Walking bare feet in the Park! ! ! !
Walking bare feet on grass
At a early morning hour
Spring… its March.
Mist tickled,
Wind giggled,
Tiny grass flowers
Looked up at dawn
Child like innocence,
Bright colours, no fragrance
Yet a manifestation
Of His aspiration.
In awe, watched
have charisma...
Birds flitting merrily
My eyes chased
Butterflies, painted
In colours so gay.
I came home smiling.
‘Hey, did you meet somebody’
Asked my kin.
Oh, yes I was in
Exalted company…
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Related quotes
On the open plain (Catena Rondo)
Some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds,
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun;
on this earth so it's been since time begun,
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds,
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun
they rejoice over a day that is new
are fresh with the glistening morning dew;
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun
they rejoice over a day that is new
as bees and butterflies flutter along
birds do sing the happiest kind of song
they rejoice over a day that is new,
as bees and butterflies flutter along
wild deer graze at the soft tender green grass
while they in massive herds do slowly pass
as bees and butterflies flutter along
wild deer graze at the soft tender green grass
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds
grow to strength in a world full of big weeds,
wild deer graze at the soft tender green grass,
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds,
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun;
on this earth so it's been since time begun,
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Early spring
Lord God, can we ask for your presence,
for a sign of your grace
and let your rain, sun and wind contribute
to the wonder of the coming summer
in the decoration of colours from your hand
and let grass, leaves and flowers now appear
and where it is rather dry,
hear my lament.
Lord God, can we ask for your presence,
for birds to whistle in tree branches,
singing songs about the growth that you bring
in the decoration of colours from your hand
that all flowers that this spring brings
becomes a sign, that you still guard us against evil
and let your rain, sun and wind contribute
to new life that appears,
let even my own conceit die, that my life
sing songs about the growth that you bring
and let me act to your will
and remove all inequity, all damage.
Lord God, can we ask for your presence,
that I always keep my eyes on you elevated high,
that the mistakes of my youth disappear
and remove my inequity, that my life
can become aimed to where you lead, bringing your love across
that I glitter like a light, a star in your Pleiades
let your rain, sun and wind contribute
that my life can shine bright for you,
and others can see your character in me,
that the mistakes of my youth disappear
that every word and deed from me represents your great love
to the whole of humanity, my children and wife.
Lord God, can we ask for your presence,
and let your rain, sun and wind contribute
that everyone can know what a wonderful God I serve,
to the wonder of the coming summer,
and others can see your character in me,
and let grass, leaves and flowers now appear.
[Reference: Vroegherfs (Early Autumn) by NP van Wyk Louw.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Baby Running Barefoot
When the bare feet of the baby beat across the grass
The little white feet nod like white flowers in the wind,
They poise and run like ripples lapping across the water;
And the sight of their white play among the grass
Is like a little robin’s song, winsome,
Or as two white butterflies settle in the cup of one flower
For a moment, then away with a flutter of wings.
I long for the baby to wander hither to me
Like a wind-shadow wandering over the water,
So that she can stand on my knee
With her little bare feet in my hands,
Cool like syringa buds,
Firm and silken like pink young peony flowers.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Magic Lies In Silence Of Grass and In Your Voice
I am barefoot walking in the grass of morning,
The dew drops are comforting my feet,
I felt relieved by my stress and grief,
When i heard your voice in the grass rustling.
I lie down on grass and i could feel its silence,
I close my eyes and i enjoyed your voice,
The smell of grass was taken on the wings of wind,
Magic lies in silence of grass and in your voice.
Is amazing how much miracle stays in a blade of grass,
Opening my eyes i saw above the sky,
There was your face among the clouds smiling,
I had the feeling that i want to hug the sky.
I'm gonna miss you all the days of life,
And even when death will take my last breath,
Last thing i'll do passing to eternity,
I'm gonna miss you.
