Australian Spring
The bleak faced Winter, with his braggart winds
(Coiled to his scrawny throat in tattered black),
Posts down the highway of his late domain,
His spurs like leeches in his bleeding hack.
He rides to reach the huge embattled hills
Where all the brooding summer he may lie
Engulfed in Kosciusko’s silent snow,
His shadow waving o’er the lofty sky.
And jolly Spring, with love and laughter gay
Full fountaining, lets loose her tide of bees
Upon the waking ember-flame of bloom
New kindled in the honey-scented trees.
The old, old man forsakes the chimney-hole,
Where erst he warmed his bones and lazy blood,
And, clasping Molly to his wheezing breast,
Triumphant floats, cock-whoop, upon the flood.
poem by Hugh McCrae
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Roses In The Snow
(ruth franks)
I met my darlin in the springtime
When all the flowers were in bloom
And like the flowers our love blossomed
We married in the month of june
Our love was like a burning ember
It warmed us as a golden glow
We had sunshine in december
And threw our roses in the snow
Now God has taken my darlin
And left me with a memory
A memory I will always cherish
Are these last words he said to me
Our love was like a burning ember
It warmed us as a golden glow
We had sunshine in december
And threw our roses in the snow
My darlins buried on the hillside
Where all the wild spring flowers grow
And when winter snows start fallin
On his grave Ill place a rose
Our love was like a burning ember
It warmed us as cold winds blow
We had sunshine in december
And threw our roses in the snow
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter's Whitest Spurts
Although John Clare declared that he
saw spring in winter’s whitest spurts,
for many this is hard to see
when, freezing, all our body hurts,
and winter’s direst discontent
makes cold blasts pierce the frozen soul.
We wonder where the summer went
when icy winds exact their toll,
and whistling toll for all of us
on nights we wish would be more silent.
each blast a blaring blunderbuss
that’s aimed to make us all an island,
disconnected from the spring
and summer, fall, that we remember
when we for warmth our cold arms fling
around each other in December.
Inspired by John Clare’s “The Winter’s Spring”:
THE winter comes; I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own
The winter is the spring.
No flowers to please-no bees to hum-
The coming spring's already come.
I never want the Christmas rose
To come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,
Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;
'Tis but the winter garb of spring.
I never want the grass to bloom:
The snowstorm's best in white.
I love to see the tempest come
And love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to cling
O'er snow-white meadows sees the spring.
I love the snow, the crumpling snow
That hangs on everything,
It covers everything below
Like white dove's brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,
A vast expanse of dazzling light.
It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring-the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,
That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,
Nature's white spurts of the spring.
12/24/09
poem by Gershon Hepner
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The Winter's Spring
The winter comes; I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own
The winter is the spring.
No flowers to please--no bees to hum--
The coming spring's already come.
I never want the Christmas rose
To come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,
Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;
'Tis but the winter garb of spring.
I never want the grass to bloom:
The snowstorm's best in white.
I love to see the tempest come
And love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to cling
O'er snow-white meadows sees the spring.
I love the snow, the crumpling snow
That hangs on everything,
It covers everything below
Like white dove's brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,
A vast expanse of dazzling light.
It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring--the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,
That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,
Nature's white spurts of the spring.
poem by John Clare
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Nature's Season's
Season's come and season's go,
There are four in each year,
Of our time keeping.
