Rose Pogonias
A saturated meadow,
Sun-shaped and jewel-small,
A circle scarcely wider
Than the trees around were tall;
Where winds were quite excluded,
And the air was stifling sweet
With the breath of many flowers, --
A temple of the heat.
There we bowed us in the burning,
As the sun's right worship is,
To pick where none could miss them
A thousand orchises;
For though the grass was scattered,
yet every second spear
Seemed tipped with wings of color,
That tinged the atmosphere.
We raised a simple prayer
Before we left the spot,
That in the general mowing
That place might be forgot;
Or if not all so favored,
Obtain such grace of hours,
that none should mow the grass there
While so confused with flowers.
poem by Robert Frost
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Ring Of Grass
Rings of grass crowns of flowers they're gone gone gone gone
Furs that I woven of whispering hours gone gone gone gone
She's gone away where the rings are real
And the furs have warmth that a woman can feel
Round and round round goes the wheel
And she's gone gone gone gone gone
Rings of grass and crowns of flowers gone gone gone gone
Castles of sand with seashell towers gone gone gone gone
She's gone away where the dreams are small
But the castles are rock and they never fall
And left me here to live among all that is gone gone gone gone gone
Rings of grass oh why did they die away gone gone gone gone
Whispering hours where did they fly away gone gone gone gone
And where is the wisdom to understand
That years would crumble our castles of sand
And the flowers and grass turn brown in our hands
When it's gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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A Butterflies Beauty
Butterfly with beautiful wings,
Glides through the summer
breeze,
As the sun shines upon the wings,
Fluttering oh so silently,
Colors of the rainbow begin to
show brightly,
Like the beautiful colors of
the flowers,
Butterflies blend in so perfect,
Making nature look pretty,
Unique patterns on every wing
has its beautiful story,
Just like nature has its own
story,
Where beauty never ends,
Butterflies will always blend in
with almost anything,
Blending in with flowers, grass,
even trees tall and small,
Including a rest on a fawns little
nose,
It is only to say hi and thank you,
for letting me rest my wings,
Now I must be on my way to enjoy
the summer breeze,
Soon it will be winter and I will
have to leave,
No worries I will return when the grass
is green and trees grow their leaves,
When rivers flow with the sunshine warmth,
Animals tall and small roam again from
slumber,
Flowers blossom beautifully,
that is how you know I will return
again,
Fluttering upon the spring and summer
breeze,
All my family will also return to fill
nature with colorful beauty.
poem by Derek James
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Flowers for me.
Here, in the green field, yonder the sky is blue
Behind ‘Ramogi" sacred hills, I see it blue
I wade past the tall, spear like flowering grass
To, pink, red, and yellow, I pick the flowers
Up a tree I see two weaver birds building their nest
Flowers I sample, all alone, for me, I'll bring these to my nest.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Flowers
(orbison/dees)
When I was a boy I ran among the flowers
Looking left and right at the bright array
I played through the spring, whiled away the hours
Lingered with the flowers every day
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
When the summer ends and the storms of life are over
When the winter comes and the petals fall away
They may write it on my stone, he was just a roller
But he stopped to pick some flowers along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, picked some flowers, along the way
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Burial Of A Fairy Queen
On a verdant summer islet
I beheld a wondrous scene,
In a trance of dreamy waking-
Burial of a Fairy Queen!
First I heard some small pipes playing,
Like faint night-winds on the breeze,
Or the sound of distant rain-drops,
As they fall among the trees.
Floating softly o'er the waters,
And from every bell of foam,
The fairy anthem echoed sweetly,
Sad as thoughts of distant home.
Next the sound, as if of footsteps,
O'er the grass plot mov'd along;
And distinctly came the accents
Of the solemn funeral song.
Like the melting of the dew-drops,
Without words of grief or death,
Was the soul-enthralling music,
Scarcely louder than a breath.
Then my dreaming eyes were opened,
And in wonder I espied
Thousands of the fairy creatures
In a circle, side by side.
Scarcely taller than the leaflets
Of the herbage on the plain,
While their heads were bowed with anguish,
And their tear-drops fell like rain.
In the middle of the circle,
On a plat of grass most green,
Stood a bier of unknown flowers,
Whereon lay the Fairy Queen.
Ah, she was pale as any lily,
Cold and motionless as snow!
Fainter grew their solemn dirges,
And still deeper grew their wo!
Two sisters of the queenly fairy,
Stood at her feet and head,
And sang heart-broken measures,
Their requiems o'er the dead.
Scarcely louder than the twittering
Of the wood-lark's dewy breath-
But too full of desolation,
And the dark despair of death!
Then the flower-bier sank gently,
At the spot whereon it lay;
And the magic turf clos'd o'er it-
Thus the dead queen pass'd away!
Bright dew-drops glittered on the sward-
One fleet moment more, and then
The mystic troop sailed duskily,
And far from mortal ken.
The silence of the still midnight
The murmuring waters broke;
The moon, emerging from a cloud,
Shone on me, and I woke.
poem by Mary Eliza Perine Tucker Lambert
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Simply grass....! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Grass is very pretty;
But it’s not simply grass,
Or just stuff of lawns.
