The Apron Of Flowers
To gather flowers, Sappha went,
And homeward she did bring
Within her lawny continent,
The treasure of the Spring.
She smiling blush'd, and blushing smiled,
And sweetly blushing thus,
She look'd as she'd been got with child
By young Favonius.
Her apron gave, as she did pass,
An odour more divine,
More pleasing too, than ever was
The lap of Proserpine.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Song Of Proserpine While Gathering Flowers On The Plain Of Enna
Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth,
Thou from whose immortal bosom
Gods and men and beasts have birth,
Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom,
Breathe thine influence most divine
On thine own child, Proserpine.
If with mists of evening dew
Thou dost nourish these young flowers
Till they grow in scent and hue
Fairest children of the Hours,
Breathe thine influence most divine
On thine own child, Proserpine.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Sharing Eve's Apple
1.
O Blush not so! O blush not so!
Or I shall think you knowing;
And if you smile the blushing while,
Then maidenheads are going.
2.
There's a blush for want, and a blush for shan't,
And a blush for having done it;
There's a blush for thought, and a blush for nought,
And a blush for just begun it.
3.
O sigh not so! O sigh not so!
For it sounds of Eve's sweet pippin;
By these loosen'd lips you have tasted the pips
And fought in an amorous nipping.
4.
Will you play once more at nice-cut-core,
For it only will last our youth out,
And we have the prime of the kissing time,
We have not one sweet tooth out.
5.
There's a sigh for aye, and a sigh for nay,
And a sigh for 'I can't bear it!'
O what can be done, shall we stay or run?
O cut the sweet apple and share it!
poem by John Keats
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O Blush Not So!
O BLUSH not so! O blush not so!
Or I shall think you knowing;
And if you smile the blushing while,
Then maidenheads are going.
There's a blush for want, and a blush for shan't,
And a blush for having done it;
There's a blush for thought, and a blush for nought,
And a blush for just begun it.
O sigh not so! O sigh not so!
For it sounds of Eve's sweet pippin;
By these loosen'd lips you have tasted the pips
And fought in an amorous nipping.
Will you play once more at nice-cut-core,
For it only will last our youth out,
And we have the prime of the kissing time,
We have not one sweet tooth out.
There's a sigh for aye, and a sigh for nay,
And a sigh for "I can't bear it!"
O what can be done, shall we stay or run?
O cut the sweet apple and share it!
poem by John Keats
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When Sun kissed the Sea
Look at the dusking Sun kissing Sea, so divine
Oh blushing Sea, turning into blood wine
I wonder how long this rapture will last
For how long Sun upon Sea its spell will cast
And soon might crimson turn into embrace tight
When Sun will love Sea away from everyone's sight
Night that's absconding over Sun's burning cast
And Sea will melt in Sun's shadow surpassed
On their romance sky when spy through stars eyes
Waves of Sea when raise and they both hide
They love so desperate that every second forever last
Who know when morning knock and bright rays blast
Oh blushing Sea, turning into blood wine
When Sun kiss Sea on its lips, so divine
Fear of divorce that morning might bring
Fearless while in romance they swing
Like Sappho on coast they grow young and play
in Sun's love strong Sea's gentle heart sway
But everything is silent now, maybe now they sleep
In each other's embrace, on each other's lips asleep
Sun hear now the calls of the wind
Wake up on crimson Sea like tender hind
And dawning Sun kiss Sea so divine
Yet unconscious Sea blushes & turn into blood wine
poem by Dave Tanwar
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On A Very Old Woman
And thou wert once a maiden fair,
A blushing virgin warm and young:
With myrtles wreathed in golden hair,
And glossy brow that knew no care—
Upon a bridegroom's arm you hung.
The golden locks are silvered now,
The blushing cheek is pale and wan;
The spring may bloom, the autumn glow,
All's one—in chimney corner thou
Sitt'st shivering on.—
A moment—and thou sink'st to rest!
To wake perhaps an angel blest,
In the bright presence of thy Lord.
Oh, weary is life's path to all!
Hard is the strife, and light the fall,
But wondrous the reward!
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Lonesome Road
Grey
winding
lonesome road
laments beyond
high hedgerows hiding
sun blushing rose spilling
throughout darkening day sky.
Speed teasing devils push homeward
lyrics screaming bring pent-up release
driving out sorrow lures transient peace
poem by Diana Rosser
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Mother-Daughter Love
Among the daisies
sat the child,
looking so ever
meek and mild.
Mother sat down
by the child,
looked at her daughter
and sweetly smiled.
Picking the daisies
with the child,
from those gathered
a chain was stylized.
Around the neck
of the child,
she placed the chain
of daisies wild.
Touching the daisies
the deaf child,
looked at her mother
and sweetly smiled.
poem by Noline A.V. Johnson
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A Country Path in Late Spring
The path of mossy ground nestled
In between maternal hedgerows,
That overgrew atop, dimming down
The brilliance of the day.
Embosomed, a calm-cool vision –
Abstract takes of nature, in
Leaf-spattered green shades;
Stem-speckled brown hues;
Shards of sunlight percolating
Through the random flaws to
Up glittering sprites upon the leaves.
