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The Late Singer

Here it is spring again
and I still a young man!
I am late at my singing.
The sparrow with the black rain on his breast
has been at his cadenzas for two weeks past:
What is it that is dragging at my heart?
The grass by the back door
is stiff with sap.
The old maples are opening
their branches of brown and yellow moth-flowers.
A moon hangs in the blue
in the early afternoons over the marshes.
I am late at my singing.

poem by William Carlos Williams
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There Were Late Afternoons

There were late afternoons when as a child
I would see the tall popular trees
making the pale blue sky seem much higher
where they grew next to the old farm dam

with there branches whispering
in the early night breeze,
with doves and finches calling
from their nests in the shelter of these trees,

when an early moon would appear
and the evening star would suddenly start twinkling
blue-white in its sheer brightness against a darker blue sky,
like a mother goose leading all of the other stars.

There were early evenings when the sun
died with its deep red glow touching
the hillocks that were covered in sugar bushes,
and red flowering aloes,

when the scent of protea flowers was sweet on the air,
when blue changed to darker black,
when darkness came suddenly
and a myriad of stars sparkled all over the sky

while in the distance fires came to life
at the rural mud huts, while jackals
and dogs started to howl at the bright yellow moon,
while I knew that mother would be home soon.

poem by Gert Strydom
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There Were Late Afternoons As A Child

There were late afternoons when as a child
I would see the tall popular trees
making the pale blue sky seem much higher
where they grew next to the old farm dam

with there branches whispering
in the early night breeze,
with doves and finches calling
from their nests in the shelter of these trees,

when an early moon would appear
and the evening star would suddenly start twinkling
blue-white in its sheer brightness against a darker blue sky,
like a mother goose leading all of the other stars.

There were early evenings when the sun
died with its deep red glow touching
the hillocks that were covered in sugar bushes,
and red flowering aloes,

when the scent of protea flowers was sweet on the air,
when blue changed to darker black,
when darkness came suddenly
and a myriad of stars sparkled all over the sky

while in the distance fires came to life
at the rural mud huts, while jackals
and dogs started to howl at the bright yellow moon,
while I knew that mother would be home soon.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Seasons

I

As if summer will never end
irises are everywhere in the garden
with opening flower after flower
in light yellow, deep purple and rust-brown.

The bright hot sun hangs day after day
in a cobalt blue sky and even carnations, geraniums
and flame lilies are showing their beauty,
are still holding onto summer.

Doves are still cooing in the oak tree,
their are finches and sparrows cavorting up and down
and it’s as if nature is thwarting autumn
while dew is still shining on the leaves in the mornings

until later the sky becomes dull blue
while the sun is getting much more faint.

II

Slowly the leaves are falling
descending in different colours,
in one’s and two’s and later in a bigger number
tree-trunks become dark brown, red and some pallid

until every tree but for those that are evergreen stand skeleton,
the birds that remain sit next to each other shivering,
wishing for the winter to past
having difficulty to find seeds and other food

and the cold winter wind blows through everything,
filling the air with whirling dust clouds
with stripped branches flinging up and down
and everywhere leaves and branches lie in a jumble

until the wind dies down and the morning fog hangs like vapour,
at times only at noon is dispersed by the sun.

III

Days are cold and grey while the sun hides,
with a owl hunting during the day
searching for hungry mice sneaking around in the yellow grass
and all other signs of animal life is missing

but for doves sitting here and there
on telephone wires,
in disconsolation staring into the distance
and early mornings the grass is covered with white ripe

and it is as if every flower succumbs,
is shrinking crumpled and are folding close
until the first spring rain comes suddenly,
with sprouts and buds appearing and new flowers folding open

when fruit trees are covered with white, pink and yellow blossoms
and the sudden beauty takes your breath away.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Doves fly past in pairs

Doves fly from sunrise
until late afternoon past in pairs
and the whole day their singing resounds

and just before the rainstorm comes (out of season)
the air is full of swallows
sweeping up and down
catching insects.

starlings, sparrows and finches scream
as if the end of this autumn,
is already the beginning of spring

where they are eating blue-black berries
in evergreen trees
and it’s as if nature
knows something secret about this winter.

