Coming Of Spring
Coming of spring over the fields
she sitting there in the tall grass
talking of the effects of art on the
human mind and fragile heart and
you sitting there beside her your
hand near hers as it lay there and
you half listening to her words while
taking in a glimpse of thigh showing
where her skirt rides high out of the
corner of your eye and she saying
without the essence art life would be
a mistake and you lean forward and
kiss her neck sensing the softness of
skin the smell of sweet scent wishing
Rubens or Renoir could capture her
with brush and oils and by stretched
canvas held with the coming of spring
in this green field where songbirds sing.
poem by Terry Collett
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Related quotes
Pushing One Leg Anne
Push me
through the avenue of trees
Anne said
I'm pissed off with the kids
asking how I lost my leg
and so you pushed
the wheelchair
along the avenue
out of sight of others
away from their childish chatters
and ball games
and cries of want and woes
go on you skinny arse
push push
she muttered
and you pushed on the handles
with all your might
over the dry grass
and she rocked
up and down
and side to side
until she bellowed
this will do small fellow
rest me here
and you let go
of the handles
and puffed for breath
and looked at her
sitting there
in the wheelchair
with her bright eyes
and black hair
and she pulled
your hand towards her
and laid it on her one leg
and said
that's your reward
for pushing me
and she rubbed your hand
over the red skirt
the soft texture
warming the skin
you watched her hand
holding yours
her other hand holding
the side of the chair
sensing her softness
beneath the hardness
and brashness
but saying nothing
just taking in
the sensations and newness
and she said
just as well Matron
hasn't seen this
or it'd give her
such a flush
and she laughed
and let go of your hand
and your hand lingered
over her thigh
like a bird set free
waiting to take
to the sky.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Summer Recess of 62.
It was the second day
of the summer recess
and Judith and you
walked through the field
behind her house
and sat down on the grass
the sky above blue
like an upside-down ocean
with the white clouds
like small fluffy islands
and she said
Mother doesn't trust you
why not?
you asked
she doesn't trust any male
she says they're all after
the one thing
you looked at her
sitting there beside you
her hair brown and curly
and her eyes blue
and bright
and you said
not all males
are the same
she looked up
at the sky
and said
I know but that's
how she sees things
my mother likes you
you said
she says you're good for me
keep me focused
she smiled
and lay back
on the grass
and you lay
beside her
and turned
to look at her there
taking in her profile
and she turned
to face you
and she said
does your mother
trust us to be together?
sure she does
you said
an airplane
went over the sky
a sparrow hawk
hovered above
its eyes watching
and waiting
you put your hand
on her hip
and she placed
her hand on yours
you felt her hipbone
beneath her green skirt
moved your palm
gently over and over
she moved your hand
off of her hip
and said
just in case
mother's looking at us
from the upstairs window
would she?
you asked
of course
she said
she held your hand
and took it
and laid it
on her breast
her heart
somewhere beating
your hand sensing
the softness beneath
the white blouse
and she said
just as well
she never saw us
last Christmas
and you smiled
and remembered
and the sparrow hawk
flew off through the sky
and the sound
of a distant train
and your heart thumping
like the downpour of rain.
poem by Terry Collett
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Welcoming sunshine
Spring is coming
I feel it near
The scent of jasmine
Soon in the air
Spring is coming
Welcome rain
Falling softly
To wash away pain
Spring is coming
I can't wait
For your love
To reciprocate
Spring is coming
Welcome sunshine
Remember darling
Your love is mine.....
poem by Mitchell Greenwood
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Sunshine And Green Fields
it will never be boring
the same sun shining
on the same green field
and the same man
sitting under the same
tall tree watching
a day go by
like it is the last
day of his life
sunshine touching
his face like the hands
of a remembrance
green fields appeasing
him like some
souvenir from
a far away
memory
and there is this wind
always whispering
to his ears:
wait for me
i am coming.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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After That.
