Discontent
Winter of discontentment
I fear my almond tree has bloomed too early, a few good days,
it and I thought it was spring. Cold wind, they may die before
the flowers are ready to shed their petals and pretend its snow.
We are both stalwarts, when I first came here it was but
a sapling. I have a fire roaring and the dog no one looks after
is sleeping on the chair near the fire. Weather bad I didn’t have
the heart to leave it outside. I’m not prince Charles I don’t talk
to trees, but I do give it a friendly slap on its trunk if no one is
looking. I’m a sucker for down and outs, today I bought a chicken
dinner for the Roma woman who begs outside the supermarket.
A guard came and told me I mustn’t feed them, like they should
be some sort of animals. I love my almond tree it reminds me
of mother when she was sick and old, but beautiful in her frailty.
There was little I could do only tell of my love for her.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Related quotes
Camomile Tea
Outside the sky is light with stars;
There's a hollow roaring from the sea.
And, alas! for the little almond flowers,
The wind is shaking the almond tree.
How little I thought, a year ago,
In the horrible cottage upon the Lee
That he and I should be sitting so
And sipping a cup of camomile tea.
Light as feathers the witches fly,
The horn of the moon is plain to see;
By a firefly under a jonquil flower
A goblin toasts a bumble-bee.
We might be fifty, we might be five,
So snug, so compact, so wise are we!
Under the kitchen-table leg
My knee is pressing against his knee.
Our shutters are shut, the fire is low,
The tap is dripping peacefully;
The saucepan shadows on the wall
Are black and round and plain to see.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Almond Blossom
Blossom of the almond trees,
April's gift to April's bees,
Birthday ornament of Spring,
Flora's fairest daughterling;
Coming when no flowerets dare
Trust the cruel outer air;
When the royal kingcup bold
Dares not don his coat of gold;
And the sturdy black-thorn spray
Keeps his silver for the May; -
Coming when no flowerets would,
Save thy lowly sisterhood,
Early violets; blue and white,
Dying for their love of light; -
Almond blossom, sent to teach us
That the spring days soon will reach us,
Lest, with longing over-tried,
We die, as the violets died; -
Blossom, clouding all the tree
With thy crimson broidery,
Long before a leaf of green
On the bravest bough is seen; -
Ah! when winter winds are swinging
All thy red bells into ringing,
With a bee in every bell,
Almond bloom, we greet thee well.
poem by Edwin Arnold
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All Day Sucker
Come on up you say
Cause you can feel your love comin down
I find myself rushin over to
Do something for your love
I knock on the door
You answer askin what am I there for
I say I thought you wanted me to
Do something for your love
Im an all day sucker
Coming to give something to get nothin
Im an all day sucker
Coming to give something but to get none of your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
You call me up to say
Youre sorry for what went down the other day
And could I come over today
Do something for your love
One knuck gets me in
But then you say how very nice its been
That lets me know that I will once again
Get nothin fom your love
Im an all day sucker
Coming to give something to get nothin
Im an all day sucker
Coming to give something but to get none of your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
You drop by to say
Youre sorry for what went down the other day
And if I had some time later in the day to
Do something for your love
Anyone else would say
No thats okay
But maybe by now shell see things my way
And ask me to say to
Do something for her love
Im an all day sucker
Coming to give something to get nothin
Im an all day sucker
Coming to give something but to get none of your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
To get none of your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
Being stingy with your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
Im an all day sucker for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
Givin none of your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
Im an all day sucker for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
To get none of your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
All day sucker for your love
All day sucker cup for your love
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Almond Tree
This snowy cold December morning
the pen
is full of almond branches, leaves
and black gnarled twigs covered
with white blossoms
the scent of that tree is intoxicating
for here on the real earth,
such trees do not ripen,
nor bear the fruit of that tree.
As children our first movement is to sing joyous songs,
innocent voices, filling mountains and dales with arias.
As adults our first movement is toward joy,
yet we give it away, venting full expression
to a gloomy tho not unfamiliar view of life.
once delighted with the world as children
now the world is in a tangle,
for opened eyes have seen only the glow of fires,
massacres, injustices, humiliations,
and the unrelenting shame
of braggarts and despots.