Spring,
Summer,
Autumn,
Winter,
In other parts of the world,
Their season's are called something else,
Each Season is,
Of different type,
Yet,
Two and Two,
To begin and become,
Spring shows the begining,
Of growth and new season,
So for plants,
Vegetation,
Spring Chickens,
Spring Lambs,
The Calflings,
The Fouls,
All come in the Spring,
And flourish in the Summer,
Summer shows bloom,
From the plants to the Fouls,
And all are seen in full bloom,
Even the birds and the bees,
Sing the songs,
Of spring and summer,
With the Sun's rays,
That shows nature,
In full bloom,
By the time,
All is in full bloom,
And what shows and blooms,
Blossoms all summer,
And just when we are relaxed,
And see no clouds in the sky,
The seson changes,
Beginning with,
The fall,
Autumn's,
Season,
Commences to begin,
Where,
All in bloom,
Falls away and decays,
While the rest,
Fly away,
And,
Migrate,
Or,
Hibernate,
And just when,
We have seen it all disappear,
The frost and snow,
Covers all over,
And chills the air,
Where the chilling effect,
Kills off all decay,
And the blue ice time period,
Takes over for a time,
Chilling,
Freeezing,
Keeping everything beneath the earth,
As winter sets itself right in,
And far beneath the froasted earth,
Is all in nature,
Rekindling itself,
To regrowth itself,
And then spring growth,
Again,
Next season,
That starts the circle of life,
2 x 2 = 4,
The four seasons,
Of,
Our circle of life,
Spring,
Summer,
Autumn,
Winter,
The four seasons,
Of ours,
That is 2 x 2,
Spring and Summer,
Then,
Autumn and Winter,
That makes it known,
As 4 seasons,
To us all.
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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Candlelight
So many bees, who know so much
that only bees can tell,
gave their life’s devotion
to this single source of light;
silent whisper for your attention
to what it has to tell your sight,
before its substance burns, returns
into the upper air…
gently burns on altar, or scented in the bathroom’s grace;
or here in front of you, gentle hypnotist
for the wandering mind;
to which it has so much to tell..
tells of humility; gently burning
in a stable, before a birth;
tells of loving-kindness; gives itself,
yet asks for nothing but to be itself;
tells of worship: worship, first, of what the bees are;
and here in this honey-coloured form
is their own worship;
waxing silent in murmured devotion;
warming miraculously, into liquid wax;
only love can be so liquid;
only love can reach so far;
liquid, warmed into this present light:
the candle’s flame you know so well
yet cannot shape or hold;
already, candle hints to you
that there is that beyond all sense:
for round its light, air’s gently warmed:
drawing the flame itself into the invisible above
like the soul that’s yearning for its homeland;
and beyond, within, that air you cannot see
unless it moves some other thing,
it lights the space – space which is not
bathroom, altar; but all space;
candle tells you of all that;
draws the mind with steady, silent truth
to all creation in a single flame;
flame that asks for naught of you
but your attention; which it will reward
by telling you in stillness,
what you worship in yourself;
the light of self, that shines before all men
and glorifies its maker
like a gentle flame that cannot be put out.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Loch Leven
Beautiful Loch Leven, near by Kinross
For a good day's fishing the angler is seldom at a loss,
For the Loch it abounds with pike and trout,
Which can be had for the catching without any doubt;
And the scenery around it is most beautiful to be seen,
Especially the Castle, wherein was imprisoned Scotland's ill-starred Queen.
Then there's the lofty Lomond Hills on the Eastern side,
And the loch is long, very deep, and wide;
Then on the Southern side there's Benarty's rugged hills,
And from the tops can be seen the village of Kinross with its spinning mills.
The big house of Kinross is very handsome to be seen,
With its beautiful grounds around it, and the lime trees so green
And 'tis a magnificent sight to see, on a fine summer afternoon,
The bees extracting honey from the leaves when in full bloom.
There the tourist can enjoy himself and while away the hours,
Underneath the lime trees shady bowers,
And listen to the humming of the busy bees,
While they are busy gathering honey from the lime trees.
Then there's the old burying ground near by Kinross,
And the dead that lie there turned into dusty dross,
And the gravestones are all in a state of decay,
And the old wall around it is mouldering away.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Only as Winter
Beneath a blanket of frosty snow,
Silently sleeping below icy green,
Slowly swimming under black ice,
But only as winter did you know.
Such vibrant life awaits the spring
Bloom and sprout through this blustery cocoon
Slowly she tilts back to the light
Water begins to flow, and robins sing.
Slowly emerging from burrows below
Fighting to regain summer strength
To feed and dart through shadows upstream
But only as winter did you know.
Behind the scarf of icy winds
Squinting to see the light of day
Accepting winter only as a season
This too shall pass I say my friend.