Winter will come, grass will fall asleep,
I 'll not hear the grass rustling anymore,
Only my memories with you will be always alive,
Rustling in my mind as grass did.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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Colours
Colours are just colours
One might suppose
Rage is red…
But then again…
so is a rose
So colours are more
Than they seem, don’t’ you think
For boys it’s usually blue
For little girls always pink
Yep, colours are colours
Perhaps that’s all they should be
Just something to look at
Only something to see
But colours have emotion
At least they do to me
Perhaps I just don’t see hues
In the same way
that you see
Because blue to me
Is more than just a hue
It’s the sky, it’s berries,
Oceans … and sadness too
Green is envy, grass and dinero
Purple is royalty, plums and passion
Yellow is cowardice, butter and tallow
Colours are … whatever you wish to fashion
Perhaps I see colours differently than you
Perhaps exactly the same way… I hope
But my advice to you, whatever you do
Is … don’t get me started on taupe! !
poem by David Whalen
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Chasing a Dream
On a lovely spring day
When the air is still cool on the skin
And touches you
Like the forgotten tiny kisses of a lover long gone
And the sunshine is warming and bright
Like the radiance of his smile
Forever stamped in your memory
I run through cool, tall green grass
Chasing butterflies,
Like a carefree child that did the same
Many years past.
With the salt on your skin and
The dirt on your hands and feet.
Chasing butterflies
Happy and carefree.
On a clear crisp winter's night
When your breath freezes before it's even
Come out of your lungs
And sticks there like the words you wanted to
But could never say to him,
Stuck in your throat forever lost there
I gather up my skirt like a net
and try to catch the falling stars.
They shine like the mystery
Like the soul I could see in his eyes.
The butterflies have flown out of my reach.
They flew higher and higher
I ran faster and faster
Till I lost my breath and had to
Let them be.
The stars fell too fast for me.
I tried to catch them, but it wasn't to be.
I've been chasing a dream
On a cold foggy morning.
It's beauty could not be put into words.
If would only be tarnished and insulted if I tried.
I got out of bed
And climbed out the window
I chased it and chased it
Barefoot in my night gown.
It flew and twirled
Like a kite escaping it's string..
It did somersaults
And teased me from far.
I ran out of breath
And my dream vanished
It became part
Of the morning fog.
All I had left
Were my callused feet.
My dirty gown
And, of course..
Grief stricken me.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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Pre Spring
Pre Spring
It had stopped raining I went for a walk, the sun came for a visit and
it got hot. Took my coat off, marched on till the sun had had enough
and rolled back home. The almond tree, by the lane, looked puny
spindly twigs for branches, and grey bark. Ghostlike if it hadn’t been
so pathetically ugly. Looked closer and saw a pair of pink buds on its
a twig. Now the tree was beautiful and I fretted about the chill in
the wind and if frost comes in the night, will it snuff out this new life?
I took pictures of the buds, but the photos were a bit blurred and
colours not so bright as those I saw with naked eyes, yeah, like my
eyes should be undressed most of the time, or hidden behind dark
sunglasses. In about three weeks, if all goes well, my bare, nutty tree
will be covered in pink flowers and look lovely. Elderly hearts will
feel young again and beat too hard. In the vale, where I live, there are
many funerals in March.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Spring Time Is Coming
Beautiful Spring is coming,
Ah, yes, will soon be here,
For the clear bright sun is shining
All human hearts to cheer.
One the brightest gems of nature
Is the orb that o'er us shines,
And o'er the wide creation,
It'll shine to the end of time.
The birds will soon be singing
On shrub and bough of trees,
Their notes will soon be ringing
Out, forth so merrily.
They love the merry spring time,
Those little birds we love,
They love the pleasant sunshine
That comes down from above.
We can hear them sweetly singing
From early morn, till night.
They make music in the woodland
Those little birds; so bright,
We should dearly love them,
Those little harmless things,
And when we hear their music,
We know that it is spring.
Ah; it's pleasant in the springtime,
All nature seems so gay.
Bright flowers in the sunshine,
Sweet fragrance can display.
The hills, and dales, and meadows,
So beautifully covered o'er;
With natures richest verdure,
The green grass, as of yore.
The winter will soon be over,
With its cold and chilly winds.
It is sad and dreary ever,
Yet its dying, free from sin.
Now the springtime is coming,
Ah, yes, will soon be here.
