My Walk II: Spring
Ducklings floating serene
Over water shimmering glean
Throw in some bread
Ducks now fed
Walk on up to the Grand house
Nothing quiet, save the field mouse
Trickling stream
Down hill on a lean
Flowing water
Calming as we wander
Cool breeze
Through leafless trees
Fallen trees laying about
Birds singing, never a shout
Clouds float by
Masking blue sky
Great Grand Son sits in path well trodden
Clothes dirty, but not sodden
Collecting cones
Not walking alone!
Over wooden bridge
On upto to the ridge
His footsteps so light
Eyes shinning bright
Back down the hill
We're running! Almost a spill
Trees flash past
He won, I'm last
Puffing and panting
Just climbed a mountain
Back past the lake
Homeward trek we make.
poem by Robert Green
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Backwater Baby
Down past Possum Road
Up towards the crumbling town
You'll find a house with a little lady
Down by the backwater
Of the trickling little stream
There is a house made of logs
And mud, with one little window
And a smoking chimney
Puffing tiny gray clouds into the bright blue sky.
When you step inside the ramshackle house
You'll hear the incessant crying
Of the backwater baby
Dealing with her own little troubles
By the trickling little stream
In the middle of nowhere, USA
As momma tries her hardest to survive
And daddy long gone, looking for a better life
Leaving the baby to cry.
Momma does what she can to live
Washing clothes for the rich people down the street
Keeping little baby going as best as she can
And singing on the weekends in the bar downtown
Leaving baby alone and crying
In her broken crib
Back at the stream down past Possum Road
In the tiny log house with the smoking chimney
Life goes on.
poem by Megan Ayscue
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Mortal Wrinkles
The window arrests me by its side
Through its square making me ride
Every day a serene green does it show
Feel but today gonna be a different show
The studded trees afar
The nearer trees so far
'Ve been welcomming me to join
The peaks up and the valleys down
The stroking clouds and the murmuring stream..
My soul steps out
Soon reports to have a lookout
Lay there apart two sunset bodies bushed over
As if felled trees with running dews cry over
And my mind back in the past to myself stare...
'A man and a woman happily together
Walking and chatting over years earlier
Deeper, longer and wander
Grow older and older; Their fled children afar..'
Moribund pair one here malignantly in solitary fear
poem by Indira Renganathan
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My Red House
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
I once played in that red house
Shy was I, like a little mouse
Tippy toed I went looking around
Giggling, without making any sound
Happy was I to run around and play
My very own home to live and stay
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
Darkness came swiftly one night
A sense of something was not quite right
The shadows came across the wall
Covering my eyes, ready for my fall
The sounds of whips and chains dragged
against the floor
The sheer terror numbed me from looking
passed that door
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
The darkness slowly turned to grey
The black clouds lifting away
No longer trapped, I did not need to stay
Free was I to let go and make my own way
So ever slowly, opening that door
I could see the light and so much more
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
Changing and always moving
Never stopping and always wanting
Step by step, I shed all those tears
One at a time, I climbed up those stairs
Moving closer to where I want to be
No longer a child but an adult me
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
I came home today
The Red House, same as it was yesterday
Slowly, walking up that hill
Everything seems to be in a stand still
I could only stay for a while
Before the darkness comes within a mile
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
The breath of life you gave to me
But took away the child within me
No longer a pawn to your destruction
I have found my peace and resolution
Turning away towards the path of light
I see a very beautiful sight
My Red House
There is no longer a mouse
poem by Miu Miu Ayushi
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A Secret To Prosperity!
Wandering clouds not so focused,
For where to rain, it not yet decided,
Running from country to country,
Gathering the seeds that can spray,
People look up for rain, but no clouds,
Bright yellow sun and the blue sky,
The tears of rain in their deepened eyes,
The shopping clouds look down at them,
Clumsy they are and hunger rules them,
The proud clouds with the bounty of water,
Hate these poor people and move quicker,
And there are green mountains with flowers,
The running clouds stop all of a sudden,
For it amazed by the swelling of that woman,
Just start to clear what it stores for many hours,
Heavy rain on the mountain and the river sisters,
Flow down to the civilization, the rich people,
All around, as they know how to save water,
People who are ignorant of importance of forest,
Fell the trees for quick money and luxury,
Those who already felled, know the misery,
The clouds in the sky, know this exactly,
The poor will remain poor, if not sorry,
And to replant the trees quickly.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Think...........
