I Can't wait
Buds swelling
in the plum garden
oh, I can't wait
for the bloom.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Spring Flowers
O THE rare spring flowers! take them as they come:
Do not wait forsummer buds—they may never bloom.
Every sweet to-day sends, we are wise to save;
Roses bloom for pulling: the path is to the grave.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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To K.M.D.
In the buds, before they burst,
Leaves and flowers are moulded;
Closely pressed they lie at first,
Exquisitely folded.
Though no hope of change they felt,
Folded hard together,
Soon their sap begins to melt
In the warmer weather.
Till, when Life returns with Spring,
Through them softly stealing,
All their freshness forth they fling,
Hidden forms revealing. [606]
Who can fold those flowers again,
In the way he found them?
Or those spreading leaves restrain,
In the buds that bound them?
Trust me, Spring is very near,
All the buds are swelling;
All the glory of the year
In those buds is dwelling.
What the opened buds reveal
Tells us—Life is flowing;
What the buds, still shut, conceal,
We shall end in knowing.
Long I lingered in the bud
Doubting of the season,
Winter's cold had chilled my blood-—
I was ripe for treason.
Now no more I doubt or wait,
All my fears are vanished,
Summer’s coming, dear, though late,
Fogs and frosts are banished.
poem by James Clerk Maxwell
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The Flower’s Name
(after Robert Browing)
I
Through this garden her steps swept
before she opened the gate,
where roses with dew wept
and not a moment longer she could wait,
while there was something gracious in her walk
before she stopped a moment at the letterbox,
in the distance children’s voices she heard talk
while her arm brushed against the snow-white phlox.
II
Her feet carried her in ready steps as she passed by,
saw red carnations in a row
and her eyes sparkled bluer than the sky
while she felt a gentle breeze blow
everywhere flowers and buds did God praise
in their beauty almost casting a spell
while they were blooming for days
with more loveliness and vibrant colours than anyone can tell.
III
She found a flower much more lovely
than any other one she had ever seen
while bees were circling it lively
and to smell it she was keen
but did not know the flower’s name
while it was something precious that she did found,
the flower was blushing as if it were aflame
where it was growing in bloom upon bloom from the ground.
[Reference: “Garden Fancies: I: The flower’s name” by Robert Browing.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Plum's Destiny
A little plum dropped from the tree
and struck a frog upon his knee.
The frog did hurt and cried a lot
the plum said Oops, I plum forgot.
Which wasn't altogether true
you see a plum is always blue
a frog however must be green
thus he can easily be seen.
So, folks, it truly stands to reason
that in the Fall, the ripening season
a bit of care would be advised
that way a frog is not surprised.
In any case, the knee did swell
the plum just stayed right where it fell,
so in an effort now to heal
the frog fell for the plum appeal.
He grabbed the plum and opened wide
the plum prepared for its last ride.
And said before it was too late
a plum is to be eaten, mate.
So, you can see that those that fall
from trees or buildings, big and tall
will usually just fail to see
the maker of their destiny.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Garden, The
do you believe in the man in the garden
Do you believe that he was there
Do you believe in the man in the garden
Do you believe or do you care
Did he rise from the ashes and lead the sky above
Did he lie in the name of love
....in the garden
Do you believe in the path that you follow
Do you believe it takes you where you want
Do you believe in the lies that you swallow
Do you believe it takes you where you go
See the man. he never lies he never will
Did he fight for the right to kill
....in the garden
....in the garden
There's a little man in a house alone...waiting
He doesn't lie.
He doesn't wait for love to hold on to
He doesn't lie. he doesn't wait...
Johnny's in the garden
I see the err in my ways
....in the garden
Do you believe in the man in the garden
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Garden
Do you believe in the man in the garden
Do you believe that he was there
Do you believe in the man in the garden
Do you believe or do you care
Did he rise from the ashes and lead the sky above
Did he lie in the name of love
....in the garden
Do you believe in the path that you follow
Do you believe it takes you where you want
Do you believe in the lies that you swallow
Do you believe it takes you where you go
See the man. he never lies he never will
Did he fight for the right to kill
....in the garden
....in the garden
Theres a little man in a house alone...waiting
He doesnt lie.
He doesnt wait for love to hold on to
He doesnt lie. he doesnt wait...
