June Mooned Normandy - 0102 - For Annie Boudet
Near sand dunes gently rolling in June mooned Normandy,
on starlit strands went strolling salt scented, silvery,
while sightless eels swam shoaling, silk ribbons on the sea.
Soon midnight peals rang tolling to twelve from one, two, three,
till roosters rose, cock-crowing, we talked on tenderly.
Pine trees in gren groves growing most gnome-like seemed to me.
Brine breeze the billows blowing, froth-foaming fretfully
sent spent spray wavelets spewing, coast-combing ceaselessly,
‘neath tent-grey egrets mewing, ghosts roaming silently,
repined, our steps pursuing in restless jealousy.
(3 October 1975)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Wherefore and Whither
WHEREFORE AND WHITHER
Now you’d know where fate’s flowing if you abide with me,
and wonder where we’re going, what could provide the key?
The future you’d be knowing, how will life fare for thee?
but all’s in vain, this trowing, when we lack liberty.
Ringed golden debt is owing, yet you remain too free.
The fused frustrations growing attack you, fair chérie,
for Time’s swift furrow’s showing no longer twenty three.
Though sun each morrow’s flowing, it sets too speedily.
There’ll be no plights bestowing, lest spite spite enmity,
though sorrow may be sowing, we haste to heresy.
Away you should be stowing all memory of me...
3 October 1975 For Annie B
robi03_1374_robi03_0000 XXX_LOX
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JUNE MOONED NORMANDY
Near sand dunes gently rolling in June mooned Normandy,
on starlit strands went strolling salt scented, silvery,
while sightless eels swam shoaling, silk ribbons on the sea.
Soon midnight peals rang tolling to twelve from one, two, three,
till roosters rose, cock-crowing, we talked on tenderly.
Pine trees in gren groves growing most gnome-like seemed to me.
Brine breeze the billows blowing, froth-foaming fretfully –
sent spent spray wavelets spewing, coast-combing ceaselessly,
‘neath tent-grey egrets mewing, ghosts roaming silently,
repined, our steps pursuing in restless jealousy.
3 October 1975 For Annie B
robi03_1373_robi03_0000 XXX_LNX
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllll
BEFORE THE FALL
Love was for me framed in eternity...
Whispering and wooing, in our sleek youth happy,
where air and water seek dry sand,
there far from others of the band,
fair hearts held high, her hand my hand, together linked were we
The doves of love were cooing in Cupid’s comany;
above our heads bright stars did shine,
spread out in soft light milky line,
shed silver on the sacred shrine of her divinity.
Through time the scene reviewing, with no uncertainty,
thread perfect wed, divine design,
rose vision sworn, reflection fine,
whose face sublime fond Earth did sign to grace humanity
We cared not, to undoing, we dared ‘to be’ to be,
before rash fires of passion fanned,
before, as ashes, pyres were panned;
ere separation, forced or planned, diverted destiny.
Is love, for thee, still certainty?
3 October 1975 For Annie B
robi03_0102_robi03_0000 XXX_LOX
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
June Mooned Normandy
JUNE MOONED NORMANDY
Near sand dunes gently rolling in June mooned Normandy,
on starlit strands went strolling salt scented, silvery,
while sightless eels swam shoaling, silk ribbons on the sea.
Soon midnight peals rang tolling to twelve from one, two, three,
till roosters rose, cock-crowing, we talked on tenderly.
Pine trees in gren groves growing most gnome-like seemed to me.
Brine breeze the billows blowing, froth-foaming fretfully –
sent spent spray wavelets spewing, coast-combing ceaselessly,
‘neath tent-grey egrets mewing, ghosts roaming silently,
repined, our steps pursuing in restless jealousy.
3 October 1975 For Annie B
robi03_1373_robi03_0000 XXX_LNX
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllll
BEFORE THE FALL
Love was for me framed in eternity...
Whispering and wooing, in our sleek youth happy,
where air and water seek dry sand,
there far from others of the band,
fair hearts held high, her hand my hand, together linked were we
The doves of love were cooing in Cupid’s comany;
above our heads bright stars did shine,
spread out in soft light milky line,
shed silver on the sacred shrine of her divinity.
Through time the scene reviewing, with no uncertainty,
thread perfect wed, divine design,
rose vision sworn, reflection fine,
whose face sublime fond Earth did sign to grace humanity
We cared not, to undoing, we dared ‘to be’ to be,
before rash fires of passion fanned,
before, as ashes, pyres were panned;
ere separation, forced or planned, diverted destiny.
