A Golden Shower! ! ! ! !
Scattered by the broken string, bent to pick the beads.
You stood with some in cupped hands, did you my thoughts read?
Led me gently to balcony, to show Laburnum bloom.
Clusters of bright yellow flowers watch them with awe, droop.
Yellow petals formed a carpet, underneath the tree
You said its called golden shower, from far one can see.
The breeze carries the flowers, away from the loose bunch,
Just like my beads got separated, and I sat hunched.
I forgot about my rosary, as we stepped in the avenue.
Your nearness and fragrant air, tears blurred the view.
Careful not to crush the blossoms, lying on the grass
We strolled hand in hand, exchanging a glance…
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Related quotes
Under The Laburnum Tree
(A simple tale)
Under the Laburnum tree
She saw his gentle face
Under the Laburnum tree
She knew their first embrace
Under the Laburnum tree
She gave to him her love
Under the Laburnum tree
Beneath the stars above
Under the Laburnum tree
He left her there to cry
Under the Laburnum tree
That`s where she chose to die
(Under the Laburnum tree
Were scattered all its seeds
Under the Laburnum tree
Amongst the growing weeds)
Under the Laburnum tree
The moon was shining bright
Under the Laburnum tree
Her silv`ry soul took flight
Under the Laburnum tree
At last she was set free
Under the Laburnum tree
She found eternity
poem by Valerie Dohren
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The Pansies
The beads we count, the words we speak,
The wrongs we commit, the deeds we perform,
Assume the shapes pleasing or shocking,
Of flames and fangs, or fruit palatable,
Or fragrant flowers scenting the breeze,
Become the agents soothing or tormenting.
High upward I was led the steps seven,
And strolled through the drooping tassels,
Overgrown, hanging laden with flowers,
Sheeting green the ground all around.
The route led then me to the plain vast,
Where I did see the nodding pansies,
Blossomed blue, yellow, pink and purple,
As myriad sucking butterflies sit still,
In the sun on the dewy grass of spring.
They all fluttered when the wind blew,
The spectrum of purity stretched
All around, but the yonder lands,
Beside the hillock were still drab,
Dull, unvegetated, yet to be made fertile,
And planted with more pansies.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Dream Flight Tiny Flowers
a dandelion dazzles
bright yellow petals
set among soft blades
green grass carpets
flowers waiting host bees
in pollen quest flights
petals fade to dreams
dandelion transcends
really to harness winds
assumes new dimensions
aeronautical aspirations
tiny flowers bunched seeds
together dream lift flights
to distant diverse fields
dandelion purpose blooms
dream flight tiny flowers
produce seed parachutes
compass aline on heavens
choose navigation stars
rich green grass maps
imagination showers
through blue skies
or grey black storms
watch seasons changes
feelings thoughts minds
souls dance time changes
through wonder ranges
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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A Prayer For The Sad Ones
I watch cut flowers droop and die
Right in my cozy room
And thoughts arise of homeless men
Who lost their childhood's bloom
There was a time when each of them
Was innocent and young
They may have had a parent, too
Now lost, unknown, unsung
But soon their paths began to twist
In hardship's brutal strife
And bit by bit they came undone
Skid row was now their life
My hope is that a seed or two
From flowers dropp to earth
And that the miracle of growth
Will sprout a brand new birth
Could it be, too, that one sad soul
Whose days are filled with dread
Might one day reach for wings of grace
And grab faith's golden thread?
I watch cut flowers droop and die
Right in my cozy room
And thoughts arise of homeless men
Who lost their childhood's bloom.
poem by Liilia Talts Morrison
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Queen's Flowers
During the month of April
Tree after tree in full bloom;
Mauve flowers, pushing out in plenty,
With copper pod yellow flowers on top
Here and there - taller, larger trees.
A solitary bread-tree flaunts its pretty leaves,
Bunch of bell-tree flowers intruding through;
Nearby a frangipani tree with white-streaked red flowers
Bougainvillae and railway creepers on the fence
Along the pavement where I walk.
Line, color, motion, light and shade
Thrill me: what my eyes see each moment
Constitute a better painting than
Any of the greatest of Masters.
Alas, it is evanescent!
