A Hint On Some Tales
some flowers bloom late, some buds
just wilt
the rain makes no promises - and so there
goes some stories
of johnny-come-latelies
and pretentious marriages.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bees And The Flowers
the flowers bloom
and then wilt
nothing happens
in between
the bees fly
and hover in between
the flowers that bloom
and wilt
again there is no word
because nothing really
happens in between
the flowers bloom
& the bees fly away
to the other flowers that bloom
that wilt
and nothing ever happens in between
the flowers and the bees
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Oh Rain
rain rain rain
oh rain
you have seen that a roses almost dried
i don't want to it happened
because i was waiting for flower buds bloom
rain rain rain
oh rain
please coming soon
don't make me cry
Copyright © 2012
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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Late Fall Rain
Let the fall rain kiss you
Let the fall rain beat upon your head with silver pearl drops
Let the late fall rain sing you a lullaby
The late rain makes still pools on the sidewalk
The late fall rain makes running pools in the gutter
The late fall rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night and day
The fall is as beautiful as I stay in there for several hours
I love the late fall rain as well as I love my boyfriend
poem by Natasa Tocuc
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Fall Rain Song
Let the fall rain kiss you
Let the fall rain beat upon your head with silver pearl drops
Let the late fall rain sing you a lullaby
The late rain makes still pools on the sidewalk
The late fall rain makes running pools in the gutter
The late fall rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night and day
The fall is as beautiful as I stay in there for several hours
I love the late fall rain as well as I love my boyfriend
poem by Natasa Tocuc
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fall Rain
Let the fall rain kiss you
Let the fall rain beat upon your head with silver pearl
drops
Let the late fall rain sing you a lullaby
The late rain makes still pools on the sidewalk
The late fall rain makes running pools in the gutter
The late fall rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night and day
The fall is as beautiful as I stay in there for several hours
I love the late fall rain as well as I love Souls of America.
poem by Natasa Tocuc
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For The Buds That Bloom
for the buds that bloom
thank you
for the flowers that show the
biggest petals and the sweetest scent
thank you
for those that keep on holding the dew
thank you
and for those who enjoy even the slightest moment
of my appreciation and praise
all for the glory of God
even for the slightest moment
and then wilt and die
in an instant
like the click of the hand
or the ticking of the clock for a second or two
thank you
i have learned a lot. i have opened. i have kept the answers. i am ready
for the next question that God may ask of me.
even for the shortest moment of my life.
thank you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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O Lady, Leave Thy Silken Thread
O Lady, leave thy silken thread
And flowery tapestrie:
There's living roses on the bush,
And blossoms on the tree;
Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand
Some random bud will meet;
Thou canst not tread, but thou wilt find
The daisy at thy feet.
'Tis like the birthday of the world,
When earth was born in bloom;
The light is made of many dyes,
The air is all perfume;
There's crimson buds, and white and blue—
The very rainbow showers
Have turn'd to blossoms where they fell,
And sown the earth with flowers.
There's fairy tulips in the east,
The garden of the sun;
The very streams reflect the hues,
And blossom as they run:
While Morn opes like a crimson rose,
Still wet with pearly showers;
Then, lady, leave the silken thread
Thou twinest into flowers!
poem by Thomas Hood
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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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Late To Bloom I Am To This
Late to bloom I am to this.
An honesty revealed...
About my feelings concealed.
I thought I knew what they were,
As I told them.
I thought once described...
No one could truly hold them.
Or enfold them as I do.
Then I met you.
Late to bloom I am to this.
A stripping bare...
Of what I dare call,
A complete enthralling happiness.
Late to bloom I am to this.
But age has nothing to do...
How we two,
Me and you get to do what gets done.
With lessons learned...
I am so glad my heart awaited for this one.
Late to bloom I am to this!
And I had once admitted...
This would not happen.
This I had missed!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Winter Daffodils
January, and the daffodils are showing their heads;
Pushing their way up from their deep, wintry bed.
At the sight of them, I can't help, but be amazed.
With them, the grassy bank will soon be ablaze.
Daffodils in January, I have never before known;
Their heads, in winter, are never normally shown.
They will soon brighten up these dark, winter days;
Adding a splash of colour to the browns and greys.
To my day, they add some much needed cheer;
I'm reminded that spring, once again, draws near.
Daffodils are amongst my very favourite flowers;
To cheer people up, they possess a special power.
Safe in their buds, the precious petals are protected;
In the winter air, a slight chill can still be detected.
In only a few weeks, their buds will be ready to burst,
And, by the sun and rain, the flowers will be nursed.
The flowers will grow up so very tall and strong,
And, together, they will create such a merry throng.
Their presence is bound to attract much attention;
Their stunning natural beauty, many will mention.
To see their finished form, I simply can not wait;
A breathtaking sight, the daffodils will soon create.
That they do not last very long, it is a great shame;
They will wilt and die, like an extinguished flame.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Johnny Stew
Written by lindsey buckingham.
Johnny, oh johnny,
Where do you roam?
Well always remain here,
So dont leave us alone.
Some say they knew him,
And some just left him alone.
Johnny, oh johnny,
Where do you roam?
Johnny, johnny, johnny!
(everybodys talking about the amazing johnny stew.)
Johnny, johnny, johnny!
(everybodys talking about the amazing johnny stew.)
It takes a worried man, now,
To sing a worried song.