If you go up and close,
You see a world
Of flowers, waiting
To be discovered.
Grass flowers keep a low profile;
Their colour, height not loud
To scream from far off…
But as I sit on grass
On a humid day, As Sun goes down
West in May,
Or at mid-noon in December
On an icy cold day;
Somehow they remind me
Of a six month old,
Who first learns to crawl
And raises his neck and turns
To make eye contact
With his mom.
The innocence writ large
On their face
Is their unique scent.
Although not effervescent;
Yet timid… by no means.
What if they grow under trees?
Or wherever they get
To assert themselves.
They deserve applause for
Holding their own
On frail stems.
They arrest my gaze,
And I feel more than certain
God is in small details.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Grass
The world is all one smother of grass,
Waves of it rolling deep and green,
Clothing the paddocks’ gentle slope,
Laughing the brown tree-trunks between.
And some are praising the brilliant flowers,
The beauty of foliage as they pass,
But I am drinking its glory in
And thanking the Lord for grass, for grass!
The air is a-murmur with rippling sound
From jubilant creeks long fed with rain,
Singing of drought and travail past
And a bounteous earth drown young again-
An earth that is telling its thankfulness
With passionate rapture too deep for words
In acres and acres of waving grass,
Haven of promise to starving herds.
There’s a tangle of bloom in its moist green shade,
Mottled yam-flowers and gentians blue,
Small white stars that are honey sweet,
And nodding bluebells all drenched with dew.
And oh! The breath of its incense rare
As the summer breezes over it pass,
My heart is thrilling with voiceless prayer
And thanking the Giver of things for grass.
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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Field Path
The beams in blossom with their spots of jet
Smelt sweet as gardens wheresoever met;
The level meadow grass was in the swath;
The hedge briar rose hung right across the path,
White over with its flowers--the grass that lay
Bleaching beneath the twittering heat to hay
Smelt so deliciously, the puzzled bee
Went wondering where the honey sweets could be;
And passer-bye along the level rows
Stoopt down and whipt a bit beneath his nose.
poem by John Clare
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Valgovind's Song In The Spring
The Temple bells are ringing,
The young green corn is springing,
And the marriage month is drawing very near.
I lie hidden in the grass,
And I count the moments pass,
For the month of marriages is drawing near.
Soon, ah, soon, the women spread
The appointed bridal bed
With hibiscus buds and crimson marriage flowers,
Where, when all the songs are done,
And the dear dark night begun,
I shall hold her in my happy arms for hours.
She is young and very sweet,
From the silver on her feet
To the silver and the flowers in her hair,
And her beauty makes me swoon,
As the Moghra trees at noon
Intoxicate the hot and quivering air.
Ah, I would the hours were fleet
As her silver circled feet,
I am weary of the daytime and the night;
I am weary unto death,
Oh my rose with jasmin breath,
With this longing for your beauty and your light.
poem by Laurence Hope
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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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Spring (Double Rondelet Triolet)
With a deep touch,
The red poppy awakes the grass.
With a deep touch,
Red wants green's vibration so much,
The sun awakes the sky's watch glass.
The sky vibrates like a string bass,
With a deep touch.
The red flowers bloom in the Spring
When the time of the green grass comes.
The sky vibrates like a bass string.
The red flowers bloom in the Spring.
I see the nature's purest swing.
The wind searches his bongo drums,
The red flowers bloom in the Spring
When the time of the green grass comes.
I see His love
Like a white lily among thorns.
I see His love
Like in clefts of the rock, a dove.
When red flower its grass adorns
And her dead Winter, Spring mourns,
I see His love.
Shadows are inlaid in color
When red poppy awakes the grass.
When the land is multicolor,
Shadows are inlaid in color.
When the cuckoo is a caller,
The sun awakes the sky's watch glass.
Shadows are inlaid in color
When red poppy awakes the grass.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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The Cow
The friendly cow all red and white,
I love with all my heart:
She gives me cream with all her might,
To eat with apple-tart.
She wanders lowing here and there,
And yet she cannot stray,
All in the pleasant open air,
The pleasant light of day;
And blown by all the winds that pass
And wet with all the showers,
She walks among the meadow grass
And eats the meadow flowers.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Summer flowers
Flowers so colourful and bright,
In their glory in the sun's light,
At home amid the summer's heat,
Giving out a perfume so sweet,
The summer flowers are perfect,
In near enough every aspect,
So effortlessly they distract,
As one's attention they attract,
Countless different kinds carve their mark,
Throughout every meadow and park,
There for us to enjoy and pick,
As we waste our days and frolic,
Such beautiful gifts flowers make,
Though not when sentiments are fake,
They prevent scenes from seeming bleak,
When they're absent they're what we seek.