13th April 2007
Bandra-Kurla.
poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph
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The Yellow Ribbon On The Old Oak Tree
who can forget the yellow ribbon
on that old oak tree? tell me.
tomorrow, i shall wear my yellow cap
my yellow shirt, my yellow brief,
my yellow pants.
my jaundiced eye, my golden yellow ring.
tomorrow, in my country, the sky is yellow.
all steps lead to the yellow brick road.
all fruits are ripe and mellow and yellow.
Tomorrow, the country is yellow.
Yellow for integrity, Yellow for change.
Yellow for justice. Yellow for truth.
One day more, and the sun shall rise
Yellow as ever.Yellow forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My sweet three little beautiful Balloons
i have three sweet beautiful balloons all looks so
pretty the yellow, the blue and red that always
sparks, as the sun goes round, in the midst sky
beside the window beneath the green, green,
green leaves of ever green of an Avocado big,
big tree
glamorous yellow glows like flowers wait the
golden sunrise of rays shower in the petals of red
and blue in the garden near the wishing well i
made, while the millennium blue color looks like
the sky that wait the rain to fall as the bird fly into
the horizon of oozing ocean blue crystal water, and
the red one sprouted like a fuzzy nebula of celestial
star in the galaxy of a million years, as it floats in
the air with the string in the tail
pull the tiny string, swing as the wind wiggle to
get free beautifully it flies, in the hand it stands by,
hold on, just let the breezing air cools it down, as
the three beautiful balloons wondered in every eye,
that captures every hearts that swing into the
melodic tune of beauty of tranquility
as the string gives a puzzling cheerful looks, and
the hands tiedly touch, the wind eagerly move to
loose the three sweet beautiful balloons into the
harnessing journey of freedom, passing the
rainbow of endless point of hope
now my three sweet beautiful balloons comes to
their own life, making their own color, flying
every wind in the sky, where once i hold the string,
yet! it’s not a goodbye
i am old enough to say....good luck and have a
happy Journeys.....fly your own balloon
“ poem dedicated to my three lovely Daughters “
Karen Isabel T. Liao, Lindsey Cherub T. Liao
and Michelle Ann T. Liao
poem by Antonio Liao
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Portulacca
As soon as I open my eyes,
I quietly rush to the balcony,
And watch with bated breath
As the Sun rises.
Dainty Portulacca come to life,
As if to say Hi.
In their vibrant hues and colours:
Yellow pink, red and orange flowers,
In small pots lined in a row,
Full of light and glow.
Enchanted, I watch them for a while
And feel happy and smile.
As I gently spray them with showers,
I am filled with a sense of wonder.
How these delicate flowers can be so sturdy,
And keep blooming despite hot dry winds,
Which makes us humans wilt,
I thought with a little guilt.
It’s really thoughtful of God,
To send these flowers when it’s so hot.
As the heat becomes too much to bear
These pretty flowers fill me with cheer.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Graves Of Infants
Infant' graves are steps of angels, where
Earth's brightest gems of innocence repose.
God is their parent, and they need no tear;
He takes them to His bosom from earth's woes,
A bud their lifetime and a flower their close.
Their spirits are an Iris of the skies,
Needing no prayers; a sunset's happy close.
Gone are the bright rays of their soft blue eyes;
Flowers weep in dew-drops oer them, and the gale gently sighs
Their lives were nothing but a sunny shower,
Melting on flowers as tears melt from the eye.
Their deaths were dew-drops on Heaven's amaranth bower,
And tolled on flowers as Summer gales went by.
They bowed and trembled, and they left no sigh,
And the sun smiled to show their end was well.
Infants have nought to weep for ere they die;
All prayers are needless, beads they need not tell,
White flowers their mourners are, Nature their passing bell.
poem by John Clare
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Linda And Friends' Hampton Beach Gardens
Crimson,
Sun yellow,
Fairy rose pink,
Blue, Paris lavender
And soft white -
Colors are afloat!
Some rippling flowers
At Hampton Beach
Bloom in roadside island gardens
And in their own rowboats.
The flowers
And more blossoms, too,
Welcome sandy feet, sea gulls,
And sailing butterflies alike.
The beach blossoms
Hold pure sunshine,
Delighting all ages,
From the very old
To little tykes.
How the bright petals shine
During a magical day
By the seashore
In the summery sun!
It is fun to see the beach gardens' treasures
Blooming
Around magnificent Happy Hampton!
