Ponnaga
Placenta night gathered
Thickness as mucous
On that unlighted lane
There on that rain-soaked lane
I chanced upon them scattered
And gleaming bright white
In the pools of light the car threw up
On the rain-drenched tar-
Five petals with long stems
Under a tree that still sent
A shower whenever the leaves willed
I pulled my car aside
And rushed to meet them
To gather a forgotten childhood for once
One two three…
The petals coated with damp mud
And the yellowishgreen stems
Hidden by the dark tar
Queerly exuding a forty year old perfume
Gathered once upon a time
In course of an unblemished childhood
How immaculate naive hands
Wove plaits with the stems
Coated in unadulterated dirt!
They looked forlorn through the night
And by morning withered
The mud still clinging…
12 Nov 2010
21.40hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Related quotes
The Hawthorn Tree
Not much to me is yonder lane
Where I go every day;
But when there’s been a shower of rain
And hedge-birds whistle gay,
I know my lad that’s out in France
With fearsome things to see
Would give his eyes for just one glance
At our white hawthorn tree.
. . . .
Not much to me is yonder lane
Where he so longs to tread:
But when there’s been a shower of rain
I think I’ll never weep again
Until I’ve heard he’s dead.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Cosmos
So much rain fell
that the grass
was like a swamp
and next to the road
suddenly wildflowers bloomed
in colours of white, pink
and crimson-brown.
On long green stems
they grew together
the petals almost
in the shape
of a fortget-me-not
but much more spread
at the front edge.
Some kids might take them
to play the I love you game,
but do so in vain.
The smell of cosmos
hangs soft in the air
and there were patches
of colour everywhere.
I picked some with regret
to see the petals fold over
to hide their heads
of yellow and black specks.
Far to brittle to the touch,
still their beauty was too much
and I thought God,
You made nature really great.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Village Marriage Day
With a long fine cloud
She wandered slowly away
Across the yellow mouth of morning
Through another gate-head
Where the withered maize-stems made
Leaves for folded dolls.
The backyard
Should be smeared this year.
She approaches her father
His hands bloodstained
The goat’s head laid back
On its tenuous link to the body.
She looks at the goat
Turns over the night of love
Her sleek tilted head remembers
The other art of marriage
For which he said she must prepare.
poem by Frank Bana
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New Year
WHITE year, white year,
Muffled soft in snow,
A diamond spray whose gems are gone
Before their grace we know,
A crystal-coated spray whose hours
Melt when looked upon,
Hoarfrost stars and hoarfrost flowers,
White year!
Green year, green year,
Sweet with sun and showers,
A windblown spray whose blossoms bright
Are the seven-colored hours,
A dancing spray whose leaves are days,
A spray whose leaves delight
In azure gleam and silver haze,
Green year!
New Year, new year
From rosy leaf to gold,
A shining spray on the Tree of Time
Where myriad sprays unfold,
A spray so fair that God may see
And gather it, bloom and rime,
To deck the doors of Eternity,
New Year!
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Market Day
`
squashed cabbage leaves,
crushed petals, broken stems
strewn along grey slush
wind whisks cobbled street,
gravel crunches under
hooves and booted feet
rain-drooped marquees
whisper freshest gossip;
clock tower tolls on the hour
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For Papa
the wind this month of
september
blows the leaves
towards the
hidden mountain.
they are scattered
and cannot continue holding
their tips
they have lost the hands of
the stems that
give them the sense of holding
i raise my fingers
to touch the old tree
on top of the hill
where our old house stands
the clouds have since
drifted towards the sea
and i never had
the chance to hold them
for you papa
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Everything is going to be wet
Every day rain falls down
from the overcast grey sky
and lightning bolts
flash blue white
like the fingers
of the gods
caressing the earth
while the leaves of autumn
cover every tree
in auburn, yellow and brown.
Green leaves on the stems
of big pink hollyhocks
here and there
dip up and down
when hit by drops of rain
as if suddenly coming alive
and it’s going to be
a wet winter
and probably
not all that chilly
with rain falling
out of season.