And avian chatter bounced along the burrow,
Smattered by the crosstalk
Of busybody insects;
But outside the green comfort zone,
Other worlds of other sounds of other life
Otherwise gave a hint of
Other dozy goings on.
Hawthorn filled the air,
Filled the nose,
Filled the head –
Pungency had overpowered all –
Gave the late-spring-early-summer haze.
Here and there a break of colour:
Odd bluebells – escapees from nearby woods –
Blue-blushing bell faces glancing down,
Aware of their erectness in the stem;
The flaming wing of red admirals
Broke through a hedge hole to
Break up the calm backdrop,
While flitting blue tits gave
To greater-bodied animation.
Nature’s warm narration –
The undertones of life.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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To Be In The Veldt
(after Robert Browning)
Oh, to be in the veldt while its spring
to see all the wildflowers rising,
to hear the birds, the bees
as they sweetly sing
with the greenness in every grass and leaf,
the blushing colour of the eve
might be the greatest blessing
a beautiful, very great thing.
[Reference: “Home-thoughts, from Abroad” by Robert Browning.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Slug's Life
I met a young slug, who gave me a shrug,
And said that his life, was so full of strife,
He'd wandered around, no 'she' slug had he found,
He so wanted to find, someone who was kind.
Setting off in haste, he had no time to waste,
And slithered into, a flowerbed venue.
He saw her right there, Oh my, did he care,
Such charm on display, his love he'd convey.
Into petals she crawled, and he was enthralled,
He followed in a dream, mesmerized it would seem,
As coy as could be, she asked him to tea,
And enjoyed toast and jam, and also some spam.
He then met her Dad, who liked her new lad,
And gave his consent, so they were content,
To wait for the day, when their vows they would say.
He was certainly not subfusc, but an excited mollusc.
The wedding was grand, just as they had planned,
His blushing new bride, smiled, all starry-eyed,
They would honeymoon too, at a posh rendezvous,
For he'd won him a wife, and escaped from his strife.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Hymm to the Winds
To you, troop so fleet,
That with winged wandering feet,
Through the wide world pass,
And with soft murmuring
Toss the green shades of spring
In woods and grass,
Lily and violet
I give, and blossoms wet,
Roses and dew;
This branch of blushing roses,
Whose fresh bud uncloses,
Wind-flowers too.
Ah, winnow with sweet breath,
Winnow the holt and heath,
Round this retreat;
Where all the golden morn
We fan the gold o’ the corn,
In the sun’s heat.
poem by Joachim du Bellay
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The air tells a thousand stories
in the mind are mechanics
that trigger a burst of delight
when hit by scents of spring blooms
in the air are pockets of varied odours
from homo sapiens coded with their
latest adventures, condition
as distinct as fingerprints
and the rainbow gently
precipitated by a drizzle
in the street are clusters of sweetness,
joy, wonder, pessimism, optimism
and a whole spectrum of experiences
from the city's residents
if your nostrils are sensitive
enough to pick them up
the human body emits odour
like how feelings work on
muscles of the human face
estacy induces estatic odour
joy - joyful odour
and gloom - depressed odour
this works down to our roots
indians have indian odour
chinese chinese odour
and americans, american odour
those into mysticism will know
even that God has his odour
the devil his own
and ghosts, ghastly odour
one noon in a hotel room in Kota Baru
my nose picked up a scent
that reminded me of the Most High
because of the sacredness
it evoked in me i reckoned
that it could only be God
who gave us each a nose
to sniff out his presence!
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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These Little Ones
'What of the garden I gave?'
God said to me;
'Hast thou been diligent to foster and save
The life of flower and tree?
How have the roses thriven,
The lilies I have given,
The pretty scented miracles that Spring
And Summer come to bring?
'My garden is fair and dear,'
I said to God;
'From thorns and nettles I have kept it clear.
Green-trimmed its sod.
The rose is red and bright,
The lily a live delight;
I have not lost a flower of all the flowers
That blessed my hours.'
'What of the child I gave?'
God said to me;
'The little, little one I died to save
And gave in trust to thee?
How have the flowers grown
That in its soul were sown,
The lovely living miracles of youth
And hope and joy and truth?'
'The child's face is all white,'
I said to God;
'It cries for cold and hunger in the night:
Its little feet have trod
The pavement muddy and cold.
It has no flowers to hold,
And in its soul the flowers you set are dead.'
'Thou fool!' God said.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Minette, Once I Had Been Blessed
Minette, once with your company
and love I was blessed,
sweetly smiling, still your face I see
even the book with flowers pressed
still reminds me
of how things between us had been,
about life’s frailty
and you were like an angel that I had seen
beyond all words beautiful and fair
with eyes the colour of a pure sky,
with blonde golden soft hair
and even while the years pass by,
even in death you remain ever young
and sometimes my feelings for you are still strong.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Love's Emblems
NOW the lusty spring is seen;
Golden yellow, gaudy blue,
Daintily invite the view:
Everywhere on every green
Roses blushing as they blow,
And enticing men to pull,
Lilies whiter than the snow,
Woodbines of sweet honey full:
All love's emblems, and all cry,
'Ladies, if not pluck'd, we die.'