broken bottles, broken glass,
everywhere scattered on the grass.
once it was spiky and green,
wind was blowing,
moving grass in the stream can be clearly seen.
upon the mountain through the trees,
blows a sweet, soft breeze.
think what will happen if trees be tear,
there will be no loin, no tiger no any bear.
no place for birds to make a nest
where could running deer be take a rest.
no place for hiding nuts,
squirrels are homeless,
sparrow finding space in the huts.
see clouds seem as teddy bears,
see rabbits, peacocks roaming without fears.
watch and catch the stars at night,
stars will not be as bright.
with in few or someday,
everything not be in same way.
blue water, floating high waves,
no dolphin, no star fish to be gaze, ,
in human there is wealthy race,
time will come we won't have even a single standing place.
it is time to awareness be raised,
for saving environment plan must be traced..........
Choked
Trees above her, below her, to each side of her
Fog obstructing her view, where should she be?
She cannot tell what day it is any more than she can tell what time it is
Which way should she turn?
The fog swallows her feet
When she thinks she has found the right path, she sees an opening...
Then the fog swallows it
She has been misled again
...and again
......and again
She screams, she’s tired; she is choked by the fog, betrayed by the trees
Feels like she’s been here forever
Trees that don’t talk back anymore
No one is there to guide her
She is lost
The trees and fog are making her second guess every step she makes
Mocking her, humiliating her, laughing at her
At one time she thought they would lead her
Following each way the breeze decided to sway the trees
Going with the fog because where there is fog there is water
Water leads her to place she needs to be
If only the fog was not so thick
if only the trees would talk again
If....If....IF! !
If only she was not lost
The trees and the fog swallows her
Then spits her out when she is nothing more
Nothing is left
Besides a new start
God! Please help me!
poem by Ashley Joyce Forbus
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Moments At The Beach
flowing water, cool breeze
waves washing a shore
birds drifting in the wind
boats sailing on the water
people strolling along the beach
children playing in the sand
sun bathers laying a shore
swimmers playing in the water
volleyball in the sand
family picnics under the trees
The lake so beautiful
The beach so free
people being friendly
the life so simple for a day at the beach
Strangers, friends and family enjoying the lake
the simple things in life is enjoy nature and ourselves
poem by Michael Peterson
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The Mirror
Between the woods the afternoon
Its fallen in a golden swoon,
The sun looks down from quiet skies
To where a quiet water lies,
And silent trees stoop down to the trees.
And there I saw a white swan make
Another white swan in the lake;
And, breast to breast, both motionless,
They waited for the wind's caress. . .
And all the water was at ease.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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Old Old Woodstock
Oh dont it get you
Get you when youre through
Feel the breezes blowing all around your coat
Oh dont it get you
When you gotta roam
Hear the children singing
daddys coming home
Going down to old old woodstock
Feel the cool night breeze
Going down to old old woodstock
Going down to give my baby a squeeze
Going down to old old woodstock
Feel the cool night breeze
Going down to old old woodstock
Way behind the shady trees
Here I come a swaggering
Way on over the ridge
See the water flowing way beneath the bridge
And my womans waiting
By the kitchen door
Im driving along
In my old beat up car
Going down to old old woodstock
Feel the cool night breeze
Going down to old old woodstock
Give my child a squeeze
Going down to old old woodstock
To feel the cool night breeze
Going down to old old woodstock
Way behind the shady trees
Listen, oh dont it get you
Get you in your throat
Feel the breezes blowing
All around your coat
Lord dont it get you
When youre bound to roam
Hear your children sing
daddys coming home
Going down to old old woodstock
To feel the cool night breeze
Give my child a squeeze
Going down to old old woodstock
To feel the cool night breeze
Going down to old old woodstock
Way behind the shady trees
Going down to old old woodstock.....
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Goat Hill
Goat Hill
Walking out the door that man told me to go to hell
My son asked mommy where’s Goat Hill
I said I don’t know son it must be through the valley
My son said mommy lets go there
Up to goat hill
I bet it’s on top of the mountain
I bet there is waterfalls, birds, trees, pretty flowers for all the butterflies and honey bees
I said son if we could I’m sure we would
Most definitely go up to goat hill
I’m not ever going to take you where that man said to go
That place is an internal melting pot
And its way to hot
There’s no mountains with snow on top
No waterfalls trees birds butterflies or honey bees in the place that man said to go
Son I know you are good
Some day together I believe we will find the place called Goat Hill
You found somewhere in your mind
Where life is gentle and Kind
Everyday and every night all the time
Son I bet up on Goat Hill we will only see Gods will being done by the Father and the Son
poem by E.Marie AldrichCreasy
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Chocked
Trees above her, below her, to each side of her
Fog obstracting her view, where should she be?
