In The Quietude Of A Bluebells Mound
In and out the dappled dew wet ferns
My grey ghostly spirit glides
In and out these mottled skies
Beneath those blue bristle furs
Where a fox cub has lain aground...
Here shall my heart be found...
Here shall my spirits soul, resound...
Here in the quietude of a bluebells, mound.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Belles of Blue
The Scent of Bluebells brush the soul
And melt your tears away,
A gentle breeze through leafy trees
Gives purpose to your day.
The Shape of Bluebells cheers the heart
And lifts your spirit up,
Pure bells of joy sweet bells of cheer
To drain the bitter cup
The Smile of Bluebells clears the mind
And turns your fears to joy,
A smile to lighten all mankind
And every Girl and Boy.
The Sight of Bluebells in the wood
Confirms that Spring is here,
A carpet of the purest blue
To fill our lives with cheer.
The Strength of Bluebells is their 'Blue'
A colour so divine,
A lovely bright and heavenly hue
Sent from God's heart to mine.
The Source of Bluebells is the LORD
They grow at His command,
For by His own creative power
Each tree and flower was planned.
The Secret of the Blubells power
Lies in the joy it brings,
Inside the heart of every flower
The 'Joy of Heaven' rings.
Dedicated to all the lovely Belles in the PH Family
(John Knight - Colchester - October 2009)
poem by John Knight
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blue Skies Bring Tears
Unleash the armageddon
So all the children go to heaven
I sit by quiet still
With their pictures on my eyes
You'll draw the guns your given
Write down the words as written
And never disturb the presense
Of resurrection touch
And it's about time
It's about drawing near
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Descend the darkened stairway
Make hate with plastic playmates
And fire out remaining traces
Of your self esteem
Mainline the deepest secrets
Lick clean the dirty fingers
I am a stranger to you
As you are to yourself
And it's about time
It's about fear
Blue skies bring tears
Don't you want me (don't want you)
Cause I await cityside
We'll watch the seas start to die
Blue skies bring tears
Take me inside your body
Blue skies bring tears
Cover me with your soul
Blue skies bring tears
To the darkest reasons
Blue skies bring tears
Is where I wish to go
Blue skies bring tears
You are the sweetest flower
Blue skies bring tears
That I have ever devoured
Blue skies bring tears
I ask for nothing given
Blue skies bring tears
For nothing in return
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins from Machina: The Machines Of God
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yesterday Again
Grey skies are azure blue
You healed my broken heart.
We were meant for each other
Helpless from the start.
So say it with flowers
Heaven's sweet array.
No dying ember now
Love has found a way.
And dull skies are ever blue
Because I walk with you.
August 2008.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Grey Skies
Grey skies
Skies are grey, rain all day, perfect time to sit and pray.
It matters not, if you’re at home or in your car.
Receiving CHRIST is the best thing by far.
Open your heart and pray to him
For all your needs and desires
He will put out that flaming fire.
And when you feel that your problems
Are as grey as the skies, and the tears fall from your eyes
And it seems that life is not worth living
And you are so tired of giving.
Look through the grey rainy day
Inside you a small voice will say
“ I am here to lead the way
For tomorrow is another day
And when you see the sky a beautiful blue
It’s because I created it for you.
So don’t give up, don’t despair
For when you
poem by Louis Rams
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Ghostly Man
Ghostly man
Look at my Life
I can see thru and thru
Ghostly man
You're alot like me...
And you...
Pale grey heart
full of wisps of love
Oh, Ghostly man
What reason do...