The grass is green
and everything but trees
are growing
as if it’s still spring.
and flowers bloom
on geraniums, roses, hollyhocks,
lilies, irises and petunias
in colours ranging
from white, orange, yellow,
violet to red and blue
and without covering
everything is going
to be wet.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Ephemeral Wishes Take Flight
yellow petals subtle changes
one day transformation clicks
into white honeycomb wishes
fades into spectral stems
preparations need seeds
in readiness to roam skies
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Lover's Lane
Summah night an' sighin' breeze,
'Long de lovah's lane;
Frien'ly, shadder-mekin' trees,
'Long de lovah's lane.
White folks' wo'k all done up gran'--
Me an' 'Mandy han'-in-han'
Struttin' lak we owned de lan',
'Long de lovah's lane.
Owl a-settin' 'side de road,
'Long de lovah's lane,
Lookin' at us lak he knowed
Dis uz lovah's lane.
Go on, hoot yo' mou'nful tune,
You ain' nevah loved in June,
An' come hidin' f'om de moon
Down in lovah's lane.
Bush it ben' an' nod an' sway,
Down in lovah's lane,
Try'n' to hyeah me whut I say
'Long de lovah's lane.
But I whispahs low lak dis,
An' my 'Mandy smile huh bliss--
Mistah Bush he shek his fis',
Down in lovah's lane.
Whut I keer ef day is long,
Down in lovah's lane.
I kin allus sing a song
'Long de lovah's lane.
An' de wo'ds I hyeah an' say
Meks up fu' de weary day
Wen I's strollin' by de way,
Down in lovah's lane.
An' dis t'ought will allus rise
Down in lovah's lane;
Wondah whethah in de skies
Dey 's a lovah's lane.
Ef dey ain't, I tell you true,
'Ligion do look mighty blue,
'Cause I do' know whut I 'd do
'Dout a lovah's lane.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Book of Van den Braak
I stared at the book on the table
Where it lay on the weathered oak,
The cover so black and tarnished,
Tanned in leather through coils of smoke,
Its ancient layers had long been carved
As petals of some grim flower,
Where an evil mildew spread its mould
From the walls of that ancient tower.
The book was set like an altar piece
In that ancient, flagstoned hall,
Catching the feeble rays of light
Through cracks in the old stone wall,
I hastened to look away, but yet
It gripped me in its glare,
Like some old German Grimoire...
Though no title page was there!
I reached for the cover and opened it,
The leather creaked with age,
As it formed with its rotting petals
Into a rose around the page,
The smell of the mildew wafted up
And the chill was damp and stark,
There was nothing but evil in that tower,
In the book of Van den Braak.
I leant right over the book and saw
A woodcut of a lane,
The trees were grim in their winter coats
As the snow gave way to rain,
The mud was thick on the barren leaves
That were mulched from the Autumn's fall,
And I felt it squelch right under my feet
As the wind howled round the hall!
The tower was gone, I stood outside
In the rain and the brooding dark,
Walking along a windswept lane
In the book of Van den Braak,
I saw the light of a cottage there,
Set back in among the trees,
And a woman wailed on the painted step,
My own, my dear Louise!
I ran towards her, through a stream
That babbled beside the lane,
Louise was crying and wailing there,
She muttered: 'I'm not to blame! '
I must have seemed like a phantom there,
I waved, but she couldn't see,
She said, 'you shouldn't have killed him,
I just asked you to set me free! '
A man ran out from the cottage door,
His coat was covered in blood,
He ran his hands through his tangled hair
And fell, to kneel in the mud.
He took her into his arms and cried,
She clung, and called him Mark,
And then when he turned, I saw his face,
I knew him - Van den Braak!
I must have been quite invisible
In the pages of that book,
Or they were a couple of phantoms
Making love as I stood and shook,
I walked around to the cottage door
And peered in out of the rain,
I lay stone dead on the hearthstone there,
A bullet lodged in my brain.