The rays of the sun are now measured out much cooler
but the grass still has its green colour
and there are irises
which flowers out of season
from all the rain
and the giant sage bush
is covered with purple clusters
hanging in strings

and early in the mornings when I get up later
the black-collard barbet knocks me awake
asking screeching
when I am going to get up
and I look at him
where he endlessly are scolding me
and I wonder
why the birds
are suddenly so jolly?

or do they know
that the season
is at the edge of change
and that man with pollution
is causing irreparable damage?

poem by Gert Strydom
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I'm a singing rainbow

When my eyes are blue
I’m a sky-spelled beam of Heaven
Singing icons of beauty

Brown
I’m an autumn singing
Falls of leaves to the ground
Yellow
I’m millions of suns
Singing rays of warmth
Green
I’m a throbbing rainforest
Singing fibers of creation
Violet
I’m a tiny flower singing
Strength of growth
Rad
I’m a blood-spelled shade of Light
Singing peace of darkness

When my eyes are empty
I’m a singing rainbow

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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You Can't Have Everything

The Queensland sun shines early in the morning
And keeps on burning hotter through the day
And though the Parklands watered by the sprinklers
Through the pale green patches of brown through gray.

But I know of a Land of natural greeness
Where Spring doesn't often come till early May
Though birds from early April on nest building
In that green Country half a World away.

I close my eyes I hear the dipper singing
And wild flowers bloom along the mountain stream
And chaffinch pipes his happy notes to April
And grass is growing and fields look lush and green.

Here in the Gold Coast in deep south of Queensland
The lorikeets and noisy miners sing
They have only known the warmth of the sub tropics
Where Winter's warmer than the northern Spring.

In distant Land above the bracken mountain
The lark is piping in the morning sky
Till lost to view he soars towards gathering rain clouds
And singing ever singing as he fly.

In South Queensland the rain is always welcome
And sun shine all year round and wild birds sing
But I know of a Country green and wetter
Which goes to prove you can't have everything.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Lover Come Back To Me

Sigmund romberg / oscar hammerstein ii
You went away
I let you
We broke the ties that bind
I wanted to forget you
And leave the past behind
Still, the magic if the night I met you
Seems to stay forever in my mind
The sky was blue
And high above
The moon was new
And so was love
This eager heart of mine was singing
Lover where can you be
You came at last
Love had its day
That day is past
Youve gone away
This aching heart of mine is singing
Lover come back to me
When I remember every little thing
You used to do
Im so lonely
Every road I walk along
I walk along with you
No wonder I am lonely
The sky is blue
The night is cold
The moon is new
But love is old
And while Im waiting here
This heart of mine is singing
Lover come back to me
When I remember every little thing
You used to do
I grow lonely
Every road I walk along
I walk along with you
No wonder I am lonely
The sky is blue
The night is cold
The moon is new
But love is old
And while Im waiting here
This heart of mine is singing
Lover come back to me

song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Route March

Did you hear the children singing, O my brothers?
Did you hear the children singing as our troops went marching past?
In the sunshine and the rain,
As they’ll never sing again—
Hear the little school-girls singing as our troops went swinging past?
Did you hear the children singing, O my brothers?
Did you hear the children singing for the first man and the last?
As they marched away and vanished,
To a tune we thought was banished—
Did you hear the children singing for the future and the past?

Shall you hear the children singing, O my brothers?
Shall you hear the children singing in the sunshine or the rain?
There’ll be sobs beneath the ringing
Of the cheers, and ’neath the singing
There’ll be tears of orphan children when
Our Boys come back again!

poem by Henry Lawson
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Invitation To The Country

Now 'tis Spring on wood and wold,
Early Spring that shivers with cold,
But gladdens, and gathers, day by day,
A lovelier hue, a warmer ray,
A sweeter song, a dearer ditty;
Ouzel and throstle, new-mated and gay,
Singing their bridals on every spray -
Oh, hear them, deep in the songless City!
Cast off the yoke of toil and smoke,
As Spring is casting winter's grey,
As serpents cast their skins away:
And come, for the Country awaits thee with pity
And longs to bathe thee in her delight,
And take a new joy in thy kindling sight;
And I no less, by day and night,
Long for thy coming, and watch for, and wait thee,
And wonder what duties can thus berate thee.

Dry-fruited firs are dropping their cones,
And vista'd avenues of pines
Take richer green, give fresher tones,
As morn after morn the glad sun shines.

Primrose tufts peep over the brooks,
Fair faces amid moist decay!
The rivulets run with the dead leaves at play,
The leafless elms are alive with the rooks.

Over the meadows the cowslips are springing,
The marshes are thick with king-cup gold,
Clear is the cry of the lambs in the fold,
The skylark is singing, and singing, and singing.