I look at the pen, it's branches, twigs, leaves
now covered, with cherry blossoms
and breathe in the intoxicating scent of that tree
knowing full well such a tree does not grow in dirt
nor can humanity cut down that tree.
That tree does not desire to save
nations or people
heal the sick,
raise the dead,
connive with politicians,
nor change drunkards and fools
with songs of hope...
The only goal is this, only this
that I see and smell the almond tree,
learn to look with love,
heal this heart,
without knowing from various ills-
for that almond tree says to me: Friend
stand in the glow of ripeness with me
not knowing what purpose served.
Through worm filled tufts
in that sweet garden
that almond tree raises it's eyes
and every blossom
enjoys the air it breathes
poem by Liberatore Suffoletta
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Sweeter Than Wine
The Almond flowers,
With buds and blossoms from my lover;
How sweet is the entrance of your tent?
Braided chains of pure gold,
The apple of your sweetest love;
With pure incense of sweet spices.
On one branch,
On one's love,
With buds and blossoms from her taste;
An Olive Oil from her light to share with you like,
That of her skills and abilities.
Your sweet love crowns the night,
In the midst of her mountains with love;
This is my deisre towards her.
Her love is sweeter than wine,
See how her breasts feed among the Lilies;
Of the Almond flowers,
Refresh me with your sweet apples my love;
You are so beautiful among women my love,
Your sweet aroma of the Almond flowers fills my soul.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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My heart is
My heart is like a almond tree,
with snow white
flowers in spring.
My heart is like a loerie bird,
that teases life
from a fruit tree
My heart is like a rainbow’s beam
that appears with the last drops
over the country side.
All of these things are vague
like morning fog,
compared to the happiness
that you bring to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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First Robin of Spring
Today heard a beautiful
sound, it was up in a tree,
sitting on a branch so alone,
spring is near by.
As my first robin to
see is looking down
on me, so peacefully,
robins are a sure sign,
warm weather is on its way,
a new start, new beginning,
beautiful sounds coming
from this beautiful robin.
Winter so cold, so long,
snow almost all gone,
spring flowers just
a stone throw away.
Dear robin you bring such
joy and comfort to my
heart listening to you,
your welcome here anytime.
wrote 3-14-07
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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False Spring
False Spring
End of September is a strange interlude
in Algarve´s countryside.
Flowers suddenly bloom and yellow grass
turns green, for a few weeks it looks like
spring before sinking back to winter gloom.
The cork tree, dark and nude its dress has
has been turned into bottle stoppers and
and no leaves protect its misery.
Still it is looking inwards pretend not to be
there while waiting for spring, when
my almond three strews pink snow flakes
on the sandy lane and life begins again.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Love at last sight...
I am too sick and ill,
To keep my head still,
Brought to the clinic,
For the check up and 'tonic',
There I see the girl,
As white as snow white,
When she looks at me,
Lightening flashing in me,
When she lifts her head,
rolls her beautiful almond eyes,
I hear the banging of lion dancers,
In my mind and when she turns,
And yawns feebly, fire burns,
Up my sick body and she is sick too,
We meet today and at this hour,
In the clinic that cares,
I can't take the eyes off her,
Beautiful plumb face and body,
She coughs a bit,
As she can't cough aloud,
She has cancer and
The doctors have given up,
I hear them speaking,
I try to reach her, as she is shy,
I try to feel her paws and the nails,
she touches my paws too,
I keep my head nearer to her,
Before they separate us,
They are going to put us to sleep,
Today and after a few hours,
Love has bloomed at the last sight,
between a Husky and a Lab.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The Rose Tree Of Winter
In the cold winds of Winter she stands thorny and bare
In Summer large beautiful red flowers she did wear
The Rose tree of Winter not a pretty sight
At a time of year with litle warmth in the sunlight,
When the birds in the sunlit gardens will nest and sing
She will wear her new leaves and rosebuds of the Spring
As a tree the rose tree does not grow very tall
Compared to most trees she does seem very small
But in her full bloom none as lovely as she
In her cloak of flowers she's a beautiful tree
But in Winter she stands there by the garden wall
Of the garden trees the most forlorn one of all
And though it may still be a few months from the Spring
The white backed magpie on the blackwood tree sing
But without her leaves and flowers prickly looking and bare
The rose tree looks drab in the cool morning air.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I said to the almond tree, "Friend, speak to me of God," and the almond tree blossomed.