After that
the only
thing she thought
mattered was
the sunlight
coming through
the tall trees
as you and
she lay on
your backs by
the large pond
listening
to birdsong
and the wind
coming through
the branches
and she there
full of life
breathing in
the sharp air
and she said
Van Gogh could
have captured
this morning
with the trees
and sunlight
and the way
the wind moves
through branches
and you said
but Renoir
despite his
arthritic
hands could have
captured your
young beauty
on canvas
somewhere off
a dog barked
a cow mooed
and your hand
like a crab
moved over
the green grass
and touched her
small warm hand
and she smiled
like da Vinci's
painting of
the Mona
Lisa you'd
seen in that
old art book
in the school
library
tucked between
a battered
old atlas
and book of
poetry
which no one
ever read
no doubt the
pond's still there
the sunlight
and the wind
but she's not
she gone now
all silent
amongst the
peaceful dead.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Dying Child
He could not die when trees were green,
For he loved the time too well.
His little hands, when flowers were seen,
Were held for the bluebell,
As he was carried o'er the green.
His eye glanced at the white-nosed bee;
He knew those children of the spring:
When he was well and on the lea
He held one in his hands to sing,
Which filled his heart with glee.
Infants, the children of the spring!
How can an infant die
When butterflies are on the wing,
Green grass, and such a sky?
How can they die at spring?
He held his hands for daisies white,
And then for violets blue,
And took them all to bed at night
That in the green fields grew,
As childhood's sweet delight.
And then he shut his little eyes,
And flowers would notice not;
Birds' nests and eggs caused no surprise,
He now no blossoms got;
They met with plaintive sighs.
When winter came and blasts did sigh,
And bare were plain and tree,
As he for ease in bed did lie
His soul seemed with the free,
He died so quietly.
poem by John Clare
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Never Said
That summer of 62
on the school playing field
and she sitting there
with her friends
and you trying to impress
and taking in her smile
and bright eyes and the way
she sat with her knees visible
beneath the green skirt
and the white ankle socks
and the scuffed black shoes
and wanting to say love you
sweet thing but only coming out
with words about the weather
or the way her friend had her hair
tied back with the green ribbon
or how bucktoothed her
other friend was and even though
she’d told you so many times
she loved you and hugged you
on the way home from the school bus
you could never bring yourself
to say the words that sat
on your lips back then
and there are lonely nights
you wish you had those days again.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Beauty of Spring
The Beauty of Spring
I am looking out of a glass window.
I see a group of cherry blossom trees in the distance.
Nearby, there is a quaint little house.
This magnificence takes my breathe away.
The Beauty of Spring.
Daffodils are blooming.
Butterflies are fluttering through the air.
Robins are singing there beautiful song.
The world is coming back to life after a long winter.
The Beauty of Spring.
A gentle breeze skims across my face.
I inhale the sweet scent of flowers.
I see a world of gorgeous and vivid colors.
I absolutely love spring.
The Beauty of Spring.
I am Taking in The Beauty of Spring
poem by Bleeding Heart
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Spring
I remember Spring
The flora and the smell
Scents the breeze would bring
And fun stories to tell
The tunes songbirds sing
Of brawls and cowhand's yell
Pain as bee would sting
Prayers called by the bell
But crops have ripened
And ladies looked so well
Newer doors opened
Spring must have cast a spell
When I recall Spring
On things my mind would dwell
Songs my heart would sing
And joys it cannot tell
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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Spring
See how new green shoots
and branches and leaves
and flowers appear
and the green grass
rises everywhere,
the gods had set a part
of Eden here.
Hear the birds
sing and cheer
and see them fly past
and follow the white-hot sun
while the rays comes to stay
for a longer time.
Smell the first rain
and wild flowers
in the fields
and get thrilled
by the sweet scent
that every flower brings
Abide with me
as the trees dress fit
for a royal wedding
and new life
appears from where it hides
and realise that Spring
is a living thing.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Green Thicket
All in a green thicket I heard a bird sing,
And blithe though his song was it made the tears spring,
To hear a bird sing as he swung on his spray,
All in a green thicket at break of the day.
All in a green thicket his song it did pour
That told of the Springs that shall come nevermore,
That sang of sweet blossoms, now faded and dry,
All in a green thicket in Aprils gone by.
All in a green thicket that morning in Spring,
I smelt the sharp scent of each young growing thing,
I smelt the sweet herbage all drowned with the dew,
And the time that's gone from me was with me anew.
