Thank You
Rescued from gutters of days of past-
I breathe in the fresh essence you bring...
Lingering within our blue sky veiled world-
Filled to overflow with the rebirth of new Spring-
Tiptoeing myself through the daffodils-
Embracing myself in green tendrils enhanced by loam-
Surreal views of cascading waterfalls...
Aware that i am at last finally home-
Ever near in the sun kissed emerald vale-
You continue to cleanse and warm my frail soul-
I with clear visual green eyes-
No longer in need of braile-i am out of my dark hole...
Enchanted and reborn 'neath-
The Willow Tree-
Baptised anew in your forgiving arms-
Forever your presence embraces me-
A shelter you are from lifes horrendous storms...
And very near 'neath the butter rays of your sun-
The tulips and violets-they sway-
Rhythmically in the lilting zephr's-
Releasing fragrance- in all flowering May...
So Thank You Again my Beloved Savior-
For finding my lost and ignoble soul-
And allowing me one more Springtime life-
Upon borrowed time-my spirit now glows!
poem by Theodora Onken
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Related quotes
Spring's Rebirth
This is the time of year being that everything is awakening – once again-
Flowers are blooming everywhere-
Crocuses, daffodils and Cherry blossoms- and
Dogwood, both white and pink
Adorn nature’s window-
The time it is when my father passed away-
And many years ago I became a woman
At the beginning of spring’s equinox-
When everything is becoming
Emerald green and supple as every leaf unfolds on every tree-
I have found bluebirds’ nests upon branches while
Monarch butterflies gently flutter about grasses and perch upon dandelion’s petals-
For many this is the time of year
Tears and wrathfulness have been left behind and
At dawn birds sing a chorus to welcome a new day-
I would laugh if I had no care and
Sing if a tune would only awaken my spirit although
My soul once did a graveyard dance as
My father’s stone brought back multitudes of memories and
I see the ocean though only in my thoughts and recall
That my mother’s ashes were scattered at sea-
It has been nearly twenty years since we were a family-
Tears were hardly shed over the loss only because
In my family’s eyes I could do no right-
As lovely and fragrant as my father’s rose garden could be,
It is long gone and just as
Spring is a time of rebirth for trees, flowers and
A time for celebration-
Travels, longer days and evening thunderstorms-
For me and the essence of my existence this is a time
Long walks in the woods and early morning awakening-
Having abandoned sadness of past memories,
Freedom from being unfairly misunderstood-
And growth within myself in many ways-
Spring is a time for rebirth for trees, flowers and
Creeks are seemingly overflowing as I can hear the gentle breeze
Rustling the newborn leaves upon every tree-
Spring rains shall wash away and drown past remembrances as
I too- in spirit, mind and soul have also been reborn-
poem by Claudia Krizay
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A Dream in Winter
When all the daisies and daffodils
are buried deep below,
and summer's but a memory
hidden 'pon the drifting snow ~
'tis there beneath the whitened glow,
in a bed of greenest green,
that lives the dreams of springtime hue
with a gleam of emerald sheen.
When all the trees are bared and bent
against wintry winds that blow,
and spring is but a wistful sigh
'pon the branches that bow low ~
'tis there within the boughs so wide,
in a bed of greenest green,
that lives the buds of springtime hue
with a gleam of emerald sheen.
When roses fade 'pon winter's morn
as their petals flee on frosty breath,
and thorns are left to sadly yearn
in their bed of beauty's death ~
'tis there beneath those roses grown,
in a bed of greenest green,
that lives a vision of springtime hue
with a gleam of pastel sheen.
When winter brings a world of white,
a wonderland of icy glow,
and ends the seasons of green, and gold,
hidden 'neath a field of snow ~
'tis there the sleeping earth awaits
in a bed of springtime green,
sighing softly through winter's chill,
'pon a dream of emerald sheen.
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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Emerald Green
Emerald green is the colour of life and of the springtime,
Conveying harmony, joie de vivre and most important, love
Emerald green retains its lively vigour all the time
In all nuances, like those wonderful green eyes that rove.
Sunlight dances across the Gulf of Mexico, a lovely place
With emerald green waters and very hot white sand.
Moreover, we see this green in a forest, a darker space,
Or we can see it in the green grass in the Spring land,
A metallic green body with small yellow sweet stripes
And emerald eyes has the Hine’s emerald dragonfly.
Nymphs hatch in marshes high in sedge meadows,
When sheds its skin and emerges an adult to fly.
A mineral emerald green contains the Romanesque murals.
The old Masters used verdigris for them and copper green
To make a deep brown, mixed it with sulfur-containing colors,
Such as cadmium yellow, vermilion or blue-ultramarine.
