Within the woodlands for M'lady Lucianne
Glosa
Within the woodlands flowery gladed
Beside the oak trees mossy moot
The shining grass blades timber shaded
Now do quiver underfoot.
William Barnes
Within the woodlands flowery gladed.
A lover and his lass embrace.
She was not to be persuaded
this was the time nor yet the place.
Beside the oak trees mossy moot
he begged and pleaded but in vain
she rejected his urgent suit
Her maidenhead she would retain
The shining grass blades timber shaded
Would not become her marriage bed.
Her maidenhood would not be traded
for all the words of love he said.
Now do quiver underfoot
all of his planned seduction schemes,
to him she was forbidden fruit
The subject of his fevered dreams.
11-Aug-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
My Orcha'd in Linden Lea
'Ithin the woodlands, flow'ry gleaded,
By the woak tree's mossy moot,
The sheenen grass bleades, timber-sheaded,
Now do quiver under voot;
An' birds do whissle auver head,
An' water's bubblen in its bed,
An' ther vor me the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
When leaves that leately wer a-springen
Now do feade 'ithin the copse,
An' painted birds do hush ther zingen
Up upon the timber's tops;
An' brown-leav'd fruit's a-turnen red,
In cloudless zunsheen, auver head,
Wi' fruit vor me the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
Let other vo'k meake money vaster
In the air o' dark-room'd towns,
I don't dread a peevish measter;
Though noo man do heed my frowns,
I be free to goo abrode,
Or teake agean my hwomeward road
To where vor me the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
poem by William Barnes
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My Orcha'd In Linden Lea
'Ithin the woodlands, flow'ry gleaded,
By the woak tree's mossy moot,
The sheenen grass-bleades, timber-sheaded,
Now do quiver under voot;
An' birds do whissle over head,
An' water's bubblen in its bed,
An' there vor me the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
When leaves that leately wer a-springen
Now do feade 'ithin the copse,
An' painted birds do hush their zingen
Up upon the timber's tops;
An' brown-leav'd fruit's a-turnen red,
In cloudless zunsheen, over head,
Wi' fruit vor me, the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
Let other vo'k meake money vaster
In the air o' dark-room'd towns,
I don't dread a peevish measter;
Though noo man do heed my frowns,
I be free to goo abrode,
Or teake agean my hwomeward road
To where, vor me, the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
poem by Ingeborg Bachmann
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Sestina - Cycling
November bomb-fires refuse to take light
Like sultry splutters of a lazy passion.
And drowsy hedgehogs under dead, damp wood
Dream snail’s trail filaments of kiss and touch.
Autumnal sodden leaves, leave underfoot,
A worn, discarded carpet once so lush.
Cold winter heart of mornings, sunlight lush,
Spangle frosts on bare branches and delight
In shining grass blades crunching underfoot.
Invade my sleepy heart, excite my passion.
I yearn for kisses, search for trembling touch.
Tentatively snap dead-wood’s bitter wood.
Rising greenly, sap springs through new wood,
Feeding fresh leaf, nourishing bud till lush
Summer arrives. Await the radiant touch!
Anticipate! The sun’s young rays spread light,
Tempting seeds of lust to swell in passion,
Crushing memories which echo underfoot.
Wise warnings thud above whilst underfoot
The thundering tramplings of the wild, wild wood
Call out. “Unleash your thwarted passion.
Drink in the nectar of life’s root, the lush
Intoxicating spirit that sets light
Your body with the need for urgent touch.
Laden boughs bend overhead to touch
A verdant rug of green laid underfoot.
Sky brightness winks and blinks. The broken light
Peeps through. Charcoal dark, my cleft heart of wood
Remnant of fire, lies guarded in the lush
Cutting blades of grass that hide my passion.
Leaves scuttle, dry husks rush round with passion
Press-ganged by the wind. Gems dyed by the touch
Of death in glowing hues. Fruit full and lush
With wasps, reaping juice fallen underfoot.