Nikos Kazantzakis in Report to Greco (1961), translated by Peter A. Bien
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wild Daisies
They are Nature's natural survivors though they seem so dainty and small
And they bloom in all Seasons and weather In Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall
With yellow hearts and snow white petals the wildflowers everybody does know
Even on the coldest days of Winter they bloom in the shade by hedgerow
Wild daisies distinct from all others the flowers everyone recognize
They close their petals to the night air and open their hearts to the sunrise
Even in the coldest days of Winter the wildflowers one often does see
So dainty looking yet so hardy they always do look disease free
When I was young in depths of Winter they bloomed in the fields far away
The very same species of wild daisies I see in the town park today
They must have been around forever the hardiest of little wildflowers
They even bloom in the coldest of weather in the sleety and wintery showers
They are Nature's natural survivors the poets their praises do sing
They bloom in all Seasons and weather Summer, Autumn and Winter and Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Cold Winter's Day
The weather cold and overcast in the middle of July
And cold jack frost blows with his chilly breath across the Winter sky
And in Kyneton, Trentham and Daylesford they have had a fall of snow
And the temperatures at zero and the weather glass is low
From Spring through Summer to late Fall the weather warm and dry
And for days on end the sun was burning in the clear blue sky
But the rain and snow is needed now and people pray for more
For the paddocks at this time of year never dry as this before
Yet today I saw a magpie despite the Wintery chill
Fly from the ground to a tall gum tree with a twig in his bill
For to build a nest an early sign of the approach of Spring
Of late in the darkness of the night I hear his kin bird sing
In parts of Central Victoria it is snowing, cattle bellowing for hay
And the cold breath of jack frost in the wind it has been a chilly day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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First Blossoms
So unexpectedly the beauty caught me,
the first blossoms suddenly bursting out snow white,
covering the whole almond tree
and a week ago the branches were still stripped,
with the winter wind cutting through it.
Today I feel devoured by the winter wind,
I am tied by my powerlessness, blinded by destiny
and I am wondering when and where
I will find You secretly working in my life?
I find signs that a new summer is on its way,
I am astounded by nature
while the beauty comes suddenly
and for Your Godly working as a human I am stupid,
see in nature spring suddenly coming all around me,
Your flowers blooming in their cups,
everything around me is suddenly clean and fresh
and everything You regard as Your property.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Fire Of Spring
Spring: What do you see like this?
Fire: To you
Spring: Please I entreat you
Fire: What to do? I can’t bear darkness
Spring: Naughty, not to utter thus. Come here.
Fire: May I set fire to wax candle?
Spring: Put on spectacles, other wise
No surplus will remain.
Fire: Oh! You are very miserly.
Spring: OK Think- you are lying under a tree in hard sun light-in this moment what will be your temperament?
Fire: You are upon a hand; our child is upon another, crystal blue sky in front.
Spring: I see! Have you ever seen that fair of children darken the blue sky?
Fire: Yes, I saw that in your eye, on your lip, inside the rib bone.
Spring: OK
Fire: Oh! No, do not talk; close your eyes, why so sweat scent in your hair?
Spring: At your chest too...
Fire: Surging fire on my body
Always, couldn’t you see that?
Spring: How could I see? The thunder-the flood reside on my body too.
Fire: You are carrying so much thunder and flood why did not you tell me before?
Spring: How could I say? Did I know that so much?
Fire at your heart!
Fire: Leave it. Now you have come to know.
Spring: Hey-I entreat you, do not touch my hub. Earth quake sleeps there.
Fire: Oh! Really you are very beautiful and natural, A very exciting eminent on your thigh looks.