She cannot tell what day it is anymore than she can tell what time it is
which way should she turn?
The fog swallows her feet
When she thinks she has found the right path, she sees an opening...
Then the fog shollows it
She has been mislead again
...and again
......and again
She screams, shes tired, she is choked by the fog, betrayed by the trees
Feels like shes been here forever
Trees that dont talk back anymore
No one is there to guide her
She is lost
The trees and fog are making her second guess every step she makes
mocking her, humilating her, laughing at her
At one time she thought they would lead her
Following each way the breeze decided to sway the trees
Going with the fog because where there is fog there is water
water leads her to place she needs to be
If only the fog was not so thick
if only the trees would talk again
If....If....IF! !
If only she was not lost
The trees and the fog swallows her
Then spits her out when she is nothing more
Nothing is left
Besides a new start
God! Please help me!
poem by Ashley Dowdy
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This Great Outdoors
Standing on an old wooden bridge,
I look upwards towards a hilly ridge,
Where trees of every shade of green,
Hug the sides of a deep ravine,
And gentle paths are found, between
Bushes and shrubs, where they convene,
And one can happily walk for miles,
Past so many wild creatures domiciles.
Whilst scanning the river bed below,
Watching a meandering, peaceful flow
Of water, trickling over the weir,
So sweet to drink and oh, so clear.
I study the minnow and stickleback,
Then realise I'm without my anorak,
For I perceive there's a chill in the air,
Of which I've suddenly become aware.
So with an audible sigh, I start to leave,
And my way homewards, I start to weave.
Then just for a moment, I stop and pause,
Marvelling once more at this great outdoors.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Hunchback in the Park
The hunchback in the park
A solitary mister
Propped between trees and water
From the opening of the garden lock
That lets the trees and water enter
Until the Sunday sombre bell at dark
Eating bread from a newspaper
Drinking water from the chained cup
That the children filled with gravel
In the fountain basin where I sailed my ship
Slept at night in a dog kennel
But nobody chained him up.
Like the park birds he came early
Like the water he sat down
And Mister they called Hey mister
The truant boys from the town
Running when he had heard them clearly
On out of sound
Past lake and rockery
Laughing when he shook his paper
Hunchbacked in mockery
Through the loud zoo of the willow groves
Dodging the park keeper
With his stick that picked up leaves.
And the old dog sleeper
Alone between nurses and swans
While the boys among willows
Made the tigers jump out of their eyes
To roar on the rockery stones
And the groves were blue with sailors
Made all day until bell time
A woman figure without fault
Straight as a young elm
Straight and tall from his crooked bones
That she might stand in the night
After the locks and chains
All night in the unmade park
After the railings and shrubberies
The birds the grass the trees the lake
And the wild boys innocent as strawberries
Had followed the hunchback
To his kennel in the dark.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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Editing Same Path
I HAVE walked upon this path
alone
and that was years ago
when i still cry
water the pebbles with tears
they do not grow
flowers
there are no trees there
One day
I come down from the clouds
since i am heavy with
rain in my
heart and decide to
walk back the path
of stones
I have seeds of clouds in my pocket
rainbow shoots in my hands
The path have since then
bloomed with dew
and vapors rise to the skies
in prayers
Trees grow and
bees pollinate
a new world is born
since then
and children come and play
their games
again
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Country Wife
She makes her way through the dark trees
Down to the lake to be alone.
Following their voices on the breeze,
She makes her way. Through the dark trees
The distant stars are all she sees.
They cannot light the way she's gone.
She make her way through the dark trees
Down to the lake to be alone.
The night reflected on the lake,
The fire of stars changed into water.
She cannot see the winds that break
The night reflected on the lake
But knows they motion for her sake.
These are the choices they have brought her:
The night reflected on the lake,
The fire of stars changed into water.
poem by Dana Gioia
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Wanting The Moon
Not the moon. A flower
on the other side of the water.
The water sweeps past in flood,
dragging a whole tree by the hair,
a barn, a bridge. The flower
sings on the far bank.
