Beyond Eden
Green leaves tap at my window like lost souls.
I trace their signatures upon the glass.
Dawn is only a few quatrains away.
I memorize the fragrance of spring rain.
It takes me back beyond Eden, my friends
Where Adam brushed the first tear from Eve's eye.
Stripped of their innocence, how could they know?
The last grief would be soothed by God himself.
Somewhere deep in the hills, a lyric bird
Sings of the poignancy of humanness.
The ever freshness of that ancient sound
Brings back the sun that shone aeons ago.
Sandra Fowler, copyright,2010
poem by Sandra Fowler
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Appalachian Gray
I think the dusk has slipped beyond all words.
You speak spring with an accent never heard.
A poem on an Appalachian pane
Is bringing April back via the rain.
Pale trillium on the hill above the creek
Is delicate beyond the will to speak.
A gray coat of old feelings wraps my frame.
The landscape flickers like a candleflame.
Friend, frozen tears of trees mirror the sky
Within the confines of their inner cry.
The light fades us into its elegy.
Music is pictured though no sound need be.
2007, Copyright Sandra Fowler
poem by Sandra Fowler
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Bird that sings measures yet unheard
All praise to the gardener who keeps Eden
Caresses each leaf with fondness and love
Taps the window panes of the sleeping soul
The dawn wakes up with fresh fragrant lyric
Deep within the grove tree is the bird
That sings the measures yet unheard.
poem by C.P. Sharma
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January Mist
Sometimes at night I hear small birds lament.
Dark notes that seem to second moon's descent.
Cold is the color of a deep regret,
An etude perfected by winterset.
The world was music and it turned us round.
Stirred by the subtle atmospheric sound,
You gently sketched a snowflake on my face
Which shall be mine till light has left this place.
Such solace has the power to outlast time,
To lock a small bird's elegy in rhyme.
Somewhere beyond the January mist,
The magic of our landscape still exists.
Copyright,2008, Sandra Fowler
poem by Sandra Fowler
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May Song
BIRDS in the green of my garden
Blackbirds and throstle and wren,
Wet your dear wings in the tears that are Spring's
And so to your singing again!
Birds in my blossoming orchard,
Chaffinch and goldfinch and lark,
Preen your bright wings, little happy live things;
The May trees grow white in the park!
Birds in the leafy wet woodlands,
Cuckoo and nightingale brown,
Sing to the sound of the rain on green ground--
The rain on green leaves dripping down!
Fresh with the rain of the May-time,
Rich with the promise of June,
Deep in her heart, where the little leaves part,
Love, like a bird, sings in tune!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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What Spring Brings
I enjoy what Spring brings.
The freshness of the air,
Supplied by the budding of leaves on trees.
A warming of a breeze that once could freeze.
The brightness of flowers,
As extended daylight hours come.
This rebirth witnessed is welcomed.
I enjoy what Spring brings.
And what that means as Winter melts.
A commitment seems to be given,
To all living beings.
As Mother Nature delivers.
An evolution of beauty,
Slowly growing upon us to know.
How valuable we are to God.
And how this is bestowed.
I enjoy what Spring brings.
The singing of the birds.
The blue of the sky,
And the grass so green.
The laughter of children and the innocence of it all.
The presence of promise...
A remembered frost seemed to have stalled.
I enjoy what Spring brings.
Appreciating I do...
The giving Spring brings with its offerings.
The kind only this time Spring can bring!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Gray Music
You wrote your Yiddish signature in rain.
I could not match it in a thousand years.
Old words are classic to my memory.
Because of you, my feet have wings this day.
Gray music paints a picture of rare worth,
A Slavic image of an April mood,
Breaching the barrier of your last breath,
I should not wonder, Friend, you said it would.
'For a poet who was born in April and died in April'.
Copyright,2009, Sandra Fowler
poem by Sandra Fowler
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The Ancient Hills Of Toora
The ancient hills of Toora are looking brown today
Yet they were lush and rather green when last I passed this way
But that was last September when the nesting birds did sing
And every where looked greener in the early days of Spring.
To those ancient hills of Toora the Seasons come and go
And where once were thousands of gum trees only a few gums grow
And the Aboriginals who lived and hunted on those hills are not around today
Time brings with it great changes and it's always been that way.
The ancient hills of Toora as old as father time
And they were millions of years old when Christ was in his prime
The oldest human on Planet Earth perhaps fifteen years with five score
But the ancient hills of Toora will exist forever more.