Soon comes the cuckoo when April is fair,
And her blue eye the brighter the more it may weep:
The frog and the butterfly wake from their sleep,
Each to its element, water and air.

Mist hangs still on every hill,
And curls up the valleys at eve; but noon
Is fullest of Spring; and at midnight the moon
Gives her westering throne to Orion's bright zone,
As he slopes o'er the darkened world's repose;
And a lustre in eastern Sirius glows.

Come, in the season of opening buds;
Come, and molest not the otter that whistles
Unlit by the moon, 'mid the wet winter bristles
Of willow, half-drowned in the fattening floods.
Let him catch his cold fish without fear of a gun,
And the stars shall shield him, and thou wilt shun!
And every little bird under the sun
Shall know that the bounty of Spring doth dwell
In the winds that blow, in the waters that run,
And in the breast of man as well.

poem by George Meredith
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The Rain

(rock the joint)
Me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh-huh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
When the rain hits my window
I take and {inhale, cough} me some indo
Me and timbaland, ooh, we sang a jangle
We so tight, that you get our styles tango
Sway on dosie-do like you loco
{singing} can we get kinky tonight?
Like coco, so-so
You don't wanna play with my yo-yo
I smoke my hydro on the dee-low
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (say what?)
Yeah..
Beep beep, who got the keys to the jeep? v-r-rrrrrrrooooom!
(uh-huh) i'm drivin to the beach
Top down, loud sounds, see my peeps (uhh)
Give them pounds, now look who it be (who it be)
It be me me me and timothy (me me!)
Look like it's bout to rain, what a shame (uh-huh)
I got the armor-all to shine up the stain
Oh missy, try to maintain
Icky-icky-icky-icky-icky-icky-icky..
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
(uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (say what? uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (yeah)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
I feel the wind
Five six seven, eight nine ten
Begin, i sit on hill's like lauryn
Until the rain starts, comin down, pourin
Chill, i got my umbrella
My finger waves be dazed, they fall like humpty
Chumpy, i break up with him before he dump me
To have me yes you lucky
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (ha, uhh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (what?)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (uh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (what?)
(like that baby)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (can you stand the rain?)
(uh-huh, stand the rain)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (what?)
(can you stand the rain?)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (can you stand the rain?)
(uh-huh, can you stand the rain?)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (what?)
{singing} 'gainst my window (uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
{singing} 'gainst my window (huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (hmm..)
{singing} 'gainst my window (yo)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (why not, break it down like dat)
{singing} 'gainst my window (break it down baby)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh)
(yeah like that, uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh, huh)
(uhh.. misdemeanor)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! ..
{singing} i can't stand the rain! .. * fades out *

song performed by by Missy Elliott
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Is Such A Beautiful Evening

Than Spring it is far more like Summer a summery warmth in the breeze
And sunshine on the old Town and Parkland and sunshine on the bushes and trees
The greeness of Spring all around me such beauty that cannot fail to please
The weather quite warm for September well over the twenty degrees.

Though early Spring few birds are singing in the warm sun of the day
They sing in the cool of the morning or in the twilight's fading gray
The Winter is finally over though Winter weather was far from severe
We may be due for an el nino a warm Spring is looming this year.

The heaths and prickly bushes are covered in their blue, pink and bright yellow flowers
They came to bloom in the late Winter in the cool and invigorating showers
The pardalotes by their nest entrance in a tiny hole in the ground
Wee wren sized birds spotted and pretty where they live small insects abound.

It is such a beautiful evening the swallows they chirp as they fly
And the sun with the warmth of Summer is glowing brightly in the blue sky
And the first brown butterflies of September are flitting in the balmy air
Alone and contented with Nature such moments are precious and rare.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Tuvvi Tuvvi

SERENADING THE SEASON OF SPRING WITH SMILES
ARE THE BIRDS SINGING MELODY OF TUVVI TUVVI
DANCING TO THE BEAUTY OF BLOOMING DAFFODILS
ARE THE LEAVES IN THE WIND WHISTLING TUVVI TUVVI

USHERING THE WARM SUNSHINE OF THE SPRING
ARE THE WALTZING SHADOWS SINGING TUVVI TUVVI
BORDERING THE GREEN GRASS ALL AROUND BEAMING
ARE THE SWAYING TREES SINGING TUVVI TUVVI

WELCOMING THE BRIGHT SPRING IS THE BEAUTIFUL MORNING
REFLECTING ITS LIGHT ON FLOWING STREAMS OF SINGING TUVVI TUVVI
SEEING THE SIGNS OF NEW LIFE PRAISING
ARE THE GRATEFUL HEARTS SINGING TUVVI TUVVI