All in a green thicket at break of the day
It was like the dear voice of a friend far away,
It was like the kind touch of a hand that I know,
And the smile and the tears of dead Aprils ago,
All in a green thicket one morning in Spring,
For to smell the young woodland and hear the bird sing,
Oh, long did I loiter and dream by the way,
All in a green thicket at break of the day.
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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Cedric's Message.
Cedric approached you
in the playground and said
My sister Christina
wants to see you
on the playing field lunchtime
and he said it
in a quiet voice
as if he didn't want
the other boys to hear
he ran messages for girls
and off he went
to play with some other boys
leaving you to stare out
onto the empty playing field
and so lunch time
after you'd eaten dinner
you went onto the playing field
beneath the summer sun
and there she was
over by the wire fence
waiting for you
and you said
Cedric said you wanted to see me
and she said
Yes do you mind
if we walk off alone together
I don't want other's ears
to move in on our conversation
No sure
you said
Let's go over by the woods
by the far fence
and so you walked off with her
across the playing field
by other kids who were playing
football or sitting talking
or playing skip rope
or whatever
and when you came
to the woods
you sat down with her
and she said
You do love me
don't you?
I mean you're not
seeing anyone else?
You looked across
the playing field
to where you'd sat
with another
some months before
and she had asked
the same question
but since then
it had turned
momentarily sour
Yes and no
you said
looking back at her
taking in her dark hair
and deep eyes
and how her hand
lay on her thigh
covered by grey skirt
and her naked knees
just visible
to the eye
What do you mean
yes and no?
she asked
you watched
her lips move
and replied
Yes I love you
and no I'm not
seeing another
and she smiled at you
and put her hand on yours
and waited for a kiss
and so you did
her lips on yours
out by the woods
on that summer day
out of doors.
poem by Terry Collett
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A glimpse
a glimpse
the half opened door
some would say
a half closed door
it all depends on the
state of mind you are in
well half closed for pessismist
and half opened for optimist
half opened or half closed door
so long as it is open
and not close
a good exercise for the mind
of a story teller, novelist, a film maker
a glimpse at the half closed door
the mind is thrown open
like the kick you would give
a half opened door
so that you and pet cat could
glide through easily
the stories that start coming out
from a glimpse at the half opened door
agatha's murdered corpse lying behind
a stalker, a ghost in the corridor of the mind
from the glimpse of the half closed door
a million possibilities, ideas pouring forth
half closed door, half opened door
whichever way you may say
it is an opened door
a million stories, ideas, possibilities
knock at the door of my mind
a glimpse of the half closed, half opened door
my half closed half opened eyes
open themselves to my ever curious mind
boundless as the universe
inspired by
A Glimpse
A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night-And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going-of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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As You Walked One Summer's Day.
These lanes are very narrow
you said
walking with Jane
from the parsonage
where she lived
to where the farm road began
Are they?
she replied
I've never thought about it
just that the hedges are high
and the birds chock full
in them and their songs
Yes
you said
They are
and in London
there are no hedges
or narrow lanes
and the only birds
are sparrows
and pigeons
and you wanted
to take hold
of her hand
and squeeze gently
the flesh
and sense her pulse
but you didn't
you put your hands
in your jean pockets
and gazed sideways on
at her and her dark hair
and her profile
and the scent of her
like lavender
as if she'd dived
into a wide field of it
and embraced
the flowers and stalks
What bird song is that?
she asked
No idea
you replied
moving closer to her
the scent getting stronger
the desire to be closer
taking hold but still at bay
It's a blackbird
she said
You'll learn them all
the birdsongs
and where and how
they nest and in what months
and you nodded
and saw how
the summery dress
moved and swayed
as she walked
the flowered pattern
like a field moved
by a soft breeze
and her sandaled feet
touching the gravelled lane
and you thinking
how it would be
for them to be held
and kissed by you
if she were beside you
lying in a field
or in one
of those tall woods
and you pursed your lips
and she looked up at the sky
her eyes gathering
the blueness
and whiteness of clouds
and she said
Monet would have captured that so well
and You
you muttered
He would capture you well
each aspect
of your face
and hair and eyes
and she smiled
and looked at you and said
I'd want to be captured by Renoir
have his arthritic fingers
clutching brush
and capture me
and maybe secretly
lust after me
and she blushed
and turned away
and you thought
Oh yes yes yes
but said nothing
just gazed
and breathed in
her being
her beauty
all there
for you to view
the eyes
the hair
the profile
the way her lips smiled
and sway of walk
and the tall hedges
seemed to explode
with the wild bird's talk.