Is love, for thee, still certainty?
3 October 1975 For Annie B
robi03_0102_robi03_0000 XXX_LOX
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
WHEREFORE AND WHITHER
Now you’d know where fate’s flowing if you abide with me,
and wonder where we’re going, what could provide the key?
The future you’d be knowing, how will life fare for thee?
but all’s in vain, this trowing, when we lack liberty.
Ringed golden debt is owing, yet you remain too free.
The fused frustrations growing attack you, fair chérie,
for Time’s swift furrow’s showing no longer twenty three.
Though sun each morrow’s flowing, it sets too speedily.
There’ll be no plights bestowing, lest spite spite enmity,
though sorrow may be sowing, we haste to heresy.
Away you should be stowing all memory of me...
3 October 1975 For Annie B
robi03_1374_robi03_0000 XXX_LOX
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllll
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ghosts Of The Bunurong
On the sand dunes at Powlett river in the dead of the night
Dark shadows are moving in the faint moonlight
The Ghosts of the Bunurong dance their Corroborees
In a circle they jig to the music of the breeze.
And as they dance they sing an old Dreamtime song
This Country to their spirits always belong
When white people are sleeping the black tribes come out
And they sing on the sand dunes as they dance about.
The old ghosts of the Dreamtime have not gone away
Like the frogmouths they hide from the bright lamp of day
But on the stroke of midnight they come out from the trees
And they dance on the sand by the southern seas.
The ghosts of the Bunurong they have not died
They dance in the moonlight on the beach at low tide
And by old Powlett river their old Countryside
At dawn they return to their old trees to hide
From the bright lamp of day but on the stroke of midnight
They dance on the sand dunes in the faint moonlight
And to the music of the breeze they sing their Dreamtime song
This Country to their spirits always belong.
poem by Francis Duggan
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So Clear It 'Mints' My Senses
The pine scented trees,
Impresses an image...
So clear it 'mints' my senses.
Perhaps it is the Fall that does this?
With the promise that comes,
Along with those holidays gone
And missed.
As the temperature cools...
And the turning of the leaves,
Seem to be in a rhythm swaying,
Ever so gently.
The wrapping of gifts,
Or just the pleasantness that appeals...
To a healing unsolicited,
And received with anticipated acceptedness.
As the blowing of a brisk wind...
Wished to never end,
With such a majestic breeze...
Blending this scene seamlessly.
To receive and enhale to freely breathe.
And deeply.
The pine scented trees,
Impresses an image...
So clear it 'mints' my senses.
So involved with it...
Quickly I cement my committment.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Behold The Sea
Behold the sea, the mighty restless sea!
Behold the strand of battered rock and sand!
The endless fight between the sea and man!
Behold the sea!
Through wind and storm the foaming breakers roar
What of the man who waits upon the shore?
What of the man you hold forevermore?
Behold the sea!
Rolling along in the starlight
Restless, plentiful and strong
Rolling along in the moonlight
Surf and spray shining in the sun
Behold the sea, the mighty restless sea!
Behold the strand of battered rock and sand!
The endless fight between the sea and man!
Behold the sea!
poem by Jerry Caldwell
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Mystery Obscured
Far away from nothing,
The trees in the sky is what I see.
I hear the wind - it's coming,
Stirring up the pine trees.
I hear the ocean behind -
Smell salt in the air.
The wind it finally reaches me,
Mixing pine with salt air.
The sky is steely grey,
The sun obscured by clouds.
It casts a mysterious light,
On trees and ocean alike.
poem by Aimee Nell
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Tenderly
The evening breeze caressed the trees, tenderly
The trembling trees embraced the breeze tenderly
Then you and I came wandering by
And lost in a sigh were we
The shore was kissed by sea and mist tenderly
I cant forget how two hearts met breathlessly
Your arms opened wide
And closed me inside
You took my lips you took my love so tenderly
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tenderly
Walter gross / jack lawrence
The evening breeze caressed the trees tenderly
The trembling trees embraced the breeze tenderly
Then you and I came wandering by
And lost in a sigh were we
The shore was kissed by sea and mist tenderly
I cant forget how two hearts met breathlessly
Your arms opened wide and closed me inside
You took my lips, you took my love so tenderly
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soft and Tenderly
Soft and tenderly,
A breeze comes to me...
And then it leaves.
Quick and fresh it is.
Taking me within in its midst,
Ever gently.