The green we see in December represents the evergreen tree,
A symbol of life continuing even in that dark day.
We look to the pins and the rhododendrons and we agree
That greenery will return to the world again someday.
The green chosen for the color scheme of Christmas night
Is emerald green, that deep, pure, clear green inside
That seems to shine with light, in the season of white
When there isn't much natural green available outside.
A very ambitious plant is hymenaea courbaril, the tree named Amber
It has the most attractive emerald-green heart shaped leaves.
Like Orchid Tree, so pleasing to the eye with their alluring shimmer.
Lycopersicon esculentum has emerald green tomatoes with dark green stripes.
With this emerald green Van Gogh wanted to paint plastic correctly
Maybe his eyes saw a special nuance, after cutting his ear
He worked alla prima, on to the canvas painting directly
From his imagination and from reality, making the image believable.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Dressed In Spring
Bouquets of lavender and babys breath-
'Neath a warming tangerine Spring sun-
'Tis the Vernal Equinox rising...
Blossoming and blooming 'til day is done;
Daffodils and crocus-they come calling-
While tulips accent with a magnificient coloured hue-
'Tis a dazzling display long before May...
'Neath Spring skies of soft baby blue;
Come hither, my beloved, come hither...
Hold me now, for i am your Yellow Rose-
I have been waiting so long-it cannot be wrong-
You can find me where the sweet Heather grows;
poem by Theodora Onken
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Lush
Near the flowering meadow-
Lilac's they scent the breeze-
Veiled 'neath motion-filled skies-
Are the Oak and Cherry Trees...
Running in crystal clear ripples-
O'er pebbles of days of past time-
'Tis a silver sparkled brook-
With small hills, nearby to climb...
The Vale 'tis sheer enchantment-
Pastoral views, they do abound-
Rustic-Bucholic-themed-
These visions, breath-takingly astound!
The colour-splashed panoramas of: The Artist-
From His palette to His feathery brush-
Done in oils or in water colours-
Captured are His Vales, Most Lush!
poem by Theodora Onken
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In the Eyes of My Mother and Grandmother
In the eyes of my mother and grandmother
There lived a limpid green coolness:
Moss covered stones, around an ancient well;
Trailing vines entangled about the cenote's mouth;
Scrawled incantations on antique wooden chests
Their treasures concealed in endless green canyons of agate.
At day's end, the same gleaming, green elixir;
I could float on it's pale peridot waves
Or fully immerse myself there, in fright's flight or languor's ease,
Could submerge myself as the beloved, of those intelligent green rays
Ever visible, through the leafy canopy of daily living,
An emerald sky always smiling down from above.
After I saw their green lamps slowly grow dim;
Then extinguish themselves, I could no longer hide myself there:
Their embracing foliage retreated, withdrew
From where the last light had left, as if it had moved too far
To be visible from where it had always shone, before;
Only to save myself then, I ran whimpering away:
It was the only time I found no sanctuary there.
But sometimes now, searching again
I can find buried tendrils of a once fresh, softened green fury
Which grew tumultuous, only in defense of me;
Or that vivid hope, of a proud jade that once poured out
Molten, to harden around childhood's fragility.
And like a guarding amulet of rare green amber, enclosed my world
Kept it safe of lurking monsters, disguised dangers
Guarded the waking hours, or else enfolded them
In their green curtained gazebo of sleep,
As tender mimosa dreams floated past fragrant fields of clover.
I nightly and invisibly grew taller and stronger
With my own clusters of foliage, budding fruit,
Just waiting for the sun to finally breathe itself
Into the tiny green illuminated flecks, that now swim forever
Only inside my own small lichen pools of dreaming earth.
poem by Patti Masterman
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The Green Alligator
There's a green alligator.
Lying on the bank out of the water,
His (or her) hide, a bilious green
And as it dries has a certain sheen.
Some would say that's most un-natural
But I reply that's colors, factual.
Brought about by being in a water that's
Filled with chlorophyll bearing plants
And as the gator swims along,
He can't help but being tagged upon
By those single celled organisms that live there
In the primordial soup we all share.
‘Haps, this is his way
Of disguise from his prey,
But I prefer to believe
He'd much rather have a reprieve
From the pollution
In his watery bouillon
That coats everything large and small
From snout to tail and all.
But as he sleeps along the shore,
Covered by this slime and more,
I wonder if evolution will raise her head
And make all alligators green instead.
Then no one will notice this one apart
From others with the same colorant.
Regardless, it's best to avoid the alligator, green
Lurking there, grey-black, or some shade in between.
He knows not why you're there,
But for him, maybe you'll become the daily fare.
