown
A little pond lays quietly making splatters
When small or large stones are thrown
The garden of love
The garden of simple things
I go to when
I need to enjoy simple things
Embellished with trees of different shades
Leaves of various colours and blades
Ornament each patch of the ground
As roses of colour glow in and out
There is a place
With you I want to share
Whistles of bird sounds
Constantly fill the air
Announcing life's simple pleasures
That no one can actually measure
Reliving all of who are there
Temporarily of endless social pressures
Kids laugh and talk
People peacefully walk
Exempt from the noises
of cars and trucks
Exempt from argumentative or aggressive voices
Dogs stroll aside their masters
Lovers hold hands
Stealing away kisses in beauty spots
The garden of beauty
The garden of simple things
In winter or in spring
A peaceful wind is always blown
Trees and plants are carefully cultivated
To permit anyone at all to be strongly motivated
It is here I breathe the air without a care
There is simply no reason
In any season
Not to fall in love with
The garden of simple things
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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It Is So Beaufitul
a tree
dies attacked by fungus
infection is all
over
all leaves fall
to the ground
i watch sadness
creeping on stones
a tree without leaves
is happiness
stripped
off
as though deserted
all essence
gone
it does not end there
yet
this afternoon
birds with yellow breasts
and tiny beaks
come hovering
the dead tree sings a song
to the night
the sky is listening and it is
so beautiful
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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May Song
BIRDS in the green of my garden
Blackbirds and throstle and wren,
Wet your dear wings in the tears that are Spring's
And so to your singing again!
Birds in my blossoming orchard,
Chaffinch and goldfinch and lark,
Preen your bright wings, little happy live things;
The May trees grow white in the park!
Birds in the leafy wet woodlands,
Cuckoo and nightingale brown,
Sing to the sound of the rain on green ground--
The rain on green leaves dripping down!
Fresh with the rain of the May-time,
Rich with the promise of June,
Deep in her heart, where the little leaves part,
Love, like a bird, sings in tune!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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In The Garden
I come to the garden alone
While the dew
Is still on the roses
And the voices I hear
Falling on my ear
The son of God discloses.
And he walks with me
And he talks with me
And he tells me I am his own
And the joy we share
As we tarry there
None other has ever known.
He speaks
And the sound
Of his voice
Is so sweet the birds
Hush their singin'
And the melody
That He gave to me
Within my hearts is ringing.
And he walks with me
And he talks with me
And he tells me I am his own
And the joy we share
As we tarry there
None other has ever known.
And the joy we share
As we tarry there
None other has ever known...
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Garden
(words & music by c.a. miles)
I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The song of God discloses
And he walks with me
And he talks with me
And he tells me I am his own
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known
He speaks and the sound of his voice
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing
And the melody that he gave to me
Within my heart is ringing
And he walks with me
And he talks with me
And he tells me I am his own
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Green Bowl
This little bowl is like a mossy pool
In a Spring wood, where dogtooth violets grow
Nodding in chequered sunshine of the trees;
A quiet place, still, with the sound of birds,
Where, though unseen, is heard the endless song
And murmur of the never resting sea.
'T was winter, Roger, when you made this cup,
But coming Spring guided your eager hand
And round the edge you fashioned young green leaves,
A proper chalice made to hold the shy
And little flowers of the woods. And here
They will forget their sad uprooting, lost
In pleasure that this circle of bright leaves
Should be their setting; once more they will dream
They hear winds wandering through lofty trees
And see the sun smiling between the leaves.
poem by Amy Lowell
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