In shock I turned, I saw the tower,
I ran with all my might,
Back to the Norman Keep and Moat,
Back through the surly night,
The eyes of demons had followed me
From high in the trees of the park,
But I was ready for come-what-may
At the hands of Van den Braak!
Then suddenly, I was in the tower,
Leaning over the book,
When Van den Braak called out that he
Was ready to take a look,
I'd brought the book with the tenants' rents
Of those that lived in the park,
But I stabbed him high in the rib cage there,
And cut his throat in the dark!
I went to his German Grimoire
Fell once more through the open page,
Went looking for my Louise, by now
In the white hot throes of rage,
She sat and wailed on the painted step
And muttered there in the dark...
'I didn't ask you to kill the man,
Just free me from Van den Braak! '
1 April 2010
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Monsoon Musings
…and on this
cool cloudy monsoon morning
as you strolled at a distant
horizon along the
village bunds and canals
wandered across the
native soil preparing
itself for the next sowing
i opened the door to
a light-hearted wind that veiled me
from the rest of the world
it cast an alluring net
dabbed in the perfume of late
summer flowers soaked in the
damp rain-soaked earth
the endless tidings the waves
of wind whispered
tickled me enough
on the black sky
a lightning that flashed
pierced my heart like
a dagger of desire
the so far-longing leaves
in immobilizing passion
stirred occasionally in
an attempt to shake off
the beads of satiated desire
each time a thunder rolled
i hugged your invisible presence
in a teenage glee
a distant koel cooed
probably in adieu
proclaiming that it’s
after all early morning
19jun2010
06.40hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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15 Petals
15 Petals
One for every year I spent with you
Jewels and precious metals will never do
I love you twisted
And I love you straight
Id write it down but I cant concentrate
Words wont obey they do as they please
And all I am left with are these...
15 Petals
One for every year I spent with you
Jewels and precious metals will never do
The thorn is blunted
The perfume will fade
I stand where sun is set
I crave the shade
Down in the tavern with Mary and Jane
Palms reached for alms as they throw
15 Petals...
One for every hour that were apart
Tears and useless battles
Ill never start
Mussolini highway
Theres a frankincense tree
I picked some up there to carry with me
You take me to places where Id never go
I love you more than you know
15 Petals
Scattered in the path where you will tread
15 Petals
Of vivid red
One wine-bar vamp with the polythene face
Ein Panzer Kommander with no hair in place
The crowded battallions drilled holes in the square
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Spring Storm
The sky has given over
its bitterness.
Out of the dark change
all day long
rain falls and falls
as if it would never end.
Still the snow keeps
its hold on the ground.
But water, water
from a thousand runnels!
It collects swiftly,
dappled with black
cuts a way for itself
through green ice in the gutters.
Drop after drop it falls
from the withered grass-stems
of the overhanging embankment.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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Since childhood the night scares you
Since childhood the night scares you
as if here in Africa dark things do sneak about
and when the stars appear you start to long
for tomorrows when the sun hangs bright in the blue sky
and it feels as if something almost touchable sneaks up on you.
Since childhood the night scares you
as if even the wind hisses at times like a deadly snake,
as if something dangerous is drinking water from the dog's bowl
and when the stars appear you start to long
do want to replace your fears with my presence,
and you want to baste in the passion of our love.
Since childhood the night scares you
and it feels as if something evil wants to catch you
when you sometimes find shelter in the bath
and when the stars appear you start to long
while I dry the tears from your rosy cheek,
and hold on to you through the night.
Since childhood the night scares you
and when the stars appear you start to long.
poem by Gert Strydom
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This Poetry Is Love
Picking up flowers
And reading the stems
To find your poetry soul
Like angel prints
In childhood snow.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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In The Early Morning [2]
In the early morning
dew covers every piece of grass and flower
and I see green sprouts in the soft ground
that appears after the first rain,
some grow luxuriant and others are slender and fine.
Some dew covers every piece of grass and flower,
and new buds appear
on long green stems,
some grow luxuriant and others are slender and fine.
in an aromatic existence.