The ancient hills of Toora overlooking Toora Town
From the long and warm dry Summer have never looked so brown
But I recall last September decked in their wildering flowers
Those ancient hills of Toora lush and green after Spring showers.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Over The Hills And Far Away
A LITTLE bird flew my window by,
'Twixt the level street and the level sky,
The level rows of houses tall,
The long low sun on the level wall;
And all that the little bird did say
Was, 'Over the hills and far away.'
A little bird sang behind my chair,
From the level line of corn-fields fair,
The smooth green hedgerow's level bound
Not a furlong off--the horizon's bound,
And the level lawn where the sun all day
Burns:--'Over the hills and far away.'
A little bird sings above my bed,
And I know if I could but lift my head
I would see the sun set, round and grand,
Upon level sea and level sand,
While beyond the misty distance gray
Is 'Over the hills and far away.'
I think that a little bird will sing
Over a grassy mound, next spring,
Where something that once was me, ye'll leave
In the level sunshine, morn and eve:
But I shall be gone, past night, past day,
Over the hills and far away.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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March Mornings
It sings to me
- the tree, the window tree.
Its leaves open as melodies
to the sheen of Spring.
It speaks to me
its words of green,
says now is the time
for everything.
It fills my dreams
with hopes and things,
making me believe
in what is yet to be.
The tree, the window tree,
brings the birds to me.
Songs come fluttering,
sliding on sun beams.
It dances the breeze,
smiles for me
on mornings like these
- absolutely free.
It sings to me
- the tree, the sweetgum tree.
Its leaves open as memories,
like love to me.
poem by W.I. Stoneberger
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The Peacock
A pleasant stroll,
The peacock takes
On its way back,
Each evening.
The sun has set;
The moon has come;
The air is cool;
’Tis twilight time!
The peacock walks
Effortlessly,
Amongst house-sites,
On lanes of own.
All through the way,
It feeds on leaves
That sprouted new,
A few days’ old!
A feast to eyes
Of young and old,
The peacock runs
On seeing men.
A hardy bird
With colored plumes
That gives its stroll,
A majesty.
Across the fence,
Over the bush,
It gently flies,
If need should rise.
It makes no noise,
On way back home;
It has walked miles
Unknowingly!
No snake dare near
The alert bird
That wards off foes
By flying low.
And when it’s dawn,
The dancing starts
On terraces,
As pea-hens watch!
The national bird
Of India,
Is protected:
‘So, please don’t kill! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-6-2010
poem by John Celes
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Rain Keeps Fallin
I remember the night so well.
The rain was fallin but I just couldnt tell,
If it was you that was callin to my love-sick brain.
But the rain kept fallin on my window pane.
Out of the night the thunder rang in my ear.
I cant fight the feelin, lord, that brings forth my fears.
I wish it was over, lord, please stop the rain.
The rain thats fallin on my window pane.
The rain thats fallin on my window pane.
Every night the rains on time, I can feel it in this heart of mine.
But I dont know what to do.
Well, I guess I could go back home, cause you know back home is where I belong.
But it just aint home without you.
And I dont know what to do, baby.
Well, I guess Im a looser but it just dont seem fair.
I lost all my life so tell me, why should I care?
The night that you left me is the night that it came.
And the rains still fallin on my window pane.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
You know the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
I said the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
You know the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
I said the rain.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
You know the rain ...
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
... keeps right on fallin.
The rain keeps fallin on my window pane.
I said, the rain keeps fallin ...
song performed by by Grand Funk Railroad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lost Spring
I was born, once, in a spring,
When the mountains bloomed,
And the snows melted;
That very spring in March.
The skies filled with the song of birds,
The air with the fragrance of flowers,
The water shone like diamonds;
That very spring in March.
Oh I wish, I wish, to go back,
Once more to my childhood,
To that lost paradise;
That very spring in March.
poem by Alina Luiz
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I Hold You in The Lyric Of My Thoughts
In memory of Menke Katz
I hold you in the lyric of my thoughts.
No, never mind that mist that hurts the eyes.
Tomorrow in Jerusalem, my friend,
Our dance beguiles the autumn of its grief.
I have you still with all my treasures kept,
Poor scribbles and the pencil-colored flowers.
Write me new letters on the windowpane.
Sign them as always with your shadow name.
Frost memories give me courage for today.
Just taste October with me, find it good.
The time is poignant like a Yiddish tune,
As bittersweet and smoky as old leaves.
