Homo universalensis
Homo universalensis
I do not look at thee
as if upon a honeybee
afraid if thy might sting
but rather as a cherrytree
that blossoms in the spring
you are not man nor woman
but of them all first human
a flower to be admired
a light desiring to be fired
your heart is beating at my door
in room 3, four or five
you jumped into my life
and pumped your virtues through
a Golden Bough to do
it is my deepest plight
here on my knees I might
bow seven times for
je t'aime and je t'adore
you and you, yes you.........
Madrason 15-04-2009
poem by Madrason writer
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A Distant Spring
I who love the Spring so well
Shall be sleeping, some glad day,
When her hosts come back to dwell
In their old, familiar way.
I shall live, alas! no more
In some distant April hour,
When the Spring finds wide her door,
Calling leaf, and bloom, and flower.
I shall sleep--but I shall dream
In my home beneath the ground,
And my slumbering heart shall teem
With its visions deep, profound.
I shall know, ere you will guess
(Though with life I have no part),
What new golden loveliness
Stirs within the old earth's heart.
I shall hear the first soft sound
When the Spring is born anew,
And rejoice, beneath the ground,
At the bliss to come to you.
And the dreams that I shall dream,
In that Spring when I am dead,
May arise until they seem
Blossoms white and blossoms red!
poem by Charles Hanson Towne
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Princess Of My Heart
If you were the rays of the sun bringing light
and I the darkness that blots out everything to black
we would have met each other at daybreak and sunset,
we would have greeted each other for moments
when the earth turns in its eternal orbit
and you would bring light to my darkness,
if you were the rays of the sun bringing light
and I the darkness that blots out everything to black.
.
If you were the stretched out ocean
and I the sky that goes up to space
we would have constantly touched each other
and at times I would have made your waters my own
and at times your waves would hit threatening
while my breath draws tracks over your surface,
if you were the stretched out ocean
and I the sky that goes up to space
If you were the spring that explodes in blossoms
and I the summer that comes with maturity
your lustrous glory would sing of my coming
while insects and birds frolic in pollination
and we both would draw strength from light, rain and dust
and I would be able to bare your fruit from each pretty flower,
if you were the spring that explodes in blossoms
and I the summer that comes with maturity
but you are my princess that I adore as my wife
and I am a writer of verses that keeps longing,
if you only knew the depth of my love
you would never be able to forget
and still my love sneaks into you
and brings meaning and maturity to every desire
but you are my princess that I adore as my wife
and I am a writer of verses that keeps longing.
[Reference: 'Princesse Lontaine' by A.G. Visser.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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O Heart of Spring
O HEART of Spring!
Spirit of light and love and joyous day,
So soon to faint beneath the fiery Summer:
Still smiles the Earth, eager for thee alway:
Welcome art thou, soever short thy stay,
Thou bold, thou blithe newcomer!
Whither, O whither this thy journeying,
O heart of Spring?
O heart of Spring!
After the stormy days of Winter’s reign,
When the keen winds their last lament are sighing,
The Sun shall raise thee up to life again:
In thy dim death thou shalt not suffer pain:
Surely thou dost not fear this quiet dying?
Whither, O whither this thy journeying,
O heart of Spring?
O heart of Spring!
Youth’s emblem, ancient and unchanging light,
Uncomprehended, unconsumed, still burning:
Oh that we could, as thou, rise from the night
To find a world of blossoms lilac-white,
And long-winged swallows unafraid returning…
Whither, O whither this thy journeying,
O heart of Spring?
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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Summer
And sleeps thy heart when flower and tree
Adorn the summer stillness?
And did young Spring pass over thee
In chillness?
Their scent delights and pleases,
On petalled breezes blown,
But in their beauty freezes
Thine own.
The flower awakes, the tree is leafed,
Yet love in thee is dumb,—
Flowers fall, fruits ripen, corn is sheafed,
Ho! Winter’s cold will come.
When wakens some November morn
Dew-soft, around thee brightly,
And blossoms on the grey hawthorn
Lie whitely,
Come thou, thy bosom beating,
And learn, through new-found bliss,
No time so joyous, fleeting,
As this.
Come thou, with shadows in thine eyes,
And singing in thy heart,
And learn, ’mid trees, with flowers and skies,
How young and dear thou art.
poem by Johannes Carl Andersen
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Flos Lunae
I would not alter thy cold eyes,
Nor trouble the calm fount of speech
With aught of passion or surprise.
The heart of thee I cannot reach:
I would not alter thy cold eyes!
I would not alter thy cold eyes;
Nor have thee smile, nor make thee weep:
Though all my life droops down and dies,
Desiring thee, desiring sleep,
I would not alter thy cold eyes.
I would not alter thy cold eyes;
I would not change thee if I might,
To whom my prayers for incense rise,
Daughter of dreams! my moon of night!