We will welcome in its coming
In this glad new year.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Joy Of Spring
The sky above is shinning blue today,
And sun beams are playfully kissing the earth,
Flowers rise proud its stalks and tell us their stories,
A sleeping nature getting back to life in its glorious way.
The peace of grass rustling in the wind,
Is melting with the twitter of happy birds in trees,
Spring time has come to us again,
A spectacular view my eyes enjoy today.
Trees turn green are budding as life rebirth,
The exuberance of orange, blue, purple, yellow came,
And warm my heart in misterious ways,
With such variety of colours this spring make bold my soul in grace.
New beginnings in our lives have start,
Brought by the refreshment of a sunny march day,
I will never forget what spring time means,
Joy of spring took my breath away again.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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Jane and You and the Gatekeeper
You sat with Jane
on the grass
in the field
beneath the Downs
she was looking
at the sky
and you
were watching her
her profile
her hair pulled back
in a ponytail
her eyes bright
as new coins
her pale blue dress
and white ankle socks
and brown sandals
she followed a butterfly
fluttering by
a Gatekeeper
she said
where?
you said
there that butterfly
it's called a Gatekeeper
you turned to watch
the butterfly
she had pointed to
as it fluttered off
down the field
stopping now and then
to land on flowers
I love butterflies
she said
how do you know
all their names?
you asked
I read Daddy's books
he has a number of books
on butterflies and moths
she said
she lay back
on the grass
and stared
at the sky
you lay down
beside her
your hands
behind your head
she smelt of lavender
you noticed
you breathed it in
let it fill within you
don't you read books?
she asked
turning to look at you
taking in your white shirt
and blue jeans
I'm reading a book on birds
you said
I bought it in town
the other week
that's a start
she said smiling
I guess so
you said
I didn't realize
there were so many kinds
she studied you
as you spoke
resting her head
on her hand
maybe we can go looking
for nests next year
when they begin
to nest again
she said
ok
you said
not to touch though
she said
just to look
birds don't like
their nests disturbed
in London
we only have sparrows
and pigeons
you said
how boring
she said
you watched
her lips moving
as she spoke
her eyes on you
studying you
I'm glad you're here
you said
glad to be here
she replied
she touched her fingers
to her lips
and blew you a kiss
and you did likewise
seeing a new world
in her deep dark eyes.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Two April Mornings
We walked along, while bright and red
Uprose the morning sun;
And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said,
'The will of God be done!'
A village schoolmaster was he,
With hair of glittering grey;
As blithe a man as yon could see
On a spring holiday.
And on that morning, through the grass,
And by the steaming rills,
We travelled merrily, to pass
A day among the hills.
'Our work,' said I, 'was well begun,
Then, from thy breast what thought,
Beneath so beautiful a sun,
So sad a sigh has brought?'
A second time did Matthew stop;
And fixing still his eye
Upon the eastern mountain-top,
To me he made reply:
'Yon cloud with that long purple cleft
Brings fresh into my mind
A day like this which I have left
Full thirty years behind.
'And just above yon slope of corn
Such colours, and no other,
Were in the sky, that April morn,
Of this the very brother.
'With rod and line I sued the sport
Which that sweet season gave,
And, to the church-yard come, stopped short
Beside my daughter's grave.
'Nine summers had she scarcely seen,
The pride of all the vale;
And then she sang;--she would have been
A very nightingale.
'Six feet in earth my Emma lay;
And yet I loved her more,
For so it seemed, than till that day
I e'er had loved before.
'And, turning from her grave, I met,
Beside the church-yard yew,
A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet
With points of morning dew.
'A basket on her head she bare;
Her brow was smooth and white:
To see a child so very fair,
It was a pure delight!
'No fountain from its rocky cave
E'er tripped with foot so free;
She seemed as happy as a wave
That dances on the sea.
'There came from me a sigh of pain
Which I could ill confine;
I looked at her, and looked again:
And did not wish her mine!'