Pale in sight
Hollow, Hollow, vision
Do you haunt my way
Ghostly man
poem by Midnights Voice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lost & Found
I always used to be afraid
That I was going to lose my way
I never used to walk in line but stray
I never thought I'd see it through
That I could deal with losing you
But suddenly I see the light of day
Leading me in
From out of the night
Staying on course - I'm still alive
I had to confess I never thought I would ever survive
I was lost and found
I had run aground
I was lost but now I'm found
Focused on my altered state
I would just disorientate
Suffering alone amongst the crowd
Drifting on a sea of doubt
And no one ever heard me shout
That I was lost and couldn't find my way
No one at hand
Having no plan
Stumbled through a barren land
After so long
Of going wrong
I found the road
I was lost and found
I had run aground
I was lost but now I'm found
I was lost and found
I had hit the ground
I was lost but now I found
That I don't need no one
To survive
You've got to believe alone
You'll rise
Starting to run
Shedding the load
Now I can see I'm close to home
After so long
Of going wrong
I found the road
I was lost and found
I had run aground
I was lost but now I'm found
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Too Soon (Dedicated To Mrs Tham My El Lit Teacher, hi PUALINA
The bluebells of June have finally been lost,
back to the earth that bore them,
throughout my life I will dread their flowering
for they scar a time of yearning.
Their coming fills me with the happiness
of memories of you, but they still gave me suffering
with the time of mourning for you
But yet these could still
Reveal the secret garden of my heart.
The forest floor, full of purple glory
scented gently of you,
one March we strolled its peaceful path
a meadow beneath our feet.
A year passed in a blink of an eye,
And then you were gone
Later in the month of June,
came the anguish of my soul -
you left me far too soon,
Like the bluebells of June
If only I could hear your voice,
the calming things you would say,
the earth itself would bow to my grief.
Like the bluebells every June,
You came and-
Gone too soon.
12/07/12
poem by Skylar Stamon Silver Salvatore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With Three Flowers
Herewith I send you three pressed withered flowers:
This one was white, with golden star; this, blue
As Capri's cave; that, purple and shot through
With sunset-orange. Where the Duomo towers
In diamond air, and under pendent bowers
The Arno glides, this faded violet grew
On Landor's grave; from Landor's heart it drew
Its clouded azure in the long spring hours.
Within the shadow of the Pyramid
Of Cais Cestius was the daisy found,
White as the soul of Keats in Paradise.
The pansy -- there were hundreds of them hid
In the thick grass that folded Shelley's mound,
Guarding his ashes with most lovely eyes.
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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Tribute to Robert Bridges
Robert Bridges
1844-1930 poet and physician
The upper skies are palest blue.
Mottled with pearl and fretted snow
With tattered fleece of inky hue,
close overhead the storm clouds go.
A glosa
The upper skies are palest blue,
the opposite of indigo.
And yet they share a common hue
as any artist’s sure to know.
The faintest cerulean blue
mottled with pearl and fretted snow.
Forever old yet always new
it changes constantly but slow.
AS frightened sheep so often do
across the sky they scatter so.
With tattered fleece of inky hue
on driven by the winds that blow
We are aware a storm is due.
Exactly when we cannot know,
we only know within our view
Close overhead the storm clouds go.
13-Sep-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Chord of Colour
My Lady clad herself in grey,
That caught and clung about her throat;
Then all the long grey winter day
On me a living splendour smote;
And why grey palmers holy are,
And why grey minsters great in story,
And grey skies ring the morning star,
And grey hairs are a crown of glory.
My Lady clad herself in green,
Like meadows where the wind-waves pass;
Then round my spirit spread, I ween,
A splendour of forgotten grass.
Then all that dropped of stem or sod,
Hoarded as emeralds might be,
I bowed to every bush, and trod
Amid the live grass fearfully.
My Lady clad herself in blue,
Then on me, like the seer long gone,
The likeness of a sapphire grew,
The throne of him that sat thereon.
Then knew I why the Fashioner
Splashed reckless blue on sky and sea;
And ere 'twas good enough for her,
He tried it on Eternity.
Beneath the gnarled old Knowledge-tree
Sat, like an owl, the evil sage:
'The World's a bubble,' solemnly
He read, and turned a second page.
'A bubble, then, old crow,' I cried,
'God keep you in your weary wit!
'A bubble--have you ever spied
'The colours I have seen on it?'