Cool, fresh and sweet...
Then it goes.
How it flows to tease with blowing,
No one knows.
The sky clear and crisp.
As my eyes lift to witness,
The Sun rise and glow.
The birth of this day...
Has a peaceful way to say,
Share this and grow.
A wealth of Spring begins,
And I sing without end...
A melody that is soft,
With a tenderness I seldom show.
Soft and tenderly,
A breeze comes to me...
And then it leaves.
Quick and fresh it is.
Taking me within in its midst,
Ever gently.
How it flows to tease with blowing,
No one knows.
And I'm glad to sit as it drifts,
Unresisting the giving,
It bestows.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Memories of Summers Spent
For Faizil
I remember the sand dunes of Aniston
Eastwards on the south of the Western Cape coast
The blue skies hanging over
Illuminated by the burning sun
Within the sand dunes concealed
Lies the bones of shipwrecked sailors of yesteryear
Contrast of desert and ocean
Like two dimension woven in one
Dwarfed by the sands of time
I remember how we raced to the top of the dunes
Breathless without thought
Just the absolute carefree bliss of being children
The race down was a running and a tumbling
Our summers spent camping at Arniston
When finally at the bottom, we would lay exhausted
Panting, catching our breath
poem by Persian Khushi
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Tenderly
(words and music by gross and lawrence)
This lyrics are like performed by natalie cole
The evening breeze caressed the trees tenderly
The trembling trees embraced the breeze tenderly
Then you and I came wandering by
And lost in a sigh were we
The shore was kissed by sea and mist tenderly
I cant forget how two hearts met breathlessly
Your arms opened wide and closed me inside
You took my lips, you took my love so tenderly
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Crowing of the Roosters
Come to the village
and listen to the crowing roosters
up the branches of the trees
announcing the breaking
of a bright new day.
Come to the village
Walk the miles of the road
Have a pause from the roaring buses,
The dazzles on the streets
And the endless list of activities.
Come to the village
And learn from the roosters
Resting on the silent trees
Communing with nature
And speaking to man and woman
The great early morning of peace.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Where the Blue Begins
In the southern Adriatic, where the blue begins,
We came to rest awhile and play
On sun-drenched islands known as Tremiti,
Where the breeze blows fresh
And pine trees shiver and the salt sea
Washes the likes of you and me,
In the southern Adriatic, in the wind-blown spray.
In the bluest water, just where it begins,
We came to play awhile, came to rest
On rocky shores of barren coves,
As the swells arrived and water splashed
And reflected sunlight jumped and shimmered
Among the cliffs and overhangs and grottoes,
In the Adriatic, where that sort of thing begins.
In the clear blue water that the swells bring by
Out of the sunny Adriatic Sea,
We came to rest and play and bathe ourselves,
As the pine trees swayed on the bluffs above
And wind dispersed the salt sea spray,
In the sunny Adriatic, where a way of life begins.
We came seeking an immersion, to find ourselves
In waters clear enough to fathom
A bottom profoundly blue, to see it seemed
All the way to Greece or any other site
That water washed as well or sun could so ignite,
Came to see ourselves in a world of dreams,
That words might furnish what place implies,
That place might finish what a word begins.
We came seeking clearest water, sunniest sky,
Came, you and I, to see what would be seen
Immersed in waters consummately blue,
In sunlit swells that carried their dark secret,
Tiny hosts known as meduse, whose fragile arms
Glanced and stung and burned all day
And raised the blush that blossomed on our skins,
Aggravated by the sun and spray,
By our own attempts to hold each other,
As we swam out of ourselves and were swept away,
In the southern Adriatic, where the blue begins.
poem by George Bradley
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One Rose
Rose
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each bruise
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each time you cheated
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each time you forced me
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each pointless arguement
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each crime
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each time you try to end me
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
How many more can I live through?
poem by Lexie Night
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2: 53 A.m.
loudest is the sound of the
cock crowing
though far from this house
of hay
it cannot hear us somehow
on another cock crowing
on your hands
of cotton
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Maori Pig Market
In distant New Zealand, whose tresses of gold
The billows are ceaselessly combing,
Away in a village all tranquil and old
I came on a market where porkers were sold --
A market for pigs in the gloaming.
And Maoris in plenty in picturesque rig
The lands of their forefathers roaming,
Were weighing their swine, whether little or big,
For purchasers paid by the weight of the pig --
The weight of the pig in the gloaming.