One agator, Two agator, Three
Green alligators neath the tree,
Slipping, sliding, slopping,
Never stopping,
Green gators neath the tree.
Mouth open, teeth, a showing,
Just a grinnin
Green gators neath the tree.
Hides a glowing green
Doesn't seem so mean,
Green gators neath the tree.
Into the water he's a slippin
Just a dippin
One green gator's not neath the tree.
Silent swimmin, easy going
Eyes and nose only showing
Green gator's gettin close to me.
One agator, Two agator, Three
He's after m....
Welcome to Florida!
poem by Sidi J. Mahtrow
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The Green Month
WHAT of all the colours shall I bring you for your fairing,
Fit to lay your fingers on, fine enough for you ?–
Yellow for the ripened rye, white for ladies' wearing,
Red for briar-roses, or the skies' own blue ?
Nay, for spring has touched the elm, spring has found the willow,
Winds that call the swallow home sway the boughs apart;
Green shall all my curtains be, green shall be my pillow,
Green I'll wear within my hair, and green upon my heart.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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In Winter's Arms
Winter holds me with his arms of icy white,
and kissed my breath with frost upon the pane.
Subdued by touch of winter's frigid hand,
I pray for spring to find me once again.
O'wind, you whistle to the winter's tune.
Your melody is heard 'pon day and night,
but one day spring will come to rescue me,
and wisk away your song of winter's blight.
O'tree, you're frozen in the winter's dream.
Your leaves have left you 'neath a moon of white,
but when my prayers are answered 'pon spring's dawn,
you'll thaw beneath its sun with warm delight.
O'field, your harvest has been reaped and spent ~
and winter blankets you 'neath snowy mounds.
Yet one day soon in springtime's rising mist
you'll feel the greening of your earth rebound.
Winter holds me with his arms of icy white,
and kissed my breath with frost upon the pane ~
but deep within I somehow always know,
that spring will come and find me once again.
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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Far Too Little I Know
I
Far too little I know about the things that lie between us,
I see the sea drawing back and rushing in,
I know too little to tell you about my love,
see your tracks disappearing over a sand dune.
I know too little to talk about a secret,
how one day can be so very special,
filled with life changing meaning,
about the things that I read in your eyes
but that that you really love me,
I know before the sea wipes our tracks away
when I kiss you and get you giggling,
while we give new steps into life
when you became the meaning in my small universe;
if you were the light falling through the window on me.
II
If you were the light falling through the window on me,
a star shining at night against the sky,
I would have been able to admire you, in days without end
but now thunder flashes down
whiter than daylight into my life
becoming part of my life,
to again jump to somewhere else
as if single moments are everything
and far too short was the time that you could stay,
with almost endless cheerfulness that you could bring
in this tough world as part of me,
where my heart could sing songs of joy
and far too little time I had invested in you,
how should I have known that I would make an oath with you?
III
How should I have know that I would make a oath with you
before I met you,
have a concept of such intimate feelings,
as with which you are part of my whole world?
How must I have know the meaning
of faith, love and hope
and about professing of true love
before our lives started together
on ways that I could not expect
and could learn to love
past events, years and times reaching to maybe,
that you are part of everything in me?
I want to love you as in days long past,
in the winter of my life.
IV
In the winter of my life
when all the trees around me stand skeleton,
with stripped branches shivering in the wind,
with sometimes a thunder bashing down
I sometimes remember the look in your sea-green eyes
where colours so secretly come together,
even when my body bend like branches, bended by age
as if in my thoughts they are looking forever at me,
it’s as if a new spring just have got to come,
as if your arms surround my neck,
with you flowering anew
as a angel of light
it’s sometimes as is you are with me,
when the morning starts with its first rays.
V
When the morning starts with its first rays,
with the sky changing from twilight grey to blue,
hang with the moon still hanging white
I am caught like a lizard
that prays to the sun,
where it’s rising white hot,
where I sit before your photograph
that shows every bit of your beauty,
but the nights and months past
while every day you look back
from that photograph
and I wonder if you still do love me?
and I think certainly, you are just as pretty,
when the sun throws its last rays over the trees.
VI
When the sun throws its last rays over the trees,
drawing shadows out long
before it reaches out
with long orange red rays
and the streetlights suddenly are awakening
give eyes to poles, becoming orange yellow
then I know
that you are somewhere else and just as pretty,
that you are laughing somewhere else,
caring after your children, doing your duties,
stretching yourself out for the night,
after kissing your children goodnight
and I am really longing while I am waiting,
I miss the way that you laugh in pleasure.