For good, my soul is yearly marked like wood
Rings revealing all, sealed away from light.
Envoi
Can passion trampled underfoot spring up
Again? Can touch revive the flame in wood
Snuffed by lush, lush rain? Can kisses make light?
poem by Janet Budd
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Fairies
They don’t believe in fairies,
Those old folk wide and staid,
They’ve never caught the glitter
Of their wings in forest shade.
For them the bush is just a place
Of timber, cows and corn,
They’ve never been up our creek
On a cool November morn.
From mossy banks all dotted
With violets breaking through,
Beneath the frondled maidenhair
Their shy eyes peep at you.
They sleep ‘neath tasselled tea-trees,
The drowsy summer day,
Where the tiny crimson love-birds
Around them dart and play.
The dew-drenched nights of Summer,
When gum-trees are aflower,
In foamy waves of sweetness
Bring round the fairies’ hour.
This is the time of frolic,
When they go floating high,
On wispy shreds of river mist,
Across the shining sky.
What! Don’t believe in fairies!
When they’re round you everywhere!
See them- who needs to see them?
You simply know they’re there.
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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Harmless Gossip
An avenue of stately trees
whose branches meet high overhead
exchanging gossip with the breeze.
This is the way that rumours spread.
When lovers stroll beneath the moon.
The trees observe their every move.
They dance to day to the same tune
their forbears danced to when in love.
Though fashions change, some things do not.
The trees have seen it all before.
All that they’ve seen is not forgot
but added the their growing store
of gossip which the trees then share
with every passing breeze that blows.
The trees will spread it everywhere
to all and sundry I suppose.
Be very careful what you do.
Although no one can see.
Know that the trees are watching you
and they will share quite happily.
Everything that they have seen
with any breeze that happens by.
With consequences unforeseen
By trees and breeze or you and I.
When strolling in a moon lit glade
Beware the moons soft silver rays.
That stir the blood of man and maid
to think this is the time and place.
19/09/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Nature Cure for friend Thad
I lay upon the short cropped grass
beneath the shade of an oak tree
and watched the clouds which slowly passed
across the sky towards the sea.
I wondered idly should I stroll
towards the cliffs above the sea.
Where I could watch the breakers roll.
the waves in motion ceaselessly.
The lazy buzzing of the bees
Persuaded me that I should stay,
just where I was and take my ease.
Tomorrow was another day.
An afternoon of indolence.
Stress therapy without expense.
31-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I Hear
When the trees sing what matters is knowing.
That the trees are singing at all.
their gentle music ever out flowing
for those attuned to hear its call.
Although all children hear and sing along,
most adults have forgotten how
to listen to the trees and hear their song
They’re far too busy to allow
themselves to be distracted by the trees
Their minds are fixed on other things
and do not miss the melodies
The gentle breeze amongst the branches sings
It makes no difference at all
The trees still sing as they have always done
in summer, spring winter and fall.
I listen for the music of the trees
those sad but sometimes joyous harmonies.
10-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Earth-Child in the Grass
In the very early morning
Long before Dawn time
I lay down in the paddock
And listened to the cold song of the grass.
Between my fingers the green blades,
And the green blades pressed against my body.
"Who is she leaning so heavily upon me?"
Sang the grass.
"Why does she weep on my bosom,
Mingling her tears with the tears of my mystic lover?
Foolish little earth-child!
It is not yet time.
One day I shall open my bosom
And you shall slip in--but not weeping.
Then in the early morning
Long before Dawn time
Your lover will lie in the paddock.
Between his fingers the green blades
And the green blades pressed against his body...
My song shall not sound cold to him
In my deep wave he will find the wave of your hair
In my strong sweet perfume, the perfume of your kisses.
Long and long he will lie there...
Laughing--not weeping."
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Fashion sense for M'lady Ann Beard
The trees bedecked with blossom now.
Some clad in pink and some in white.