Once the spots where the pretty flowers
Now catch the sunbeams
Were just plain dirt
Or bare, hard concrete.
Today the shimmery flowers,
Bringing joyful tidings,
Have our families and friends
To greet.
poem by Gayle Sweeney
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A Winter Morning In Gippsland
The wattle wears her cloak of flowers so lovely bright and yellow
But in the paddocks there's no grass and for hay the cattle bellow
It has been frosty over night and the ground with frost is hoary
And the only beauty I can see is the wattle in her glory.
The farmer says too cold and dry as dry as he remember
The Spring will come in late this year and no grass in September
The hereford cow hunched with the cold and she as tough as leather
For two months it's been cold and dry we need a change of weather.
The trainer on the trotting track watch his trotters exercising
And near ten o clock the sun comes out and the temperature starts rising
And across the paddock's uneven ground the old farm tractor rattle
As the farmer brings big bale of hay to feed his hungry cattle.
A Winter morning in Gippsland and for hay the cattle bellow
And the wattle wears her cloak of flowers so lovely, bright and yellow
And the farmer says too cold and dry as dry as he remember
And we need a week or two of rain for grass growth in September.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Bright Yellow Petal Flowers Imagination Showers
in life I never drank dandelion wine
for sour grapes bitter tastes I had no time
upon rich green grass map child like flowers
bright yellow petal flowers imagination showers
through blue skies or grey watch seasons changes
feelings thoughts minds souls through wonder ranges
yellow petals one day transform into white honeycomb
fade into spectral preparation seeds in readiness to roam
dandelion seeds are spun web silk threads of freedom life
carried away by gust breath of wind or child’s puff glow spice
tiny silk stem parachute flowers, freedom launch breath awaiting
to travel like tiny parachutes, on breeze wind wonder never abating
strong wind can carry tiny flower parachutes, miles away from parent
plant yet freedom seed flying stays, within wonder of any vision heart
poem by Terence George Craddock
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For Veronica, Instead
For centuries, poets have been getting it wrong.
They bring 'one perfect rose' to show their love
to their lovers, but now I think
they were mistaken.
I saw a rose today growing
behind the fence of someone's backyard.
The bloom was yellow edged with red
with the obligatory dew glistening on the petals,
the bud pouting open high in the green bush,
so I bent the branch down to me.
There I was on the sidewalk, the flower fresh in my hand
but forgive me.
I couldn't bring myself to snap the stem of the rose
so you could watch petals dropp for days
in the slow dying
displayed in a jar on the kitchen table.
Love is nothing like a dead rose anyway.
The florist will never tape this poem to his cash register
to sell flowers now,
since I left the rose among green leaves.
Instead, I bring you these words,
alive,
just like the rose.
poem by Eric Paul Shaffer
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Blood Tears (a pantoum)
The bougainvillea weeps petals on the street,
cobblestones are red with tears.
Much care is needed treading cobblestones
more now that I may murder tears.
Cobblestones are red with tears:
I know not where to put my foot,
more now that I may murder tears.
Would the weeper feel pain?
I know not where to put my foot
for fear of stepping on the petals.
Would the weeper feel pain
were I to crush just one?
For fear of stepping on the petals
I walk home the long way round.
Were I to crush just one,
my heart would weep red too.
I walk home the long way round-
if I crush this crimson carpet
my heart would weep red too,
fallen flowers' blood my own.
If I crush this crimson carpet
much care is needed treading cobbles.
Fallen flowers' blood my own,
the bougainvillea weeps petals on the street.
Flowers
(orbison/dees)
When I was a boy I ran among the flowers
Looking left and right at the bright array
I played through the spring, whiled away the hours
Lingered with the flowers every day
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
When the summer ends and the storms of life are over
When the winter comes and the petals fall away
They may write it on my stone, he was just a roller
But he stopped to pick some flowers along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, picked some flowers, along the way
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain-tree
Rain-tree
The rain-tree is of cassia family -
Like an elephant it stands on the road, clothed
With thick green foliage, dark against the sky
All along the Bandra-Kurla road in Mumbai.
You have to exert a little and see
Over the top to see the nazuna-type
Of pink flowers sitting above the foliage
In plentiful numbers, with up-thrust pink hairs.
Unlike the African tulip in front of ONGC
At Bandra Flyover visible from the distance,
Here the pink and green does not show off
As rain-tree flowers don’t advertise themselves.