Johnny, oh johnny,
I know you were not wrong.
song performed by by Lindsey Buckingham
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A crown of flowers
A crown of flowers
~
I don a crown of flowers
To mask the sorrow inside
Eyes which fall upon its beauty
Do not see the tears I cry
While the flowers bud to blossom
I wilt to almost nothing
In a garden colour filled with life
There is also a shadow found
In the sun the flower buds open
In the dark a heart is closed
The flowers shall be woven together
To hide something left unseen
The rose, the tulip and the bluebell rise
I am envious of their beautiful life
So I don I crown of flowers
To mask my sorrow inside
poem by Matthew Holloway
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to a budding writer somewhere in Cebu
it was not him who placed the
beautiful flower on your head
and so when it wilts it is never
his concern, or hers,
she lives alone in her own
circle, she tries to get some
flowers, but they are all
already reserved for you,
and so when they make you
stand before them and they
begin to ask what makes you
think that you are a goddess
for your little poetries,
their eyes are flaming with
madness. Do not mind them
when they tell you that your
flowers are nothing but
the rotten petals of the
lesser breed or variety.
It is your heart that must be followed.
It is the mandate of the
higher goddess that must
be obeyed through and through.
So take good care of the flowers that are
still growing in your head,
the vines from your fingers
the buds that are still tight-lipped
wanting to bloom for you.
do not let the flames of envy
stop the flow of springs from
your very eyes.They see
very well the beauty that
has arrived, and the courier
says, it is now all for you.
Not for him or her. Not
even for me. I am just
anyhow carefully watching.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Johnny Dont Do It
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
Johnny was an angel
An angel dressed in black
He used to hang around the guys
Down at the local track
He tried so hard to join them
But they always turned him back
Johnny dont do it
He was an angel
Johnny dont do it
Such an angel
He was only 17
Just got out of school
He stole a bike from joes garage
To prove that he was cool
He didnt know that the brakes were worn
And fate can be so cruel
Johnny dont do it
He was an angel
Johnny dont do it
Such an angel
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
Well johnny went a riding
With his girlfriend on the back seat
Looking for some action
And they found it down a back street
Suddenly a truck pulled out
He tried to step on the brake
Johnny dont do it (here is a news flash)
Johnny dont do it (today, johnny kowalski, also known as johnny
Angel)
Johnny dont do it (and his young fiance francine, were tragically
Killed)
Johnny dont do it (in a cycle accident)
Dont do it, dont do it (any witnesses please contact)
Dont do it, dont do it (the police at precinct 29)
Now johnnys with the angels
The angels in the sky
I wonder if he thinks of us
As he goes riding by
If only had listened
Oh the number of times we tried
To tell him
Johnny dont do it
He was an angel
Johnny dont do it
Such an angel
Johnny dont do it
He was an angel
Johnny dont do it
Such an angel
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
Johnny dont do it
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maria Elena
(Bobby Ray Appleberry, William Cuomo)
Johnny Porter was the oldest in his family
And I remember he was almost twenty one
Y'know I can't quite explain the situation
But he broke into his father's truck and stole a gun
Mother running down the highway screaming
Johnny it's too bad, oh it's too and it's bad
And it's too bad
Well, his father wonders where he got the money
And he wonders if he got it right or wrong
Then Johnny killed a man in Pensacola, Florida
And he caught a freight train and and took off on the run
Well, run, Johnny, run
They're rolling right behind you
Run, Johnny, run
You know they're gonna find you
You come out late at night, 'cause you're running for your life
Hum, Johnny Porter
Johnny Porter
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Well, it's a shame the way you make your mother worry
And it's hurts inside to sit and watch her cry
And it will be a long time before she knows the answer
But it won't be long before she will see ya die
Well, I was standing in my front door early this morning
So sad, when I heard my name was said
Johnny Porter was no good than anybody
But I hate to see him throw his life away
Now, run, Johnny, run
They're rolling right behind you
Run, Johnny, run
You know they're gonna find you
You come out late at night, 'cause you're running for your life
Well, Johnny Porter, Johnny Porter
Found him holed up in some dark and dirty building
Heard his mother begging,
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Question For You?
i ask the wind
when will i ever see you again?
and the clouds hear it and then
the sun shines telling it is when the clear day comes again
and then i wait and there is rain for days and days.
on a clear day, the sun shines the flowers bloom and i wait again
there is no you, not even a shadow, and i left
the sun, the wind, the rain, the clouds
they have nothing to give for my quest for answers,
useless metaphors, broken promises, empty poems
shattered dreams
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Song Of A Spring-Time
TOO rash, sweet birds, spring is not spring;
Sharp winds are fell in east and north;
Late blossoms die for peeping forth; Rains numb, frost blights;
Days are unsunned, storms tear the nights;
The tree-buds wilt before they swell.
Frosts in the buds, and frost-winds fell: And you, you sing.
But let no song be sweet in spring;
Spring is but hope for after-time,
And what is hope but spring-tide rime? But blights, but rain?
Spring wanes unsunned, and sunless wane
The hopes false spring-tide bore to die.
Spring's answer is the March wind's sigh: And you, you sing.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Life As Tree
Both
Nurtured in womb
Take time
To bloom.
Mother
Mother nature
Groom
As shape assumes
Towards independence
A leap
Blurred
With grooming memories
Adolescence
Then
An ripening age
Flowers bloom
Those buds
Which life gave
Shed their weight
Under old age
But memories remain
One with elements five
Clock never rewinds.
poem by Sanjay Mehta
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