VII
I miss the way that you laugh in pleasure,
how you cry for a beautiful movie,
even expecting something good out of poor things,
how on a dark rainy night you shelter against me,
the way that you look at me,
the feelings that you bring to me,
as if you’re green eyes shines like the sea,
with every word going into my depths
but time takes an own road
and destiny is without mercy,
where at a time we both had to go different directions
and still try to jump over horizons with words
and maybe I have to court you again anew,
far too little I know about the things that lie between us.
poem by Gert Strydom
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You Dwell In Me
You dwell in me my beloved
Ah and beyond
Inside me there's a heart, exists there just for keeping you inside
You're the reason that's why beauties exist and I believe in
Every time you'r there, In my soul
Butterflies fly to blue skies sway
Taking with them the soul within
Inside me lies love and colorful butterflies
Angels have caves covered with veils
No one can take away the love, love stray
While lovers return home angels cry home alone.
Return home beloved bring the love back home
Return home one time may angels stop their cry's
May peace once again comes home
Im here alone, afraid is my soul
Storms out there people's cry my heart can't more bear
Children's bare hands
Return back my beloved bring the love which is lost
Tell him here is his real home.
Ah beloved!
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Mornings Ecstacy
Night and blue stars in a silver galaxy-glimmer
Soon swirls of golden eddies mark the way
Daylight bathes her in brightest sunlight
'Tis a velvet- soft musk- filled day;
Her window on the world -pulses
Morning dances in- raising the east
Clocks tick in- time mounting
While her kitchen of creation prepares a feast;
The birds announce morn's arrival
The roosrter cocka-doodle-doo's his call
Waking her 'neath beams of sunshine- shimmering
Nearest to the ivy's -climbing wall;
Making her home in natures green vale
A bucholic Lamb- enhanced bed
Emerald blades of grass-dew tipped glitter glistening
All the while- ecstacy resonates inside her head;
poem by Theodora Onken
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We Are As Gods Here
Across the blue abyss we sail
Trailing stars in our descent
Finding the past in the present
We are immortal here
Beyond the failings of our trials.
I find myself in a sinking blue
Thinking always thoughts of you
Drowning in the morning dew
One with all I see
I find myself in a field of dreams
Meadows bloom in ecstasy
All that is, is one within
A soul of perfect harmony
All we are is all we were
Forever we will be
Lost upon emotions waves
Dancing harmony
A call upon the midnight hour
Allows us truth to see
We sail the blue abyss, we sail
In natural ecstasy
We rise, we fall, we know it all
As all is one in me
All is one within your heart
A heart allows you truth to see
The moon is quilted by tender blanket clouds
Kissed by the rain’s forgetting
We are beyond the need to regret our failings
For we are as stars here
Trailing descent from past into present
Into the future surreal we ride
Rising with the morning Sun
To know the kiss of Dawn
Knowing what it is to be reborn
We are as Gods here
Perfect from our moulds
Only growing old within the autumn of our falling
Still we retain our wisdoms past
As all we know blooms day by day
Into a flower more beautiful
More delicate
Than any you may find upon the fields of dream time wavering
Savour the movement
Flavour the moment
Rise in descent.
Still fields of green surround my heart
Though desert sand may fill my shoes
I find myself sinking fast into thoughts of you.
Still valleys green embrace my soul
Though desert heat may boil my skin
I find myself sinking fast forever lost within.
poem by David Lacey
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Rain
Rain is electricity for my soul
Like a light switch turning on my emotions
The rain - soft, wet, warm embracing
Water in the desert of my world
Dusty leaves awaken to a new level of life
Emerald sparks for my existence
Rivers of rain drops cascading through my dreams
Innocents lost in white rains of destruction
Memories dismissed in streams of blue water
My yearnings embraced by grey streaks of rain
Sapphire tides ignite my abandoned passions
Wet moss green bandages for my heart
Restrained tears like salty drops born of infinite oceans
Traces of pain washed away by the rain
The rain - pleasing, moist, warm, forgiving
Water spilling over sidewalks as gestures of kindness
Slippery saturating encounters
Raindrops stir tidal motions in the name of love
© 2011
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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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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Colors Passing Through Us
Purple as tulips in May, mauve
into lush velvet, purple
as the stain blackberries leave
on the lips, on the hands,
the purple of ripe grapes
sunlit and warm as flesh.
Every day I will give you a color,
like a new flower in a bud vase
on your desk. Every day
I will paint you, as women
color each other with henna
on hands and on feet.
Red as henna, as cinnamon,
as coals after the fire is banked,
the cardinal in the feeder,
the roses tumbling on the arbor
their weight bending the wood
the red of the syrup I make from petals.