Matthew is in his grave, yet now,
Methinks, I see him stand,
As at that moment, with a bough
Of wilding in his hand.
poem by William Wordsworth
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The Clothesline
talking about incisive mind;
my life's laid bare
on my clothesline
right under the sun
if noosy neighbour
really knows where to read it.
our laughters and moods
trail with the frills, shades
pastels, chiffons
a myriad shapely wear
that dance in the morning breeze;
a party in the open.
the butterflies and bees
lose out to their allure;
a cartoonist's inner world
at work as we figure
all the characters
in the wear
trooping through
the avenue with their
infectious laughters.
in the dawn of a new season
how the shapes have changed,
and the colours
fly away like autumn.
the dull colours!
the dull colours!
how they invade my
clothesline, my life.
the falling leaves!
the falling crown!
how everything start
giving up on each other
split, broken, trail
with the wind!
the void! the void!
Right in this warm
blooded creature!
So cold the days
finally become...
my clothesline,
the delicate theatre
of my life
that trails with the wind
day in and day out.
if only the noosy neighbour
know where to read
all my secrets;
they dance in the winds...
each morning....
when the sun is bright
and the wind blowing....
this morning i watch
with witheld tears alone
knowing full well
some shirts will
never return to the line.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Child Speaks...
being lost in childhood
is nothing
but meditation
often in serene atmosphere
i tune my nostrils
to absorb
the lost fragrance of childhood
and the ears
to hear
the lost voices of childhood
and memories...
where i lived with nameless grass
nameless plants...
and their nameless Flowers...
nameless colours...
i played with ants
and nameless insects...
nameless butterflies...
i lived in shrubs
as if in a wild forest
without name
without words
a child speaks...
poem by Denny M.X.
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Summer Dawn.
Come with thy feet to the water, and bathe
Thy beauty here in the stream that will not pass!
The soft green leaves with their shadows swathe
The either bank, and under the ferns and grass
The dreamy crickets chirp in the dewy dawn,
Now that the light of the stars has grown
Into a thin pale mist in the night unknown;
The small birds twitter, whose senses quite
Have not yet out of their dreams withdrawn —
Here where my heart too waits for the light
Under the cloudy hills that soon will run
With bright feet in the ways of the sun,
As if they were but chained to the air:
Come to me now so fresh and fair —
Now that the reign of Sleep is done —
With twinkling feet in the dewy dawn!
O love, as grass comes to the lawn,
As day comes to the East, come thou —
Come to me now!
poem by Robert Crawford
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Dawn Breaking
Dawn brought a ray of sunshine
and a light mist above the bay.
A ray of hope for everyone
for a bright new summer day.
Flowers slowly opened their petals,
spreading beautiful colours everywhere.
A patchwork quilt of wonder,
coming alive before our eyes,
with the dawn breaking
across the dark night skies.
poem by David Harris
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Save A Wonder
A child's hand That I held
To show the world anew,
From the wonders that I've seen
To the beauties that I knew.
We walked a country path,
With wonders all around
And the child's grip grew much tighter,
With every sight and sound.
We saw the birds in the trees
We felt an April breeze,
As she came through the leaves
As though to greet, the child and me.
We then saw the April showers
Which cleansed the April flowers
And trees and grass we did see,
As they became our friends.
Then out came a rainbow
And out came a child's glow,
And then the questions, began to flow,
With the answers I'll never know.
With ' how come this',
Or ' why did that',
Kept ringing from ear to ear.
But then the more he asked
The less I laughed,
Happy was I, the child was here.
More wanders had we saw
The further that we walked
Down a wooded path,
Upon the virgin grass.
We saw creeks with her fishes,
And clovers, with their wishes
And then more questions to me were asked.
Then I looked upon youthful eyes
And I heard a worried sigh,
And then the child, he answered please,
Save, a wonder for me.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Lost Spring
I was born, once, in a spring,
When the mountains bloomed,
And the snows melted;
That very spring in March.
The skies filled with the song of birds,
The air with the fragrance of flowers,
The water shone like diamonds;
That very spring in March.
Oh I wish, I wish, to go back,
Once more to my childhood,
To that lost paradise;
That very spring in March.
poem by Alina Luiz
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In the spring garden
In the spring garden
~
In the spring garden
Birds sing and chatter
While flowers raise their heads
To greet the morning sun
A garden filled with colour bright
A garden which now fills with life
The bee and the butterfly hover
From flower to flower gathering nectar
Seeding the flowers blossom
Throughout the spring garden
The dew glistens upon the grass
While the wind gently rolls in the tree
All the world slowly waking
Soon to this bounty of great beauty
Every hue from natures pallet
Is here free for all to see
In the spring garden
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Watching a Child Grow! ! ! ! !