Contestants in the beauty show
which spring provides for our delight
The blossoms which adorn he trees
are unaware, they do not know.
That very soon the gentle breeze
will shake them loose to fall like snow.
The trees will don new coats of green.
More suited to the summer sun
than what the blossoms would have been
Their time has passed so they have gone.
When autumn comes the trees will know
its time to wear their winter clothes
In preparation for the snow.
The theme of winters beauty show.
Though seasons come and seasons go.
The trees adapt quite easily
for summers sun or winters snow
They’re sure to be dressed suitably.
29/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Off the Track
Oh where the deuce is the track, the track?
Round an' round, an' forrard, an' back!
“Keep the sun on yer right,” they said—
But, hang it, he's gone an' got over my head!
“Make for a belt of apple trees;”—
Jist so. But where's yer belt, if ye please?
By gum, it's hot! This child'll melt,
An' there ain't no apples, nor ain't no belt.
“Keep clear o' the timber-getters' tracks,”
But wich is wich, I'd beg to ax?
They forks and jines, the devil knows how—
I wish I'd a sight o' either now!
“Leave the track,” sez they, “when you sees
Some yards to the right two big grass trees.”
Two! It's dozens on dozens I pass—
Most on 'em big, an' all on 'em grass.
Oh where the deuce is the track, the track?
I'm fairly taken aback, aback.
“Keep tow'rd the river. You can't go wrong.”
Whew? Can't I, though! That was rayther strong.
“Follow the lay o' the land,” sez they;
But, Lord, this flat ain't got no lay!
Whew! Ain't it hot on the pint o' the nose?
An' the more I mops the hotter I grows.
“An' when you comes to the foot o' the range”—
WHEN! That's the pint. But ain't it strange,
That the further I goes, to left or right,
The more there ain't no range in sight.
Gum trees, gum trees, slim an' high,
Timber green an' timber dry.
Blackened stumps an' fallen logs—
Lively work as on we jogs!
Oh the devil an' all take the flat, the flat!
I'm one myself for the matter o' that.
I'm mazed, an' so is the brute I rides,
An' the sun's getting over the left besides.
Dash it, I'll follow my nose, my nose!
Step out, straight forrard, here goes, here goes!
Let the sun be left, or the sun be right,
Summat or other must come in sight.
* * * * *
Well, well! If this ain't too bad by half!
Lor', how the beggars 'll laugh an' chaff!
Back to my startin' point? Yes; tis so.
I put up them slip-rails six hours ago.
poem by James Brunton Stephens
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Autumnale for M lady ernestine
The falling leaves dance in the breeze
and clothe the ground beneath the trees,
in autumn colours rich a rare.
The trees themselves will soon be bare.
Left no defence against the wind.
Their winter plans are well designed,
bare twigs and branches hold less snow
than useless leaves they have let go
The wintry gales to no avail
try hard but they are doomed to fail,
They can’t destroy the sturdy trees;
resisting with apparent ease.
Although they bow before the blast
they know that winter cannot last
The winds will die and fade away
the trees will they’re here to stay.
Spring will return the trees will green
as if the winter had not been.
The trees put on their new spring clothes
along with every plant that grows.
8-Oct-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Travelling Bear
GRASS-BLADES push up between the cobblestones
And catch the sun on their flat sides
Shooting it back,
Gold and emerald,
Into the eyes of passers-by.
And over the cobblestones,
Square-footed and heavy,
Dances the trained bear.
The cobbles cut his feet,
And he has a ring in his nose
But still he dances,
For the keeper pricks him with a sharp stick,
Under his fur.
Now the crowd gapes and chuckles,
And boys and young women shuffle their feet in time to the dancing bear,
They see him wobbling
Against a dust of emerald and gold,
And they are greatly delighted.
The legs of the bear shake with fatigue
And his back aches,
And the shining grass-blades dazzle and confuse him.