Yet the lusty spring hath stay'd;
Blushing red and purest white
Daintily to love invite
Every woman, every maid:
Cherries kissing as they grow,
And inviting men to taste,
Apples even ripe below,
Winding gently to the waist:
All love's emblems, and all cry,
'Ladies, if not pluck'd, we die.'
poem by John Fletcher
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Flowers And Stars
“Beloved! thou’rt gazing with thoughtful look
On those flowers of brilliant hue,
Blushing in spring tide freshness and bloom,
Glittering with diamond dew:
What dost thou read in each chalice fair,
And what does each blossom say?
Do they not tell thee, my peerless one,
Thou’rt lovelier far than they?”
“Not so—not so, but they whisper low
That quickly will fade their bloom;
Soon will they withered lie on the sod,
Ravished of all perfume;
They tell that youth and beauty below
Are doomed, alas! to decay,
And I, like them, in life’s flower and prime
May pass from this earth away.”
“Too sad thy thoughts! Look up at yon stars,
That gleam in the sapphire skies;
Not clearer their radiance, best beloved,
Than the light of thine own dark eyes!
With no thoughts of death or sad decay,
Can they thy young spirit fill;
Through ages they’ve shone with changeless light,
And yet they are shining still!”
“Ah! they bring before my spirit’s gaze
Dreams of that home so blessed,
Where those who have served the Master well
At length from their labors rest;
And do not chide if, despite all ties,
Of close-clinging earthly love,
There are times when I turn a wistful glance
To that distant home above.”
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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This Time Is My Time
This time is my time to think about the spring
and all those little bluebirds that have a song to sing.
And when my thoughts are on them
my heart is singing too, singing like a fool
that's so in love, so in love with you.
This time is my time to take it in my stride
and show the world I love you and never let it hide.
Let all the springtime flowers make me feel like them,
blushing with rosy red colors over and over again.
There won't be another time like this.
I can't let it pass me by.
For when the springtime's here again
if you're not here I'll cry.
Now this time is my time to think about the past
when all those little bluebirds flew
'cause springtime doesn't last.
Then sadly I'll remember when I had to say
good bye to love, goodbye to you
'cause my time went away.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Sun
The sun, we all admire her great glorious red eye
So in the depth of the universe it may roam high
Yet, does it see and comprehend as much as I
Even on warm hot summer day when to the earth it is so nigh
And regard her kinswoman the solitary moon all sliver proud
As she floats and travel in her ordained orbit, she spread no doubt
Of her divine state with the divine scenery of night cloud
The amazed owl usurps the tallest oak will shriek and shout
Oh, the lovely young season of spring
How many happy hours to human it may bring
Rolling in trodden lavish season grass
I had observed in so detail every pretty lass
I do look in curiosity where no one dares
I examine as a child where no one stares
And as the quite evening behind dusk draws nigh
Creature of the night, lambs in bars sweetly bleat my lullaby
The Birth of Love
When Love was born of heavenly line,
What dire intrigues disturbed Cythera's joy!
Till Venus cried, 'A mother's heart is mine;
None but myself shall nurse my boy,'
But, infant as he was, the child
In that divine embrace enchanted lay;
And, by the beauty of the vase beguiled,
Forgot the beverage--and pined away.
'And must my offspring languish in my sight?'
(Alive to all a mother's pain,
The Queen of Beauty thus her court addressed)
'No: Let the most discreet of all my train
Receive him to her breast:
Think all, he is the God of young delight.'
Then TENDERNESS with CANDOUR joined,
And GAIETY the charming office sought;
Nor even DELICACY stayed behind:
But none of those fair Graces brought
Wherewith to nurse the child--and still he pined.
Some fond hearts to COMPLIANCE seemed inclined;
But she had surely spoiled the boy:
And sad experience forbade a thought
On the wild Goddess of VOLUPTUOUS JOY.
Long undecided lay th' important choice,
Till of the beauteous court, at length, a voice
Pronounced the name of HOPE:--The conscious child
Stretched forth his little arms, and smiled.
'Tis said ENJOYMENT (who averred
The charge belonged to her alone)
Jealous that HOPE had been preferred
Laid snares to make the babe her own.
Of INNOCENCE the garb she took,
The blushing mien and downcast look;
And came her services to proffer:
And HOPE (what has not Hope believed!)
By that seducing air deceived,
Accepted of the offer.
It happened that, to sleep inclined,
Deluded HOPE: for one short hour
To that false INNOCENCE'S power
Her little charge consigned.
The Goddess then her lap with sweetmeats filled
And gave, in handfuls gave, the treacherous store:
A wild delirium first the infant thrilled;
But soon upon her breast he sunk--to wake no more.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Mona Lisa...Why does she smile?
Her smile so sweet
She shyly glances away
Is she smiling at her lover?
Blushing from a night
That made her smile that way
poem by Kaila George
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