It’s not the ice, nor the snow
You have to learn what’s to come
For spring has begun,
But only as winter did you know.
poem by Jack Dylan
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And You...Now Wish So Much for Spring
After Summer days are gone,
You seem to be lurching in hushed compassion...
For someone to carry on,
Those Summer days...
Time has moved away.
As if from you to pawn.
And then when Fall is welcomed in the midst,
Your mind slowly searches...
What it is you believe is missed.,
From a past now reminisced.
As if seeking through memories,
Those hours missed you wish to revisit.
And the buzzing of the bees,
Impatiently waved away.
When Spring budded flowers...
Were ignored but birthing to bloom.
Had no room in your mind,
To find them enchanting.
And you,
Now wish so much for Spring...
To again come soon,
To revisit the bees...
Flowers and trees,
With scented breezes.
You somehow miss.
But next time you promise,
To explore every bit to devour it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Season's
Spring all fresh and new
Grass wet with dew
Birth of a new colt
Dart's around with a bolt.
Summer is a sea of land
With beaches of sand
Children having fun
In the summer fun.
Fall is full of color
A season like no other
Summer harvest is sold
Before the winter cold.
Winter brings snow
Hills all aglow
With day's of of light
Slowly turns into night.
Pictures In A Book
High on a tree a red cardinal sings
Snow melts under a free blue sky
It is Sunday and church bells ring
I love to watch the spring geese fly
The kitchen with flowers in the vase
She loved lavender lilacs on the table
Some memories never do get erased
Give your love while your still able
Now the rains and the winds blow
Mountains fill with great waterfalls
Streams swell with melting snow
Pine trees grow stalwart and tall
I remember roses on her summer dress
We loved to walk a moonlit mile
Her long hair flowing down her breast
Haunted by her laugh and sweet smile
Soon the fine tulips will start to bloom
The brown grass will turn deep green
Frogs will breed under the full moon
Wild flowers will grow by oak trees
I wonder if she often thinks of me?
We met when apple blossoms grow
Love seemed like an eternal sea
Parted when fall winds turned to snow
Now we are memories from another day
Pictures in a book neatly tucked away
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Evergreen
Evergreen
Joe tanner
Sometimes love will bloom in the springtime
Then like flowers in summer it will grow
And then fade away in the winter
When the cold winds begin to blow
But when its evergreen, evergreen
It will last through the summer and winter too
When love is evergreen, evergreen
Like my love for you
So hold my hand and tell me
Youll be mine through laughter or through tears
Then let the whole world see, our love will be
Evergreen through all the years
For when its evergreen, evergreen
It will last through the summer and winter too
When love is evergreen, evergreen
Like my love for you
Transcribed by fred
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let the Spring Winds Blow
Who divided the rivers and mountains
Forty-five years ago, hearts were torn, blood flowed
Standing and waiting, turning to stone looking at my homeland
The cries of anguish are no longer heard No fertile land for the trees to grow, no water to float the ships
No flight in the sky, where did it go
Known long ago, Korea was the rising sun of the East
Everywhere, tall trees, clear waters, blue skies To roam everywhere, to greet everyone
But that was yesterday
Spring comes to other countries, where everyone can travel
But winter snow blocks the path to my homeland Following year to year, people and seasons come and go
I am waiting, why are the spring winds not blowing
Winter is long and cold but spring must come
The seeds are waiting to bloom Spring has arrived, let us join hands
Let us plant trees on the mountains
Let us sail our ships on the rivers
Let us fly far into the sky
poem by Michael I. Byun
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Bees
From the hollow trees in their native home
them old fellows cut the honeycomb.
On honey and little white grubs they fed,
'cause them young bees was blackfeller's bread.
That's why they was so mighty and strong
in their native home in Currarong.
An' them old fellers' drink was honey-bul;
honey and water, a coolamon full.
Naked through the bush they went,
an' never knew what sickness meant,
them native bees could do you no harm,
they'd crawl all over your honey-smeared arm.