Johnnys in the garden
I see the err in my ways
....in the garden
Do you believe in the man in the garden
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Garden
Do you believe in the man in the garden
Do you believe that he was there
Do you believe in the man in the garden
Do you believe or do you care
Did he rise from the ashes and lead the sky above
Did he lie in the name of love
....in the garden
Do you believe in the path that you follow
Do you believe it takes you where you want
Do you believe in the lies that you swallow
Do you believe it takes you where you go
See the man. he never lies he never will
Did he fight for the right to kill
....in the garden
....in the garden
Theres a little man in a house alone...waiting
He doesnt lie.
He doesnt wait for love to hold on to
He doesnt lie. he doesnt wait...
Johnnys in the garden
I see the err in my ways
....in the garden
Do you believe in the man in the garden
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sugar-Plum Tree
Have you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree?
'T is a marvel of great renown!
It blooms on the shore of the Lollipop sea
In the garden of Shut-Eye Town;
The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet
(As those who have tasted it say)
That good little children have only to eat
Of that fruit to be happy next day.
When you 've got to the tree, you would have a hard time
To capture the fruit which I sing;
The tree is so tall that no person could climb
To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing!
But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat,
And a gingerbread dog prowls below---
And this is the way you contrive to get at
Those sugar-plums tempting you so:
You say but the word to that gingerbread dog
And he barks with such terrible zest
That the chocolate cat is at once all agog,
As her swelling proportions attest.
And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around
From this leafy limb unto that,
And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground---
Hurrah for that chocolate cat!
There are marshmallows, gumdrops, and peppermint canes,
With stripings of scarlet or gold,
And you carry away of the treasure that rains
As much as your apron can hold!
So come, little child, cuddle closer to me
In your dainty white nightcap and gown,
And I 'll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum Tree
In the garden of Shut-Eye Town.
poem by Eugene Field
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She thought of plum-blossom; touched the strings
Posted: Mon Mar 02,2009 1: 34 pm Post subject:
--------------------
She thought of plum blossom, touched the strings
Smiling gently in her mind
this mid-winter morning
at the thought of Spring
she wraps herself in padded cotton kimono,
tiptoes through the snow
to the plum tree;
touches so gently tips of twigs
where the buds, too,
warm at the thought of spring;
then bends down, parts the snow
so carefully,
where the shoots of crocus
will soon pull aside the snowy duvet;
stretch; look coyly at the sun;
returns in her own footsteps in the snow;
takes up the shamisen,
touches the strings; is about to sing;
instead she smiles; almost sighs, like a lover,
black almonds in the corner of her eyes;
sounds of shamisen
can be heard in the garden
this winter morning.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Cherry plum blossom in an old tin jug
Cherry plum blossom in an old tin jug —
Oh, it is lovely, beautiful and fair,
With sun on it and little shadows mixed
All in among the fragrant wonder there.
Cherry plum blossom on the workroom bench
Where we can see it all our working hours.
In all my garden days of ladyhood,
I never met girls who so loved sweet flowers.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Tiny Bloom
Oh, tiny bloom
in the garden not tended
wait
untill the girl picks you up
and feel the joy
when adored
by her mother.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Promise
Peach buds swelling
a promise
of golden harvest.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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A Flower For You My Dear
A flower will bloom on my plant too one day
And I shall offer it to you my dear.
My flower will have many petals,
Its colour will be that turns you envious of it and
Its fragrance will traverse beyond your stretches.
When I offer you my flower you will visit my garden perchance
And you will nip all the buds at once.
My flower will frown at me then and
I shall cry unto the skies
Till the stars invite me to join them for ever.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Not very anxious
Not very anxious
to bloom,
my plum tree.
Translated by Robert Hass
poem by Kobayashi Issa
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The Beautiful Camellias
The camellias bloom in Winter when the skies are cold and gray
When the sun shines at it's weakest and the Spring seems far away
Each tree an individual by the shade of flowers they bear
An avenue of camellias of one shade of flowers more often than not rare.
In shades of pink and creams and reds the colours one might name
Each is an individual for no two look the same
The beautiful camellias resplendent in their flowers
They bloom in lawn and garden on Winter's coldest hours.
In late fall in Victoria in the Southern Hemisphere
The flower buds on camellia tell Winter days are near
And before the wattles come to bloom towards the end of July
The flowers on the camellia tree lose their petals and die.
The beautiful camellias bloom in the cold winter showers
And long before the southern spring they will have lost their flowers
And on June's coldest and wettest day great beauty I can see
A mass of pink flowers blooming on the green camellia tree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Rose
It tossed its head at the wooing breeze;
And the sun, like a bashful swain,
Beamed on it through the waving trees
With a passion all in vain,--
For my rose laughed in a crimson glee,
And hid in the leaves in wait for me.