Not a flower, a bird calling
hidden among the darkest trees, music
over the water, making a silence
out of the brown folds of the river's cloak.
The moon. No, a young man walking
under the trees. There are lanterns
among the leaves.
Tender, wise, merry,
his face is awake with its own light,
I see it across the water as if close up.
A jester. The music rings from his bells,
gravely, a tune of sorrow,
I dance to it on my riverbank.
poem by Denise Levertov
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Shimmering Water
On the banks of River Rhine
Under the morning sun
And the blue sky shining
The gentle breeze rustled
Along the silvery water
Wooden boats sailed slowly
Accompanied by choir of bee
Which sounds melodious and sweet
The beautiful little flowers grow
Whiter than fur than snow
Full of smiles, looking at
Gold fishes that are playing
The wonderful rotating cloud
Which is the natural grace
Singing love songs in Spring
To the leaves are greenish
The yellow and red butterflies
Sigh shook majestically
Viewing wonders at
Water flowing
Under the shade of vine trees
Who is always shining joy
Always have cheerful dance with
The rhythm of the river water
Under the golden stone fountain
That herrings are gliding soaring
Engrossed race with the water flow
Kept mumbling and longed for freedom
Bouquet of lilies sways
Floating to the west bank
The shining frescoes never left
The goose that swims around
The cherry blossom
Filling the day with peace
Entertaining lonely grasshopper
With love poems of water
Petals of the dandelion bud sigh
As mysterious as the May rainbow
Reaching the vortex of flowing wave
Shimmering Water that never go again
(dedicated to a great pianist, Kotaro Fukuma)
poem by Ahmad Shiddiqi
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Fetching Water
Come on now; let’s go fetch some water
grab a pail in each hand and let’s go.
Down the hill, to the pond in the holler,
then we’ll climb back up the hill with that water!
Everyone today has forgotten
what it’s like to haul water in a pail.
Every house must have a Jacuzzi,
and a big swimming pool, as well.
Come on now; let’s go fetch some water
grab a pail in each hand and let’s go.
Down the hill, to the pond in the holler,
then we’ll climb back up the hill with that water!
And our homes must have a green lawn
to keep it looking really good!
The water we waste on that green grass
could be used by the farmer to grow food.
Come on now; let’s go fetch some water
grab a pail in each hand and let’s go.
Down the hill, to the pond in the holler,
then we’ll climb back up the hill with that water!
Don’t waste all of that precious water.
We have worked too hard to bring it here.
We can’t live without that precious water
let’s be thankful that it is so near.
Come on now; let’s go fetch some water
grab a pail in each hand and let’s go.
Down the hill, to the pond in the holler,
then we’ll climb back up the hill with that water!
Don’t be taking the water from the farmer
without it his crops will never grow.
All of life depends upon the water
Don’t take it for granted anymore.
Come on now; let’s go fetch some water
grab a pail in each hand and let’s go.
Down the hill, to the pond in the holler,
then we’ll climb back up the hill with that water!
poem by Emma Beverage
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The Lake
There was a secluded little lake near
My school when I was young; every
Saturday I would be there, a weekly
Visit to take in the calming effect
Of its tranquility; its miror surface
Which afforded a good view of the
Sprinting of tilapias as they noticed
My arrival and the fallen trees with
Their subteranean upright branches,
Twigs and leaves which when greeted by the wind
Twisted like the tail of an enthusiastic
Dog heralding its master's arrival.
Stones I would throw into the lake
Creating large rings running towards
The riparian field filled with white
Sand, bamboo and rubber trees; a little
Sojourn which refreshed my mind for another
Week of gruelling lessons and homework.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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I Walked Out One Evening
I walked out one evening, ,
as the sun was setting low.
Trees were whispering in the breeze,
as it yielded a gentle blow.
Skies transformed to reddish hues,
as my feet crossed o’er the ground,
Then along the path by the brook,
dead leaves lay scattered all around,
Birdsong filled the loud silence,
one last song, for twilight creeps.
The sun has set behind the trees,
as the darkness its vigil keeps.
I walked out one evening,
observing such beauty spread.
To experience the colours,
orange and gold so finely wed.
The music of the water,
as it trickled down the stream.
Such peacefulness, silent, calming,
a perfect floating tranquil dream.
Now as the day is ending,
such visions assail the eyes,
One royal sky ‘s magnificent,
enhanced by the night’s fireflies.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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