poem by Terry Collett
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95
sitting, waiting
sitting, as simple as sitting on a stair
you look around through dragonfly eyes
from higher places
like a cliff overlooking a village
closer to cotton clouds
patches of hissing
winds up here,
alone,
you sit, sitting is simple, it is not complicated
as waiting which is heavier sometimes with a person who is not
showing some shadows for the coming,
sit,
i sit,
i am sitting viewing a wide horizon, a vast expanse of a field,
some white herons heaving leaves blown from dead trees this summer,
they fly away
from you, they fly away from where you are seated, from your country,
you remain sitting,
sit, like a dog to his master telling him to sit,
sit,
it is simple as being yourself alone, not even waiting
things end in darkness
dust settles finally on the ground after a truck fully loaded with almost
everything leaves
the road heading far away from you,
you are not waiting for anything
you have no time
left for waiting, everything leaves and goes away, always everybody
utters the word goodbye
except these, the rain, the rain, there are many of them,
these hordes of rains
they are coming and you sit and do the last thing possible
listen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To His Lady
(Who asked a Song in Spring)
WHY do you bid your poet sing,
Who has no mind to song--
Who only wants to see the Spring,
Long sought and tarrying long?
The shivering, dreary winter through
My song enshrined my vow;
If then my songs were sweet to you,
Let me be silent now!
Have I not duly sung, my dear,
Your goodness and your grace?
Now that your rival, Spring, is here,
O let me see her face!
The hedge is white with buds of May,
The fields are green with Spring,
Oh, give your bard a holiday:
He does not want to sing!
He wants to listen; all alone,
He wants to steal away
To hear the ring-doves' tender tone,
And what the thrushes say.
He wants to hear what can't be heard
When you and love are near--
The sweet Spring's soft and secret word;
Oh, let him go, my dear!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Cedric's Sister
My sister likes you
Cedric said
and as he said it
he blushed
and well Christina
wasn’t a bad looker
from what you saw of her
in the recreation grounds
at school
and once
you’d gone up to her
when she was sitting
with her school friends
in the summer
on the playing fields
and you saw
how she sat
with a small glimpse
of thigh revealed
and dark hair
and brown eyes
like chocolate drops in snow
and you said
you’ve got fine eyes
(you didn’t mention
her thighs)
and she giggled
with her friends
and you thought
how she’d like to go
with you into
the tall grass
but never said it aloud
and so you said to Cedric
what’d she say?
And he said
looking down
at his black shoes
that she liked you
and wanted to know
if you’d meet her up
on the playing field
at lunch recess
near the tall grass?
And you imagined her
there on her ass
looking up at blue skies
with her chocolate eyes
uttering sexy sighs
and bringing you in close
Sure you said
and watched
as Cedric wandered off
like some messenger
of old having brought
his message of battle
and walked away wearied
having told.
poem by Terry Collett
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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
When Winter Darkening All Around
When winter covering all the ground
Hides every sign of Spring, sir.
However you may look around,
Pray what will then you sing, sir?
The Spring was here last year I know,
And many bards did flute, sir;
I shall not fear a little snow
Forbid me from my lute, sir.
If words grow dull and rhymes grow rare,
I'll sing of Spring's farewell, sir.
For every season steals an air,
Which has a Springtime smell, sir.
But if upon the other side,
With passionate longing burning,
Will seek the half unjeweled tide,
And sing of Spring's returning.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Spring In The Air
How can it be, I'm smelling Spring in the air?
There's snow on the ground
and on the trees, everywhere!
Yet the smell of Spring
entered into a sniff of my nose.
As I stood at the sink
up the scent, of Spring had rose.
Is it my girlish heart?
that is wanting this so?
That I smell now it's freshness
in the morn of the air?
I'll keep looking for it
no matter how long it seems to take!
And eventually it will be here
four months of time, and Spring again will awake!
poem by Linda Winchell
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