Orange as the perfumed fruit
hanging their globes on the glossy tree,
orange as pumpkins in the field,
orange as butterflyweed and the monarchs
who come to eat it, orange as my
cat running lithe through the high grass.
Yellow as a goat's wise and wicked eyes,
yellow as a hill of daffodils,
yellow as dandelions by the highway,
yellow as butter and egg yolks,
yellow as a school bus stopping you,
yellow as a slicker in a downpour.
Here is my bouquet, here is a sing
song of all the things you make
me think of, here is oblique
praise for the height and depth
of you and the width too.
Here is my box of new crayons at your feet.
Green as mint jelly, green
as a frog on a lily pad twanging,
the green of cos lettuce upright
about to bolt into opulent towers,
green as Grand Chartreuse in a clear
glass, green as wine bottles.
Blue as cornflowers, delphiniums,
bachelors' buttons. Blue as Roquefort,
blue as Saga. Blue as still water.
Blue as the eyes of a Siamese cat.
Blue as shadows on new snow, as a spring
azure sipping from a puddle on the blacktop.
Cobalt as the midnight sky
when day has gone without a trace
and we lie in each other's arms
eyes shut and fingers open
and all the colors of the world
pass through our bodies like strings of fire.
poem by Marge Piercy
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DawnBreak
I welcome the Dawn with much elan'
And ever hopeful for a day of peace
Sunrise light- ends dark of night
And the Hummingbird arrives upon a breeze
The morning lawn 'tis sprinkled in dew
A glistening sort of reminder of new day
Summertime sunshine glisten's serenitys hope
'Neath an azure blue summer display
A pebbled brook rolls a warm stream
Near by 'neath a weeping willow tree
Oh-the ambience and utter verve
Emits hope for a peace-filled eternity
poem by Theodora Onken
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Green Green Grass Of Home
The old hometown looks the same
As I step down from the train
And there to meet me is my mama and papa
And down the road I look and there runs Mary
Her golden lips like cherries
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they've all come to meet me
Arms reaching, smiling sweetly
It's so good to touch the
Green, green grass of home.
The old house is still standing
Though the paint is cracked and dry
And there's that old oak tree that I used to play on
Down the lane I'd walk with my sweet Mary
Her golden lips like cherries
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yesm they've all come
Arms reaching, smiling sweetly
It's so good to touch the
Green, green grass of home.
Then I awake and look around me
At the gray walls that surround me
And I realized that I was only dreaming
For there's a guard and there's a sad old padre
Arm in arm, we'll walk at daybreak
Again I'll touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes they'll all come to see me
In the shade of that old oak tree
As they lay me neath the
Green, green grass of home...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vale To Shore Through Mother Earths Door
So breath-takingly dressed in Earthen garb--
Moss and dandelions for her hair---
A chocolate brown-evening gown--
With accessories so rare;
Earthen minerals dazzle her graceful neck...
With agate stones for her delicate ears-
Soft cotton shoes-in a cobalt blue...
Such a beautiful reflection in the rivers mirror;
Mother Earth sizzles this day--
On her way 'cross Emerald Vale--
Villagers stare-quite beguiled by her hair--
'Tis a Green-Earth Dancing Tale;
Her flaxen mane flows ever graceful--
Her dazzling eyes-a brillant blue...
With skin-a dream-of peaches and cream--
Her life- a lush verdant hue;
Mother Earth dances with joy...
Welcoming in each New Dawn--
Dressed in natures best-truly blessed...!
She embraces the glistening dew upon the green lawn;
She is so breathtaking in her Earthen garb...
With a floral bouquet for her hands-
Mother Earth 'tis filled with mirth--
As she walks 'long sea-shores alibaster sands;
Watching the tides as they ebb and flow...
Directed by the Moon upon high--
Mother Earth-'tis soon to give birth...
'Neath the shorelines Azure sky;
As she continues on ever forward...
In her spirited dazzling green array--
The Green Palms-they line-the shores of time-
Hence embellishing the Graceful Turquoise Bay;
May 23,2010
A Green Poem
Thank You God
poem by Theodora Onken
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With A Little Rain
It was just another Spring storm...
Wild winds and hail---
But the bashful Sun peeked through the clouds...
And lifted-the storms blackened veil;
Raibows were brush stroked in full colour...
Painting sky canvas-filled arches of coloured light...
The air all fresh and renewed...
Lending an ambience of: 'Springtime Delight';
Proving that with every storm--
Every dropp of rain that may fall...
A renewel of Mother Earth arrives...
'Neath the Springtimes thunderous call! ;
The Essence
July 2010
poem by Theodora Onken
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