But them Eyetalian bees, they'd bung
your eyes right up. When we was young
we used to rob their honey-trees,
Savage! they'd fetch your blood, Them bees
would zoom an' zing an' chase a feller
from Bombaderry to Bodalla
Well Old Uncle Ninah, and Billy Bulloo
Old Jacky Mumbulla, King Merriman too,
them fierce old fellers, they're all gone now.
An' the wild honey's still in the gumtree bough.
poem by Roland Robinson
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Spring Delirium
Gold days give way to sudden rain,
But what, I ask, of that?
For I am my own man again,
And gloom comes sprawling flat.
Let grouchers grieve and nurse the hump
Because bleak winds still shout;
But I don't care a tupp'ny dump;
From zero - whoop! - my spirits jump:
The daffodils are out.
Hail bloom of golden promise! Hail!
These trumpets sing of hope.
To mock grim Winter's weakening flail
And shame the misanthrope.
All hail! And hail again, for luck.
Hence, cold and clammy doubt!
Come, Spring! Come, honey-bee and suck;
Into this heady nector tuck!
The daffodils are out!
Spring for the young? Ah, foolish claim.
Spring burgeons for the old,
To touch old hearts again with flame
And oust the creeping cold.
So, as each golden cup now spills
Its gladness all about,
I, freed again of age's ills,
Grow dilly with the daffodils.
The daffodils are out!
Yet, am I old? Who said I'm old?
Ah, Spring's sweet alchemy!
Gaze now upon me and behold
A recharged battery.
I waggle my rheumatic knees
And, as the years I flout,
Hot blood incontinently flees
Along my hardening arteries
The daffodils are out!
Birds call; the buds grow fat; I sing
A daft, delicious lay.
Prim primulas are carpeting
My somewhat wobbly way.
Oh, vernal verve! September's spree!
I laugh! I sing! I shout!
With dragonfly and drunken bee
I go right off my rocker. Gee!
The wotsernames are out!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Lonely Poplar
LONELY WHITE POPLAR
GROWING UP RAPIDLY TOWARDS HEAVEN
YOU ARE WAVING YOUR HAND TO ME
AND TRYING TO REACH SOMEONE ABOVE
I THOUGHT YOU WANTED ME NOTICE YOUU
ON THESE HOT DAYS OF JULY
DO NOIT THİ NK
I HAVE FORGOTTEN YOU
I EVEN KNOW
HOW MANY BLACK CROWS
CROWS EAGERLY AND OBSTINATELY ON YOU
NESTLING I IN YOUR GREEN
HOW CAN I FORGET YOU
YOU WERE MY ONLY FRIEND
WHEN I BROKE MY THIGH
IN THE COLD WINTER
YOU WERE MY ONLY FRIEND
I SAW YOU DROPPING YOUR LEAVES
I EVEN SAW YOU NAKED WITHOUT THE LEAVES
I SAW YOU LEAFENİ NG IN SPRING
I SAW YOU IN HARSH WINDS
BENDING UP AND DOWN
WHEN SNOW FELL
YOU WERE MY ONLY FRIEND
WHEN I WAS SITTING ON A CHAIR
AND WHEN I WAS WALKING WITH A BATON
STUMBLING HERE AND THERE
TO AND FRO
LONELY GREEN POPLAR IN SUMMER
YOU WERE WAVING YOUR HANDS TO ME
YIU WERE MY ONLY FRIEND
IN MY LONELY DAYS
HOW CAN I FORGET YOU
poem by Metin Sahin
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Autumn Interlude
I said goodbye to the bees last Friday week,
To blooms, and to things like these, for Winter bleak
Was shouting loud from the hills, and flinging high
His gossamer net that fills frail Autumn's sky.
So I said goodbye to the bees; for I knew that soon
I should bask no more 'neath the trees on some high noon
And hark to the drowsy hum close overhead.
For the cold and rain must come, now Summer's dead.
So I wallowed a while in woe and wooed unease;
And I rather liked it so; for it seemed to please
Some clamoring inner urge - some need apart,
And I felt self-pity surge, here, in my heart
As I said goodbye to the bees, my tireless friends
Who toil mid the flowers and the trees till daylight ends
Who toil in the sun, yet seem to find no irk,
While I loll in the shade and dream; for I do love work.