I would not alter thy cold eyes.
I would not alter thy cold eyes,
With trouble of the human heart:
Within their glance my spirit lies,
A frozen thing, alone, apart;
I would not alter thy cold eyes.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Happy Spring
Happy spring don't mean a thing
If nobody is listening
We all got to give its cling
A worthy again visiting
Singing from bough to bough
Playful birds are there
Bring together their vow
Little hearts pounding everywhere
Happy spring comes every spring
Memories soft glistening
Flowers and tints they bring
Under from earth's snowy wing
Its times come soon now
With their hope to share
New summer fun and now-how
Arriving again through the air
Refrain
Happy spring happy spring
Not too far in distances away
Happy spring what shall you bring
When you light up my May Day
In my heart I always knew
Tide of fresh fragrance would appear
With bluish sky and easy view
I'll be glad to have you here (repeat last line)
Happy spring don't mean a thing
If nobody is listening
We all got to give its cling
A worthy again visiting
Singing from bough to bough
Playful birds are there
Bring together their vow
Little hearts pounding everywhere
*(No song yet with this, also needs some refinishing later, as this was written now outside)
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Heart Of The Flower
Now at the station, the train to another land
Lands of never seen light, light hidden in infinite night
Night in its biggest might, might of the strongest power
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
I take the first train to the heart of the flower
I take the first train to the heart of the flower
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
The waiting room of kingdom come, I look back upon my life
Life of loss but now the end
End of rat race overdrive
Overdrive to foreign lands
Lands of contemptous hours
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
Now on the train
This is the end of my day
I feel my spirits escape like a musical clock thats dying away
I turn once again and wave my hand and say goodbye
I never thought its so easy
I never thought its so easy
I take the first train to the heart of the flower
I take the first train to the heart of the flower
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
And there the smoke of the train to the heart of the flower
The heart of the flower
The heart of the flower
The heart of the flower
Diamond/1990
song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stromen Vuur
Grijs is de wereld
waarin ik woon,
zwarte bolster
blanke pit
waar muziek in zit.
Grauw zijn de wolken
waarachter zon
, koffie, thee, ik drink
een hele zee
en zit op vers katoen.
Witte Marron ben ik
geschreven Madrason,
gedreven door de kern
die onhoudbaar
bruist als
woordvulkaan.
In stromen vuur
aan Uw schenen
puur
laat ik U dromen
en nader tot mij komen.
10-09-2012 Madrason
poem by Madrason writer
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April's Away.
All too soon the countryside,
Now fresh greened and sprouting more
Than spring, looks out for wider
Room, shakes it's newborn blossoms
Then ushers April to the door.
And April's away.
No longer teenage, Flora's
Grown maturer now, slightly
Deeper hued, flowers adorning
Every late spring bough, while
April, already pale, turns white,
Then April's away.
Heated by more ardent sun,
Hedgerows must have stronger feed.
Palid from work early done
April leaves, - makes way for May
To ensure Flora has her needs
Now April's away.
Puppylove
The blossom of your cheek,
the sun rays on your lap
a soft first shoulder tap
a heart that dears to speak.
A first whisper in your ear
a sight, soft water strikes,
a competition riding bikes,
the indecision what to wear.
Too young for hearts to say,
to proud to open up
that shiny buttercup
which blossoms -for a day-.
We keep our hearts at play
for finding what we need
in a bewildering speed,
heavens at our doorway.
And then that first tear,
a scratch on the skin,
an uncertain itching,
the painful break for fear.
Insecurity breaks through,
hearts beating faster
in for disaster
a little bit of blue....and
mama's arms around you.
Madrason 28-08-2012
poem by Madrason writer
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Milky Red
Milky Red
Your being longs
for whites and blues
with your red hair
on high-heel shoes
waving in the air
you sink away
in beaches of time
you are a cloud
which doesn't know
how to flow
for your used
to get by
in the sea
not the sky
your a pearl
that is why
you can mistify
this life
all of us
and all of me.
Madrason 02-09-2009
poem by Madrason writer
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Surprises Of Spring
SURPRISES OF SPRING
You hear, - a spring snowfall,
I am not afraid, more of you...
Snow only can, will candy, in heart a cherry flower...
You hear - Hurricane,
I am not afraid, more for you...
You cannot steal from me, even one breeze the magic melodies...
Because I am, itself, the sorcerer of spring...
3.03.09.
poem by Tsira Gogeshvili
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Obama confused
The upperlip
charming the under
no wonder
we are all
enchanted,
but the left
eye sees
what the right
can't see.
Madrason 18-03-2009
poem by Madrason writer
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Spring Blossoms
The blossoms dance on the breeze
drifting along like snowflakes
across my windows.
Some are pink and some are white
lazily they drift
on the currents of the breeze
underneath a simmering sun
the spring blossoms that I see.