Baby
Like flowers reaching for Sun, baby sucks ma's breast.
Petals open kissed by light, baby smiles content.
Dew drops evaporate, toddler plays on grass.
Butterflies flirt with flowers, he gurgles and laughs...
Kid
Whole creation is alive, youthful and so bright.
Tiny necks peep out of shell, ready for maiden flight.
Ma stands with Tiffin at gate, child hops into van.
Soon the van goes out of sight, things go well as planned.
Youth
Birds twittering day long, youth strums on guitar.
Dusk falls and shadows lengthen, a girl comes in car.
A magical hour, twilight... Walking hand in hand,
Light breeze caresses the leaves, ma smiles as she stands.
Man
The night is young, air fragrant; sound of wedding bells.
Stars twinkle, full moon so bright, sound of conch shell.
The whole cosmos celebrates, as the feast is spread.
The clock strikes the midnight hour, together break bread.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Something About The Girl Called Spring (Sonnet Corona)
I
Just after winter you are back enchanting
with unfolding blossoms on hot sunny days
playing your roles in all your beautiful ways
as if every day is a grand setting
with colours and smells alluring, inviting
man, animals and insects to stray
in orchards, gardens and in the veldt to play
wherever you may be wandering
while insects and birds sing sweet melodies,
even the breeze is charming
in the season that you bequeath
that becomes a time of sweet memories
while everywhere life is swarming;
flowers are as fragrant as your breath.
II
Flowers are as fragrant as your breath
and outside the sun does shine
where flowers and insects ephemeral awaits death
living just as small specs of the will divine.
There are tales about flowers and butterflies that you tell,
about all the minute things, before the first shadows fall
but you have to mention the Creator as well
who fathered everything, created all.
His gardens fill the earth in sheer exuberance
while in summer and spring, in daylight hours
bees, butterflies and birds dance
around the fragrant flowers
in their winged flight,
from early twilight.
III
From early twilight
you are everywhere sent
until the dark night
for the whole world’s enjoyment
and flowering fair
you dance along
without a moment to spare
singing a cheerful song
as a seasonal creature being sweet,
dressed very serene
dancing with fairly like feet
as the essence of the productive machine
and nature everywhere tells,
spring is awaking in smells.
IV
Spring is awaking in smells
with birds singing
rising from the valleys and dells,
sounding in joy about the beauty she is bringing
even every bird, deer and bee,
as the blessings have come
as a time of tranquillity to some
until all of nature is happy and free
when love is finally finding its home
and spring is especially dear to me,
in the air above there’s a vibrant hue
as if it’s a living kind of blue
specked with flocks of birds in their flight;
spring is dressed in white.
V
Spring is dressed in white,
dressed for her wedding day,
when she blesses wherever her flowers stray
in celebration in every day and night
while she dances from early morning light
inviting all her guests, the birds and bees to play,
while she lingers everything is gay
in colours jubilant and bright
with butterflies filling the air,
humming yellow and black bees,
even joined by flying birds that in joy sing
roaming among the almond, peach and pear,
flying to and fro from the blue gum trees
in the unfolding of spring.
VI
In the unfolding of spring
it came to my mind
the words, the deeds and every thing,
of the troublesome kind
that man does to his fellow human beings
as if he is inclined
to act only to his own interest without any feelings,
as if so designed
but around me the new awakenings
are totally unrestrained
in days and evenings
with beauty that is gained
while everywhere flowers are rising,
I long for an eternal spring’s blessing.
VII
I long for an eternal spring’s blessing
as if the Godly plan
in a place where everything is living,
is still in effect for man,
where the songs of birds through the hubbub ring
as if the singing birds are right here
bringing pleasure to everything
making existing so sweet and sincere,
as if from the very beginning
the Lord God was near,
even before human beings were sinning
when these joyous songs fall on the ear:
.
with all of the love that God is granting,
just after winter you are back enchanting.
poem by Gert Strydom
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