Ah, fate and the falling leaf! How dear is woe.
How subtly sweet is grief (Synthetic). So
I said goodbye to the bees; and then I wrote
This crown of threhodies, while in my throat
I choked back many a sob and salt tears spent.
But I felt I'd done my job, and was content.
For I'd penned my piece to the bees - the poet's tosh
Of the Autumn's drear unease. Ah, me! Oh, gosh!
I said goodbye to the bees last Friday week....
Then the tempest shook the trees, the swollen creek
Went thundering down to the plain, the wind shrieked past,
And the cold, and the wet, wet rain were here at last....
Then, a hot sun, scorning rules, shone forth, alack!
And those blundering, blithering fools, the bees came back,
Humming a song inance in the rain-washed trees. . . .
Now it's all to do again. . . . Oh, blast the bees!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Life Is Lovely All the Year
When the buds are blossoming,
Smiling welcome to the spring,
Lovers choose a wedding day -
Life is love in merry May!
Spring is green - Fal lal la!
Summer's rose - Fal lal la!
It is sad when Summer goes,
Fal la!
Autumn's gold - Fal lal la!
Winter's grey - Fal lal la!
Winter still is far away -
Fal la!
Leaves in Autumn fade and fall;
Winter is the end of all.
Spring and summer teem with glee:
Spring and summer, then, for me!
Fal la!
In the Spring-time seed is sown:
In the Summer grass is mown:
In the Autumn you may reap:
Winter is the time for sleep.
Spring is hope - Fal lal la!
Summer's joy - Fal lal la!
Spring and Summer never cloy,
Fal la!
Autumn, toil - Fal lal la!
Winter, rest - Fal lal la!
Winter, after all, is best -
Fal la!
Spring and summer pleasure you,
Autumn, ay, and winter, too -
Every season has its cheer;
Life is lovely all the year!
Fal la!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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See and Feel
See the tree
That shed its leaves
To face the cold winds
Of winter.
Feel the sweetness
Of the honey that bees
Gathered from flowers
In spring.
See the contentment
Of a cow ruminating
In the shade of a tree
In summer.
See the anxiety
Of the farmer
Awaiting the rains
In monsoon season.
See the effort
Of parents to provide
Better future
For their children.
See the way chicks
Open their beaks
When mother bird
Feeds them.
Feel the sharpness
Of the sword
See the power
Of the written word
Feel the love
Hidden in the heart
See the success
Of man's thoughts...
Until the ability
Of observation
Is completely lost
In seasons and activities
In trees and hills
In the nests that birds build
See all that you can see
With renewed curiosity.
poem by Tirupathi Chandrupatla
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Summer
Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come,
For the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom,
And the crow is on the oak a-building of her nest,
And love is burning diamonds in my true lover's breast;
She sits beneath the whitethorn a-plaiting of her hair,
And I will to my true lover with a fond request repair;
I will look upon her face, I will in her beauty rest,
And lay my aching weariness upon her lovely breast.
The clock-a-clay is creeping on the open bloom of May,
The merry bee is trampling the pinky threads all day,
And the chaffinch it is brooding on its grey mossy nest
In the whitethorn bush where I will lean upon my lover's breast;
I'll lean upon her breast and I'll whisper in her ear
That I cannot get a wink o'sleep for thinking of my dear;
I hunger at my meat and I daily fade away
Like the hedge rose that is broken in the heat of the day.
poem by John Clare (1865)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Jesus Hasting to Suffer
The Saviour, what a noble flame
Was kindled in his breast,
When hasting to Jerusalem,
He march'd before the rest.
Good will to men, and zeal for God,
His every thought engross;
He longs to be baptized with blood,
He pants to reach the cross!
With all His suffering full in view,
And woes to us unknown,
Forth to the task His spirit flew,
'Twas love that urged Him on.
Lord, we return Thee what we can:
Our hearts shall sound abroad,
Salvation to the dying Man,
And to the rising God!
And while Thy bleeding glories here
Engage our wondering eyes,
We learn our lighter cross to bear,
And hasten to the skies.
poem by William Cowper
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