But still he dances,
Because of the little, pointed stick.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Flowery Smile
Flowery smile, flowery smile
As I glance your sparkling eyes.
Flowery smile, flowery smile
Stunning beauty, across the miles.
Flowery smile, flowery smile
Soothe my heart, makes my day shine.
Never give up, never for a while
For heart will fall, with your flowery smile.
poem by Dong Agosto
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Mother Nature's Floor
A sheen of sparkling frost across the grass,
Crisp 'neath the feet.
Sun shafting through the trees, like shining brass,
The rime to greet.
Sleepy, unhurried thaw on bright green blades,
Moist melted dew.
As life begins awakening through the glades,
Day to pursue.
Such startling beauty fills the eyes with awe,
Each glint, a jewel.
Laid out in splendour on Mother Nature's floor,
Constant renewal.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Timber
When I first saw you standing there , you set my heart a-reeling
Baby , you gave me such a feeling
My heart cries timber , timber , timber , timber
Timber baby cause Im a a-fallin for you
Yeah , yeah , yeah
Well, it happens evry time I look in your eyes
Baby , its paradise
My heart cries timber , timber , timber , timber
Timber baby cause Im a-fallin for you
Yeah , yeah , yeah
Well , I wish that you were mine to be forever and ever
Without you darling I just cant sleep
Im only happy when were together
I guess its time that I told you so
Ill always want to hold you
Baby , have I ever told you
My heart cries timber , timber , timber , timber
Timber baby cause Im a-fallin for you
Yeah , yeah , yeah
I wish that you were mine to be forever and ever
Without you darling I just cant sleep
Im only happy when were together
I guess its time that I told you so
Ill always want to hold you
Baby , have I ever told you
My heart cries timber , timber , timber , timber
Timber baby cause Im a-fallin for you
Whoa , whoa , whoa
Timber baby cause Im a-fallin for you
Whoa, whoa, whoa
Timber baby cause Im a-fallin for you (fade)
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hurricane
Tall buildings and trees fell flat
Grass blades bounced back
haiku by Sathya Narayana
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A Little Boy in the Morning
He will not come, and still I wait.
He whistles at another gate
Where angels listen. Ah I know
He will not come, yet if I go
How shall I know he did not pass
barefooted in the flowery grass?
The moon leans on one silver horn
Above the silhouettes of morn,
And from their nest-sills finches whistle
Or stooping pluck the downy thistle.
How is the morn so gay and fair
Without his whistling in its air?
The world is calling, I must go.
How shall I know he did not pass
Barefooted in the shining grass?
poem by Francis Ledwidge
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Hope overcomes experience.
I understand that love can die.
Without a cause apparently.
There is no point in asking why.
We must accept that agony
replaces erstwhile ecstasy
We used to share so long ago.
So we decide reluctantly
the time has come we must let go.
We can retain fond memories
or do our damndest to forget
though neither can be done with ease.
Because we are not ready yet.
No doubt we’ll fall in love again
undeterred by our past pain.
Thursday,27 May 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Signs and Synbols
The dreams you have betray a need
You may not always recognise,
just what it is: You will concede
that this is true if you are wise.
Interpretation of your dreams.
Is not an easy thing to do.
You mind conceives fantastic schemes
to try and get it’s message through.
Although the language is obscure.
The symbols which your mind supplies
can paint a very clear picture.
Quite suddenly you realise.
Just what the symbols signify.
It is quite easy when you try.
25-Sep-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Forward planning
Bright autumn leaves like butterflies
are gaily dancing in the breeze.
Until they fall; no more to rise
and coat the ground beneath the trees.
In carpets of rich autumn hues
Which will soon fade to neutral brown.
The time has come for trees to lose
their leaves and cast them down.
As they prepare for winters rule.
Returning to the earth again
their useless leaves to use a fuel.
Which when spring comes will help sustain.
The sudden burst of energy
that is required by every tree.
Saturday,11 September 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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