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mound
The old man knows very well
Going down by the snowbank, theres a mound
A mound that an old man knows good
Look who raises his shoe all over this mound
Right over the world thats another rewind
And its time, time, time for the last rewind
For a broken old man and a world unkind
He buried all his memories of home
In an icy clump that lies beneath the ground
No one knows how far he traveled
Oh! I heard he walked miles from the little mound
Can he find some shelter?
He doesnt know to behold what the cold frost can do
And at last till he realized hed circled back around
Round a back circle, round a back realized
Ice is all he was made of
The bitter blue, and frozen through
He went over to the mound
Reclining down his final thoughts
Were drifting to the time this life had shined
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grey Blue Eyes
I feel for the light
Your glory was lost that night
And no mind can't get me right
And now I'm praying that you'll find me out
Stone, stone has pulled me down
But my faith has got me bound to your grey blue eyes
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
Don't forget my broken heart
You remember it from the start
You made it and it's all a part
Of your grey blue eyes
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
You're gone and I know I'm dead
I've lost my way
Can't find me in your grey blue eyes
Grey blue eyes
Grey blue eyes
Grey blue eyes
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Windflowers
When I was little and good
I walked in the dappled wood
Where light white windflowers grew,
And hyacinths heavy and blue.
The windflowers fluttered light,
Like butterflies white and bright;
The bluebells tremulous stood
Deep in the heart of the wood.
I gathered the white and the blue,
The wild wet woodland through,
With hands too silly and small
To clasp and carry them all.
Some dropped from my hands and died
By the home-road's grassy side;
And those that my fond hands pressed
Died even before the rest.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Sergeant Sims' Saga 0018
Sunday sixth saw some slay scound
corpse soundless sunk in silty sound
where, settled on sand shore, abound
screaming seagulls whose cries sound
from strand to land. Their sounds rebound,
resound against old ships aground
where restless breakers crash and pound.
Forever will his bones be bound
by biting wires wound right around
his battered limbs, still will surround
his skeleton deep underground.
Not floating on the flood was found,
but down beside the damned, deep drowned.
Forensic information found
that someone gunned him to the ground,
and while he from dire wound would swound
with dagger the deceased had downed.
Hell's halls with welcome wild redound.
Another promptly plucked each pound
and paper, from the purse he owned,
picking pockets all around.
Beneath hair stream his skull still crowned
his frightful features fixèd frowned.
The same did Sergeant Sims astound,
together closely molars ground,
and to the Super see him pound.
The latter peered from paper mound.
Said he: 'Hie, harry out the hound
who drowned downed scoundrel, dumped him down
within the sound without a sound,
he must be mad, insane, unsound! '
(14 January 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Sundays Mondays
Written by: lenny kravitz/henry kirsch
The sun is out
The clouds are slowly going
And now my heart is growing fast
So lets get up
Put on you hat and clothing
Lets take a trip and lose our minds
Lets go walking through the park today
I love sunday mondays any day
When the skies are blue and its not grey
Ill take sunday mondays any every day
Sometimes its fun
To just escape and run
And leave the troubled world behind
So lets get lost
And get our juices flowing
And lets go see what we can find
Lets go walking through the park today
I love sunday mondays any day
When the skies are blue and its not grey
Ill take sunday mondays any every day
Lets go walking through the park today
I love sunday mondays any day
When the skies are blue and its not grey
Ill take sunday mondays any every day
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where No Bells Toll
There is a wood
where we played as children
and bluebells grow
When you came home
after seeing the rape of Zimbabwe
we picked bluebells
When you came home
from the killing fields of Iraq
we picked bluebells
When you came home
from the poppy fields of Afghanistan
we picked bluebells
When you came home
telling of monks beaten in Tibet
we picked bluebells
When you came home
from the line of fire on the Gaza Strip
it was in a coffin
There is a wood
where history plays tricks on us
and bluebells grow
poem by Roger Taber
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Sunday Mondays
The sun is out
The clouds are slowly going
And now my heart is growing fast
So lets get up
Put on you hat and clothing
Lets take a trip and lose our minds
Lets go walking through the park today
I love sunday mondays any day
When the skies are blue and its not grey
Ill take sunday mondays any every day
Sometimes its fun
To just escape and run
And leave the troubled world behind
So lets get lost
And get our juices flowing
And lets go se what we can find
Lets go walking through the park today
I love sunday mondays any day
When the skies are blue and its not grey
Ill take sunday mondays any every day
Lets go walking through the park today
I love sunday mondays any day
When the skies are blue and its not grey
Ill take sunday mondays any every day
song performed by by Vanessa Paradis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Weather's Wet!