Like fluffy feathery down
rising up towards the heavens
and the back down they come.
Tiny parasols drifting
across in the breeze
on a sunny day
the spring blossoms that I see.
29 May 2009
poem by David Harris
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Second Hand
What am I worth,
I am tossed
in a corner
lost together
with dirt,
waiting for
a gambler
or a loser
without
aspiration
to adore
me once more:
"Do you
understand,
I am
Second Hand!
Madrason 25-08-2012
poem by Madrason writer
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Have Mercy on thy Children, Man!
’Tis only man who kills his own
offsprings while in their mother’s womb;
And turns his human heart to stone,
and sanctity of womb to tomb!
The womb is now a slaughter-house!
The child can’t see the light of day;
The blame doesn’t go to either spouse;
The unborn children have no say!
What evil heart dares bring piecemeal
The little ‘homo sapiens’,
Forgetting it can sense and feel,
And lies in womb without defence!
The life within the womb hasn’t rights;
Parents decide the unborn’s fate;
No one will change the poor child’s plight;
Millions have died this way till date!
What cruel gadgets harm the child,
Dismembering it while alive!
Such things aren’t done by beasts in wild,
Freedom to live, can man deprive?
When man can kill his own like this,
What wrath can fill the heart of God!
Will Nature not deny him bliss,
And give him on earth stern a rod?
Man, have a heart for little ones;
Life is life in the tiniest ant!
If you pile corpses in the tons,
No living God will hear your chant.
All human lives are sacred most;
Man can’t kill babies and then boast;
Such murders will become a ghost,
And haunt him life-time, turning worst!
The God who allows life to start
Cannot forgive the man who kills,
For flimsy reasons without heart by
In ruthless ways and ev’n pills!
Oh, stop these senseless killings, man!
Lest scourge of God fall upon you!
Do good and increase your life-span;
Let evil thoughts not woo you through!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-24-2009
poem by John Celes
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Divine Shrine Vavroovahana Patra
On the shrine ye stand with a flute in the afternoon;
With an innocent heart, with a garland of blossoms I pray for the boon.
Oh, loving dear, I be mentally clear, serene and pure to get your bliss;
In the mom and eve, in dawn and dusk I come and go cherish a little peace.
The shrine is pure with the aroma of flower;
The abode illuminates with the fire, vibrates in eve's prayer.
Perfumed with sandal's glamorous odour;
The devotees reach with light to adore.
I come to thee with fragrant flower;
How pleasantly you are desirous and fair.
To-day, returning back with empty hand from your bosom;
Tomorrow, I would not be back, receiving the garland of bliss that blossom.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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A flower
A flower, a flower
wont anyone give me a flower?
But no one stops, no one listens
I am no more than a shadow calling out
though shielding away from the light
Afraid to be hurt more than I have been
Searching for someone to help
but find nothing but refusal and hurt
A flower, a flower,
wont anyone give me a flower?
But no one looks, no one cares
I am drifting now
afraid to ask anymore...
Wouldn't want to ruin their beautiful day
with my dark cold heart
-Goodbye now
poem by Amélie Peace
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A flower
A flower, a flower
wont anyone give me a flower?
But no one stops, no one listens
I am no more than a shadow calling out
though shielding away from the light
Afraid to be hurt more than I have been
Searching for someone to help
but find nothing but refusal and hurt
A flower, a flower,
wont anyone give me a flower?
But no one looks, no one cares
I am drifting now
afraid to ask anymore...
Wouldn't want to ruin their beautiful day
with my dark cold heart
-Goodbye now
poem by Angelic Warrior
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Nothing Is More Beautiful Than a Woman
The spring flowers ranked distant third,
Because they cannot conceivably smile,
Though they possess a beauteous style.
The peacock, at times, behaves like a nerd,
She cannot sing like Whitney Houston,
She occasionally complains that in Boston,
It is too cold even during springtime,
When the newlyweds start having a good time.
Nothing is more beautiful than a woman,
What came second is a romantic poem,
With a lot of ' Je t'aime, je t'aime'
Which can put to sleep men and children;
A beautiful poem that can lure the siren
Of the sea to come ashore on the hot sand
To find love, a light breeze, where the band
Serenades beachgoers wearing tight bikinis.
Oh! God, I feel so good when I sneeze.
Nothing is more beautiful than a woman.
Oh! Lord, all women are exceptionally wonderful,
Even when they frown, when they want to play evil,
Or when man like me leaves his shoes in the den,
After being told, scorned and warned countless times,
(Not to do that, there is a place for everything
And everything has a place in the building) .
Oh! That's my way of ringing their chimes;
Natheless, I find all women absolutely divine,
Especially, after having a few glasses of wine.
poem by Hebert Logerie (March 2012)
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