And one mighty chieftain, I grieve to relate,
The while that his porker was foaming
And squealing like fifty -- that Maori sedate,
He leant on the pig just to add to its weight --
He leant on the pig in the gloaming.
Alas! for the buyer, an Irishman stout --
O'Grady, I think, his cognomen --
Perceived all his doings, and, giving a shout,
With the butt of his whip laid him carefully out
By the side of his pig in the gloaming.
A terrible scrimmage did straightway begin,
And I thought it was time to be homing,
For Maoris and Irish were fighting like sin
'Midst war-cries of "Pakeha!" "Batherashin!"
As I fled from the spot in the gloaming
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Laughing Gnome
I was walking down the high street
When I heard footsteps behind me
And there was a little old man (hello)
In scarlet and grey, shuffling away (laughter)
Well he trotted back to my house
And he sat beside the telly (oaah..)
With his tiny hands on his tummy
Chuckling away, laughing all day (laughter)
Oh, I ought to report you to the gnome office
(gnome office)
Yes
(hahahahaha)
Ha ha ha, hee hee hee
Im a laughing gnome and you dont catch me
Ha ha ha, hee hee hee
Im a laughing gnome and you cant catch me
Said the laughing gnome
Well I gave him roasted toadstools and a glass of dandelion wine (burp, pardon)
Then I put him on a train to eastbourne
Carried his bag and gave him a fag
(havent you got a light boy? )
Here, where do you come from?
(gnome-mans land, hahihihi)
Oh, really?
In the morning when I woke up
He was sitting on the edge of my bed
With his brother whose name was fred
Hed bought him along to sing me a song
Right, lets hear it
Here, whats that clicking noise?
(thats fred, hes a metrognome, haha)
Ha ha ha, hee hee hee
Im a laughing gnome and you dont catch me
Ha ha ha, hee hee hee
Im a laughing gnome and you cant catch me
(own up, Im a gnome, aint I right, haha)
Havent you got an ome to go to?
(no, were gnomads)
Didnt they teach you to get your hair cut at school? you look like a rolling gnome.
(no, not at the london school of ecognomics)
Now theyre staying up the chimney
And were living on caviar and honey (hooray!)
Cause theyre earning me lots of money
Writing comedy prose for radio shows
Its the-er (what? )
Its the gnome service of course
Ha ha ha, hee hee hee
Im a laughing gnome and you dont catch me
Ha ha ha, oh, dear me
(ha ha ha, hee hee hee
Im a laughing gnome and you cant catch me
Ha ha ha, hee hee hee
Im a laughing gnome and you cant catch me)
(one more time, yeah)
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gently on the Stream of Time
Gently on the stream of time,
We are floating day by day,
In life's native boats sublime
We soon anchor in the bay.
We'll soon anchor in the haven,
Where the weary are at rest,
In that blissful port called Heaven,
Where are roaming now the blest.
CHORUS:
Be gentle, time be gentle with us,
While we are on life's troubled stream,
May life's foaming billows o'er us
Break away as day serene.
Gently on the stream of time,
We will swiftly glide along,
Till we reach the realm divine,
Then we'll join the heavenly throng,
Where our friends have gone before us
Waiting on the other shore.
In that home they sing in chorus,
"Welcome home the rich and poor."
Gently on the stream of time,
We shall shortly pass away,
We shall reach the heavenly clime
If God's commands we obey.
Gently on the stream of time
We are going one by one,
Listening to the evening chime
On life's journey going home.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Thanks To The Rolling Sea
(words & music by batchelor - roberts)
Thanks to the rolling, rolling, rolling, thanks to the rolling sea
Thanks to the rolling, rolling, rolling, thanks to the rolling sea
Fish on the table and fish on the fire, fried fish hanging on the tree
Everything here that your heart desires, thanks to the rolling sea
Thanks to the rolling sea
Living is good and living is fine, were happy as can be
We owe all this to the salty brine, thanks to the rolling sea
Thanks to the rolling sea
We work all day but our hearts are gay, and while we work we sing
The mighty sea is good to us and weve got everything
Abalone steaks and tuna fish cakes, taste so heavenly
We know who we owe it to, thanks to the rolling sea
Thanks to the rolling, rolling, rolling, thanks to the rolling sea
Thanks to the rolling, rolling, rolling, thanks to the rolling sea
Thanks to the rolling, rolling, rolling, thanks to the rolling sea
Thanks to the rolling, rolling, rolling, thanks to the rolling sea
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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