Spring: Entreat, I entreat you, do not touch there. Earth Quake sleeps there also.
poem by Bongokobida Zakaria
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Because of love
I became an almond tree
Ugly in winters
Come spring I wear pink flowers
And feel ever so artistic
tanka by Oskar Hansen
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The Blind Girl
Kind Christians, pray list to me,
And I'll relate a sad story,
Concerning a little blind girl, only nine years of age,
Who lived with her father in a lonely cottage.
Poor girl, she had never seen the blessed light of day,
Nor the beautiful fields of corn and hay,
Nor the sparrows, that lifted their heads at early morn
To bright Sol that does the hills adorn.
And near the cottage door there was an elm tree;
But that stunted elm tree she never did see,
Yet her little heart sometimes felt gay
As she listened to the thrushes that warbled the live-long day.
And she would talk to the wren when alone,
And to the wren she would her loneliness bemoan,
And say, "Dear little wren, come again to-morrow;
Now be sure and come, your singing will chase away my sorrow."
She was motherless, but she had a drunken father,
Who in his savage moods drank all he could gather,
And would often cruelly beat her until she would cry,
"Dear father, if you beat me I will surely die."
She spent the days in getting ready her father's food,
Which was truly for her drunken father's good;
But one night he came home, reeling drunk,
And the poor child's heart with fear sunk;
And he cried, "You were at the door when I came up the lane;
Take that, you good-for-nothing slut; you're to blame
For not having my supper ready; you will find
That's no excuse, Sarah, because you are blind."
And with a stick he struck her as he spoke
Across the shoulders, until the stick almost broke;
Crying aloud, "I'll teach you better, you little sneak;"
And with the beating, Sarah's heart was like to break.
Poor little Sarah had never seen the snow;
She knew it was beautiful white, some children told her so;
And in December, when the snow began to fall,
She would go to the door and make a snowball.
One day she'd been very cheerless and alone,
Poor child, and so cold, almost chilled to the bone;
For her father had spent his wages in drink,
And for want of fire she was almost at death's brink.
Her face was pinched with hunger but she never complained,
And her little feet with cold were chilblained,
And her father that day had not come home for dinner,
And the dull grey sky was all of a shimmer.
So poor Sarah was very sick when her father came home;
So bad, little dear, that she did sigh and moan,
And when her father saw her in bed
He was heart-stricken with fear and dread.
So within a few days poor Sarah did die,
And for the loss of Sarah the drunken father did cry,
So the loss of his child soon converted him
From drinking either whiskey, rum or gin.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Sharing Dreams
He had a dream of living a life of rustic idyll, to see and feel
seasons, so he bought a derelict cottage in pastoral Algarve.
Took his wife along, explained how the cottage would look
like when done up; she said nothing. With help of workmen
he began repair and life for a while was primitive. He saw his
wife was not happy, when she said she had go home to look
after her daughter, he understood. Months went, but a day
in February the home was ready, he had even acquired a dog.
Outside the almond trees were shedding and petals looked as
pink snow. Rang her, but she didn´t want to come and live in
his bucolic wonderland. "But I thought you liked it", he said.
"You never asked me, took me for granted, this is you dream
not mine…" The cottage was still and cold, his dog sensed his
dejections jumped up on his lap liking his face. He went into
the shed, collected wood for the fireplace, his dream was now
like an old coat too comfy to throw away.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Christmas Remembered
A Christmas Remembered
Day before Christmas it was cold and we walked down
to the harbour to buy a tree and I remember the sea
that slapped against the dock was apple green and foamy.
Mother bought a tree, for next to nothing, since its top
was broken and it looked like a rejected child that waited
for a car to come pick it up and bring it to the orphanage
By putting the tree on top of the dinner table and a star
and a bit of glitter it looked nice in a child’s eye.
Mother was angry we didn’t know way, and went to bed.
We children sat on the floor and ate lukewarm rice pudding
and there was nothing under the tree. Mother got up told
us to dress and we walked to my uncle’s house. At first he
didn’t want to let her in, but when he saw us children he
opened the door. We had plenty to eat although my aunt
had a sour mien. But happy we walked home and thought
we had had a splendid Christmas.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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