The honey-bee came there to sing
His love through the languid hours,
And vaunt of his hives, as a proud old king
Might boast of his palace-towers:
But my rose bowed in a mockery,
And hid in the leaves in wait for me.
The humming-bird, like a courtier gay,
Dipped down with a dalliant song,
And twanged his wings through the roundelay
Of love the whole day long:
Yet my rose turned from his minstrelsy
And hid in the leaves in wait for me.
The firefly came in the twilight dim
My red, red rose to woo--
Till quenched was the flame of love in him,
And the light of his lantern too,
As my rose wept with dewdrops three
And hid in the leaves in wait for me.
And I said: I will cull my own sweet rose--
Some day I will claim as mine
The priceless worth of the flower that knows
No change, but a bloom divine--
The bloom of a fadeless constancy
That hides in the leaves in wait for me!
But time passed by in a strange disguise,
And I marked it not, but lay
In a lazy dream, with drowsy eyes,
Till the summer slipped away,
And a chill wind sang in a minor key:
'Where is the rose that waits for thee?'
. . . . . . . .
I dream to-day, o'er a purple stain
Of bloom on a withered stalk,
Pelted down by the autumn rain
In the dust of the garden-walk,
That an Angel-rose in the world to be
Will hide in the leaves in wait for me.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The plum tree, dwindling, contains less of the spring; But the garden is wider, and holds more of the moon.
Life's Garden
We all grow up in this Garden called Life,
There are many inner and outer strifes,
In the silence, in the silence,
In this beautiful Garden called Life!
There are weeds and pests in this Garden called Life,
They are know as ignorance, greed, and vice.
In the silence, in the silence,
In this beautiful Garden called Life.
Every garden needs sunshine and rain,
In this garden you will find joy and pain.
In this silence, in the silence,
In this beautiful Garden called Life!
Plant sparsely, your harvest will be a pittance,
Plant bountifully, your harvest will be munificence,
In this silence, in the silence,
In this beautiful Garden called Life!
Did you plant deeds of joy, love and peace?
Or did you drop seeds of hatred, conflict, and gloom?
The world will know by the plants' bloom.
In the silence, in the silence,
In this beautiful Garden called Life!
poem by Anna B. Kurzweil
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Ocean of love
Locked in warm embrace
Two bodies knitted together
Hands touching
Bodies touching
Lips touching
Not wanting to be separated
Oh, the waves
Just like the waves
Of the ocean, deep clear blue
Swelling and swelling
And getting to its peak
Crashing so suddenly
It is such an ecstasy
That only two warm bodies
Can produce, swimming
Swimming in the ocean of love
Two hearts joined together
Two heart beats, beating in unison
With waves of emotion
Deep in the crevices
Until you can wait no more
And you go deeper
Until you are translated
Into the cloud
Where you are
And you cannot wait
You cannot wait
And you pant
Faster and faster
Gasping for breath
Swallowed up
In the ocean of love
poem by David Oladipupo Olorunshola
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Seasonal Greetings
March, April and May,
hail a brand new day,
for the three months of spring,
mark a brand new beginning,
as buds and bulbs start to bloom,
giving the garden a delightful boon.
The birds start their singing,
the bees start their honey making,
so for those who are down in heart,
remember this is a time for fresh starts,
so go out and find something new,
for your dreams could come true.
June, July and August,
A time when we all must,
remember our love for him or her,
to feel the real warmth of the summer,
embrace the hot sunshine,
during this summertime,
we can gather a collection,
of love and affection,
creating a happy heated haze,
to match those summer days,
a wishful romantic bliss,
combined with the mid-summer solstice.
September, October and November,
A time when orchards remember,
their nurtured fruit, such as a pear or plum,
sweetening the three months of autumn,
while farmers gather barley, corn and wheat,
confectioners create comfits to eat.
Fruiters and orchardists do toil,
planting more seed in the soil,
so that next year’s harvest,
can put our taste-buds to the test,
proving autumn is the season,
to see us through winter’s cold reason.
In December, January and February,
wrapping up in scarves is usually necessary,
for the harsh months of winter,
can pierce us like a splinter,
making our breath come out in misty puffs,
forcing us to wear silly hats and ear-muffs.
Winter greets us with crisp white frost,
giving the green grass an icy gloss,
causing the papergirl to give her round a skip,
and makes the postman skid, slide and slip,
but laughing at them warms me and you,
even though we’re cold and blue.
poem by Dale Mullock
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