poem by Christian Lacdael
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The Urge For Going
I woke up today and found snow perched on the ground
It hovered in a frozen sky and gobbled summer down
So when the leaves were trembling
Frozen trees were standing in a lonely row
I get the urge for going but I never seem to go
And I get the urge for going when the meadow grass is turning brown
And summertime is falling down and winter's moving in
I had a love in summertime with summer-colored skin
And not another one in town my darling's heart could win
But when the sky turned traitor cold
And bully winds did rub their noses in the snow
She got the urge for going and I had to let her go
And she got the urge for going when the meadow grass was turning brown
Summertime was falling down and winter's moving in
The warriors of winter gave a cold triumphant shout
Now all that dies is staying and all that lives is getting out
See the geese in chevron flight
Flurrying and flapping through the naked sky
They got the urge for going
They've got the wings to fly
They get the urge for going when the meadow grass is turning brown
And summertime is falling down and winter's moving in
I'll ply the fire with kindling and pull the blankets to my chin
I'll lock the vagrant winter out and bolt my wandering in
I'd like to call back summertime
And ask her just to stay another month or so
But she got the urge for going
I guess she'll have to go
And she got the urge for going when the meadow grass was turning brown
Summertime is falling down and winter's moving in
And she got the urge for going when the meadow grass was turning brown
All my empires are fallen down and winter's moving in
song performed by by Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Village
When a new life turns towards you
And the night becomes a bay
We shall remain forever
Everyone who meets his way
Oh, our love is like the flowers
The rain and the sea and the hours
Oh, our love is like the flowers
The rain and the sea and the hours
When the rain falls to the sea
Theyll be waiting for you and for me
And the sky reflects our image
Trying to sleep right through our lives
Oh, our love is like the earth
The sun and the trees and the birth
Oh, our love is like the earth
The sun and the trees and the birth
I am still here two days later
Same place, same time
And Im stuck here two years too long
Same place, the wrong time
Oh, our love is like the flowers
The rain and the sea and the hours
Oh, our love is like the flowers
The sun and the sea and the hours
Their love died three years ago
Spoken words I cannot show
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mowing
The clock has struck six,
And the morning is fair,
While the east in red splendor is glowing;
There’s a dew on the grass, and a song in the air—
Let us up and be off to the mowing.
Wouldst know why I wait
Ere the sunlight has crept
O’er the fields where the daisies are growing?
Why all night I’ve kept my own vigils, nor slept?
’Tis to-day is the day of the mowing.
This day and this hour
Maud has promised to tell
What the blush on her cheek was half showing.
If she waits at the lane, I’m to know all is well,
And there’ll be a good time at the mowing.
Maud’s mother has said,
And I’ll never deny,
That a girl’s heart there can be no knowing.
Oh, I care not to live, and I rather would die,
If Maud does not come to the mowing.
What is it I see?
’Tis a sheen of brown hair
In the lane where the poppies are blowing.
Thank God! it is Maud—she is waiting me there,
And there’ll be a good time at the mowing.
Six years have passed by,
And I freely declare
That I scarcely have noticed their going;
Sweet Maud is my wife, with her sheen of brown hair,
And we had a good time at the mowing.
poem by Samuel Hawkins Marshall Byers from Harper's, Volume 59, Issue 350 (1879)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Management of Grief
pick up a book,
put it down.
pick up a book,
put it down.
go outside.
sit in the red chair.
get up from the red chair.
sit in the grass.
pick the grass.
eat the grass.
throw the grass away,
sit on the steps.
pick up a rock.
scratch a circle
on a step
with the rock.
put the rock down.
sit in the red chair.
kick the red chair.
eat the red chair, eat the book.
poem by Mary Frances Farrow
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In The Meadows At Mantua
But to have lain upon the grass
One perfect day, one perfect hour,
Beholding all things mortal pass
Into the quiet of green grass;
But to have lain and loved the sun,
Under the shadow of the trees,
To have been found in unison,
Once only, with the blessed sun;
Ah! in these flaring London nights,
Where midnight withers into morn,
How quiet a rebuke it writes
Across the sky of London nights!
Upon the grass at Mantua
These London nights were all forgot.
They wake for me again: but ah,
The meadow-grass at Mantua!
poem by Arthur Symons
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At the gathering of the flowers
At the gathering of the flowers
Someone waits with the rising sun
There in the wee small hours
That is where love has begun
And there with the angels above
At the gathering of the flowers
To her I do profess my love
With her I will spend all my remaining hours
Where love empowers
Is where I will meet my love
At the gathering of the flowers
With desires undreamt of
Winter winds howl about my face
But the cold shall forever cower
From your warm embrace
At the gathering of the flowers
© JPM 7/18/08
Your Dance My Love
you are so beautiful when you start to dance
when all the leaves fall off from your arms
naked, i have seen everything that your earth has to offer:
your hills and trees and forest, your creeks and rivers,
your clouds and seas, your grass and flowers
i have seen them all and touched them
your hills i have climbed
your trees with sweet fruits
i have gathered them all
and bit and sucked and savored each sap and juice
its flesh and fiber
i have slept on your grass
i have smelled your flowers
i have gazed on your clouds and have taken the dive
on your seas
i have sailed on your rivers
i have bathed on your creeks
i have done everything for you to please you my love
yet why are your eyes so sad tonight?
you are like a moon fading in the dark
you are like the song of a bird dissolving in distance.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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