At dark red roses and pink hollyhocks
on long green stems,
butterflies appear new from there metamorphoses
while the sun spreads its yellow-golden rays,
at dark red roses and pink hollyhocks
bees and butterflies fly to and thro
in the early morning
while the sun spreads its yellow-golden rays
and I see green sprouts in the soft ground.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Feuilles D'Automne
Gather the leaves from the forest
And blow them over the world,
The wind of winter follows
The wind of autumn furled.
Only the beech tree cherishes
A leaf or two for ruth,
Their stems too tough for the tempest,
Like thoughts of love and of youth.
You may sit by the fire and ponder
While darkness veils the pane,
And fear that your memories are rushing away
In the wind and the rain.
But you'll find them in the quiet
When the clouds race with the moon,
Making the tender silver sound
Of a beech in the month of June.
For you cannot rob the memory
Of the leaves it loves the best;
The wind of time may harry them,
It rushes away with the rest.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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A Ballad of London
AH, London! London! our delight,
Great flower that opens but at night,
Great City of the midnight sun,
Whose day begins when day is done.
Lamp after lamp against the sky
Opens a sudden beaming eye,
Leaping alight on either hand,
The iron lilies of the Strand.
Like dragonflies, the hansoms hover,
With jeweled eyes, to catch the lover;
The streets are full of lights and loves,
Soft gowns, and flutter of soiled doves.
The human moths about the light
Dash and cling close in dazed delight,
And burn and laugh, the world and wife,
For this is London, this is life!
Upon thy petals butterflies,
But at thy root, some say, there lies,
A world of weeping trodden things,
Poor worms that have not eyes or wings.
From out corruption of their woe
Springs this bright flower that charms us so,
Men die and rot deep out of sight
To keep this jungle-flower bright.
Paris and London, World-Flowers twain
Wherewith the World-Tree blooms again,
Since Time hath gathered Babylon,
And withered Rome still withers on.
Sidon and Tyre were such as ye,
How bright they shone upon the tree!
But Time hath gathered, both are gone,
And no man sails to Babylon.
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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x13-The Petals Shall Fall
(I suggest you read first the 'COLD WATERS'.2nd poem of DEAD PETALS)
-Dylan Blayne-
My heart pained the very first moment
that I looked into your eyes.
How I want to take that sorrow away,
to turn it to the skies…
why, the moment I saw you,
how I long to take your heart.
Though I rushed to pluck petals
to wipe away your fears…
you’re gone as though you’re drowned with your tears.
I knocked at your door,
But there was no answer.
I entered as a strange feeling
rushed through me deeper.
I called after you but all I heard
was rushing waters.
And so I looked for it and found you
Dead with tears.
I never had the time to question why…
or wipe your tears with petals by and by.
I saw the words you wrote before your bed…
‘the petals shall fall and the waters shall flow’,
how I wish I’d better be dead!
Blood flowed like water with your tears;
I wonder if I could carry this memory
for all the coming years.
I think you’re right, the petals shall fall…
and I guess I’m too late
to have you after all.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On The Downs
THE little moon is dead,
Drowned in the flood of rain
That drips from roof of byre and shed,
And splashes in the lane:
The leafless lean-flanked lane where last year's leaves are spread.
The sheep cower in the fold,
Where the rain beats them blind,
Where scarce the rotten hurdles hold
Against the weary wind
That moans with angry tears across the pathless wold.
Dim lights across the down
Show where the lone farms lie,
The twisted trees have lost their brown,
Are black against the sky,
And far below blink lights, gay lights of Brighton town.
Ah, was the moon once bright?
And did the thyme smell sweet
Where, between dewy dusk and light,
The warm turf felt our feet,
And bean-flowers scented all the enchanted summer night?
Did sheep-bells tinkle clear
Across the golden haze?
Were the woods ever leafy-dear,
In those forgotten days?
The wet wind shrieks denial: no other voice speaks here.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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