Unlike copper-pod’s bright yellow flowers
The rain tree flowers don’t weave a carpet:
I’ve never seen the flowers on the ground below
Nor do they wither on the tree, how I wonder!
In monsoon rains, the leaves shine specially,
Transparent drops falling on walkers below,
Or with a thud on the racing car bonnets too,
Some choose to fall on road to rise a bit upwards.
I have not understood why it is called rain-tree:
Are they attracted, peacock-like, to the rain-clouds,
Or does the rain-bird which drinks water straight from heavens
Prefer this tree, and inspire Kalidasa to write Meghdoot?
poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph
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Jasmine Flower Seller
A boy ran
Towards a van,
Holding out his hand
Full of fragrant
Jasmine flowers
Strung on a thread.
A lady beckoned
And began to haggle
Over the price.
The boy said
Five stings
For Rupees ten.
She pushed away
His hand,
The boy
Lost his balance,
And fell.
Tears welled up
In his eyes,
As he saw the wheels,
Crush his hope
Of a square meal.
The drizzle
Had turned to a shower.
The road was covered
With crushed flowers.
The boy had perhaps
Come from a distant village,
To earn an honest wage.
We spend thousands
Over what we fancy
On discount sales
Happy we have got
A bargain.
Why do we haggle
Over pennies?
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-19
Kondrai-(Sarakondrai, Mayil Kondrai white, red, dwarf red
red and yaloow, yellow, Manjal Kondrai, Perunkondrai-
Golden shower tree, Indian Laburnum.Cassia fistula
Flame Tree, Royal Poinciana, Delonix regia,
Peacock Flower red, yellow, Caesalpinia pulcherrima
Siamese Senna, Siamese cassia, Senna siamea
Cassia glauca LAM, Delonix elata (L.) GAMBLE-
All Gulmohar family)
I need to remain amazed in awe
Ye, dear cousin-flowers of Shiva
Ye need to remain bloomed ultra
For I do need your feast fiesta
Wait till I fetch my folks all here
Wilt not but shade shaded in cheer
Wide and varied and canopied sincere
Red and yellow all lighted superior
And for my folks when asked in special
Poinciana, ye fan in flaming red and swell
Tall and striking in four-petaled settle
Buffing ferny leaves supporting in full
And for my folks when asked specific
Mayil Kondrais, ye, younger sisters terrific
Stalked intense for belittled flowers pacific
Breeze an ever green show of yellow-red magic
And in mindful heart for my folks when asked
Sarakondrai, ye sway your chandelier basked
Glittering golden on supoort of a woody red
With all purposeful service of a treat readied
And for my folks in distinct speciality
Ye, Manjal Kondrai, caress in bowing tenacity
Crowned in racemed yellow on an axised beauty
Pinnate leaves pining oblong and mighty
And ye, Perunkondrai, in greater heart
Swing and sway and hush in touching beat
Beating against arthritic beat in full feat
White to yellow on a greeny spread support
I need to remain amazed in awe
Ye, dear cousin-flowers of Shiva
Ye need to remain bloomed ultra
For I do need your feast fiesta
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Primrose
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow!
It is not a color.
It is summer!
It is the wind on a willow,
the lap of waves, the shadow
under a bush, a bird, a bluebird,
three herons, a dead hawk
rotting on a pole--
Clear yellow!
It is a piece of blue paper
in the grass or a threecluster of
green walnuts swaying, children
playing croquet or one boy
fishing, a man
swinging his pink fists
as he walks--
It is ladysthumb, forget-me-nots
in the ditch, moss under
the flange of the carrail, the
wavy lines in split rock, a
great oaktree--
It is a disinclination to be
five red petals or a rose, it is
a cluster of birdsbreast flowers
on a red stem six feet high,
four open yellow petals
above sepals curled
backward into reverse spikes--
Tufts of purple grass spot the
green meadow and clouds the sky.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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Early Works - Where Are The Days
What happened to the days of Bangor,
Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, flowers and beads?
What happen to the roads we took
with smiling faces blank on grass?
What happened to the sunshine
we thought would never set?
What happened?
Where are the days of loving youth
of flowers, beads and banners high?
Where are the days of cartoon Beatles
when all you needed was love?
Where are the days?
Where have they gone?
26,27,28 February 1980
poem by David Harris
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