The weather's wet, and skies are grey,
I wish I could just stay in bed,
But I must go to work today,
I'm safe beneath the warm duvet,
Not thinking ‘bout the day ahead,
The weather's wet, and skies are grey,
If only I could stay away,
I'd rather be at home instead,
But I must go to work today,
"Get up, get out, and earn your pay! "
A little voice screams in my head.
The weather's wet, and skies are grey,
A normal British summer's day,
With forecasts of more rain ahead,
But I must go to work today,
I wish there were another way,
In which to earn my daily bread,
The weather's wet, and skies are grey,
But I must go to work today.
poem by Graeme Williams
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Soldiers Rest
This mound of earth, now greened o'er;
Such a small plot for his large spirit.
We all come to this small space,
Or else are set free in the playful air
By those left to mourn our passing.
The small deeds of the anonymous,
Are by history soon forgotten;
Yet upon these backs great deeds were done.
Yet those who gaze down history's path,
They only see bright luminaries;
Not this simple soul who lies here now.
Beneath this bright daisy sprinkled lawn
Neath a stone that bears no name
Crumbling and grey with age
And soon to tumble into dust.
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sherwood
Sherwood in the twilight, is Robin Hood awake?
Grey and ghostly shadows are gliding through the brake;
Shadows of the dappled deer, dreaming of the morn,
Dreaming of a shadowy man that winds a shadowy horn.
Robin Hood is here again: all his merry thieves
Hear a ghostly bugle-note shivering through the leaves,
Calling as he used to call, faint and far away,
In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day.
Merry, merry England has kissed the lips of June:
All the wings of fairyland were here beneath the moon;
Like a flight of rose-leaves fluttering in a mist
Of opal and ruby and pearl and amethyst.
Merry, merry England is waking as of old,
With eyes of blither hazel and hair of brighter gold:
For Robin Hood is here again beneath the bursting spray
In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day.
Love is in the greenwood building him a house
Of wild rose and hawthorn and honeysuckle boughs;
Love it in the greenwood: dawn is in the skies;
And Marian is waiting with a glory in her eyes.
Hark! The dazzled laverock climbs the golden steep:
Marian is waiting: is Robin Hood asleep?
Round the fairy grass-rings frolic elf and fay,
In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day.
Oberon, Oberon, rake away the gold,
Rake away the red leaves, roll away the mould,
Rake away the gold leaves, roll away the red,
And wake Will Scarlett from his leafy forest bed.
Friar Tuck and Little John are riding down together
With quarter-staff and drinking-can and grey goose-feather;
The dead are coming back again; the years are rolled away
In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day.
Softly over Sherwood the south wind blows;
All the heart of England hid in every rose
Hears across the greenwood the sunny whisper leap,
Sherwood in the red dawn, is Robin Hood asleep?
Hark, the voice of England wakes him as of old
And, shattering the silence with a cry of brighter gold,
Bugles in the greenwood echo from the steep,
Sherwood in the red dawn, is Robin Hood asleep?
Where the deer are gliding down the shadowy glen
All across the glades of fern he calls his merry men;
Doublets of the Lincoln green glancing through the May,
In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day;
Calls them and they answer: from aisles of oak and ash
Rings the Follow! Follow! and the boughs begin to crash;
The ferns begin to flutter and the flowers begin to fly;
And through the crimson dawning the robber band goes by.
Robin! Robin! Robin! All his merry thieves
Answer as the bugle-note shivers through the leaves:
Calling as he used to call, faint and far away,
In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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