BLOOMING ARE THE FLOWERS IN SPRING COLORS
INVITING THE BEES BUZZING TUVVI TUVVI
FILLING THIS WORLD WITH SWEET SOUNDS OF LAUGHTER
ARE THE CHILDREN SINGING TUVVI TUVVI

Transalation of Poem by KUVEMPU

poem by Mittur Ramprasad
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First rain

The past winter had come
with black ripe
and had turned the green grass,
even the flowers into dead,
yellow withered things

but now in this early spring,
rain was showering the earth
with thousands of kisses,

bringing back life
and the sweet smell
drifted up from the wet sand
as if something great
had come forth
out of the creator’s hand

and later a rainbow
with brilliant colours
stretched from horizon to horizon
against the dark black clouds

while in the distance
lightning bolts were crashing down
one after another

and in my imagination
I could already see
tender shoots sprouting.

poem by Gert Strydom
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0004 Lyric 3: Rosefall

O, what is the song this late, late rose is singing?
where will its petals fall, pale orange-yellow rose?
when shall the breeze and the rose cease laughing, dancing,
when will the raindrops bring time, and loss, and tears?

who wrote the song that the rose is singing, singing,
who painted petals on this fleeting rose?
when did the breeze discover dancing, dancing,
with roses that fade and fall in loss and time and tears?

after the rosefall, a colder breeze is blowing,
rose petals lie in drifts upon the ground;
but the breeze remembers, wintering red rose-hips, sowing
the rose’s spring and singing; remembering rose’s sound..

poem by Michael Shepherd
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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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For Fellow Amateur Poets

Riding on winged lines
We shall flock like doves
In the rain
So the fire in our breasts
Shall not die

In the hideout of flowers
Soft reeds and singing marshes
Where the moon sleeps
Throughout the night
We are all watchful eyes

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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58

Riding on winged lines
We shall flock like doves
In the rain
So the fire in our breasts
Shall not die

In the hideout of flowers
Soft reeds and singing marshes
Where the moon sleeps
Throughout the night
We are all watchful eyes

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wind that Shakes the Barley

There's music in my heart all day,
I hear it late and early,
It comes from fields are far away,
The wind that shakes the barley.

Above the uplands drenched with dew
The sky hangs soft and pearly,
An emerald world is listening to
The wind that shakes the barley.

Above the bluest mountain crest
The lark is singing rarely,
It rocks the singer into rest,
The wind that shakes the barley.

Oh, still through summers and through springs
It calls me late and early.
Come home, come home, come home, it sings,
The wind that shakes the barley.

poem by Katharine Tynan
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To Jośe Marίa Palacio

Palacio, good friend,
is spring there
showing itself on branches of black poplars
by the roads and river? On the steeps
of the high Duero, spring is late,
but so soft and lovely when it comes!
Are there a few new leaves
on the old elms?
The acacias must still be bare,
and the mountain peaks snow-filled.
Oh the massed pinks and whites
of Moncayo, massed up there,
beauty, in the sky of Aragon!
Are there brambles flowering,
among the grey stones,
and white daisies,
in the thin grass?

On the belltowers
the storks will be landing now.
The wheat must be green
and the brown mules working sown furrows,
the people seeding late crops,
in April rain. There’ll be bees,
drunk on rosemary and thyme.
Are the plum trees in flower? Violets still?
There must be hunters about, stealthy,
their decoys under long capes.
Palacio, good friend,
are there nightingales by the river?
When the first lilies,
and the first roses, open,
on a blue evening, climb to Espino,
high Espino, where she is in the earth.

poem by Antonio Machado
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Capeweed

Originally from South Africa and quite pretty indeed
Those flowers in Spring that cover the paddocks they are known as capeweed
With bright yellow petals and a dark brown heart
From all others quite easy to tell them apart.

Unwanted in Australia or 'twould seem that way
About them the farmers have no kinds words to say
But like thistles they survive deadly toxic spray
Though quite pretty to look at on a bright Spring day.

No strangers to the paddocks they are quite well known
And they have a beauty that is of their own
In late Winter and Spring in abundance to be seen
Their bright yellow flowers dapple Nature's own green.

The farmers cannot kill them off though hard they do try
And with each passing year they seem to multiply
In the paddocks they seem to dance in the breezes of Spring
When the weather is warming and the nesting birds sing.

poem by Francis Duggan
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