Previously published in connection with my interview entitled, 'Letter Friends', Skylark, Purdue University, Calumet
poem by Sandra Fowler
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The House of Broken Souls
So I guess I'm going back
Yes-I guess I shall return
To a place where hearts are broken
To a place where souls do burn
Back to this place I go
Back again somehow
I must be getting back
I swear I'll go right now
Though this place is dark
Though the souls are dead
Healing is the game
The healing of the head
The body and the soul
A game to go on living
And, they dose me with this stuff
It's this stuff they keep on giving
To hide the pain
To hide the lies
To ignore the pleas
To overrule the cries
They shut us up
They turn the lights
We cannot win
We cannot fight
Oh my lord-I'm back here!
Not again
A cry-A tear
Rolling down this lonely cheek
Of this girl
So lost, so weak
Save her now
She's gone bad!
She's gone crazy!
She's gone mad!
I must know-I must ask
Why right now? Why today?
Is there not another way?
Save me Mom
Help me Dad
I'm so sick
I'm so sad
Pick me up-stop the pain!
It's pouring down
I feel insane!
I've lost it now
And, they do run
Away from me
I'm all of one
Alone at last,
So sad, so cold
I fade away
No longer BOLD
I try to run, I try to fight
I try to kick, I manage to bite
I bite down
And, you sit in pain
You scream outloud
You scream in vain!
'Save me Jesus! '
You do pray
But, the prayers won't save you
Not today.
© Copyright 2008 Nicole Settimi/Dark Lyric Poetry
Dark Lyric Poetry by The Dark Artist Nicole Settimi
poem by Nicole Settimi
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The Budding
The budding.
A rebirth of a season missed.
Spring arrives to lift spirits high.
Clear blue skies are witnessed...
As white clouds drift.
The budding.
Of flowers and grass and the leaves,
On Oak, Maple and Birch Trees.
Welcomes a lilting done of wind,
Introducing a Spring breeze to ease...
With a life that seems to be enjoyed again.
The budding.
Of familiar love known,
Yet hibernated in the Winter...
Amidst snow drifts.
And we smile and laugh and again forget,
That stress we welcomed to separate us...
From identifying those blessings,
That surrounds us to reach for complete happiness.
To explore and experience all of nature's treasures.
As Spring awakens with a freshness it brings.
With the budding, the blooming and the joy!
As Spring awakens with a freshness it brings.
With the budding, the blooming and the joy!
As Spring awakens with a freshness it brings.
With the budding.
The blooming done.
And the joy!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Kindred Souls
Kindred souls we meet again,
this time now can we be friends?
I feel your eyes watching me,
were you a knight
courting Thee?
With feverish jealousy You took my Life,
I lost my power from your knife.
That was the past, I’m sure you know,
I must move on, I need to grow.
Back into my power for you took it away,
on that frightful day,
To be brought back to me on this Present day.
Copyright 2006 & 2010 Christina Sunrise
poem by Christina Sunrise
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The Siren's Song
The Siren's Song
By: Adam M. Snow
Once upon a midnight wake,
A Siren sings, 'Sweet mercy sake'
Soothes the hearts O' gentle man,
In their yielding peaceful span.
Sirens cometh from the deep,
Cloaked in light the water sleep,
Claims the souls, lost to man,
Since the dawning life began.
Gathers victims from the shore,
Spoke the stories ancient lore,
Of beauty risen from the sea,
Captures souls without a plea.
Mesmerized them with her song,
And as the boat-head wound along,
Lighthouse glistens over tides,
Kiss her lips and she abides,
Kiss her twice, your souls no more,
And death awaits at your shore.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Gates Of Eden
Guy Allison, Keith Knudsen
EarthWalk Music (ASCAP) / K-KUAD Music (ASCAP)
We've been together for a long, long while
We've seen some bad and better days.
But heart and soul are meant for all time
These are the keys we can't replace.
Let's go back to Eden,
Don't make the garden wait.
At the gates of Eden,
This golden key is all it takes.
Simple things are better said in simple ways,
I'm a simple man in love with you.
These are the gates of Eden,
Take my hand we'll walk on through.
Let's go back to Eden,
Don't make the garden wait.
At the gates of Eden,
This golden key is all it takes.
Remember we're the ones who make.
You and me
This golden key that's what it takes.
There's only one.
Let's go back to Eden,
Don't make the garden wait.
At the gates of Eden,
This golden key is all it takes.
Guest Artists:
George Hawkins, Jr. - Bass
Chris Thompson - Background Vocals
song performed by by Doobie Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Our Trials
All our trials and all our strife, have their roots in our spiritual life,
Friend we are not just anyone, for we are the image of God’s Son.
We were created more than whole; we were given a body and a soul.
All other creation is as you see, but we have been made for Eternity.
Placed in a garden with no strife, and we were given Eternal Life.
With God man had unfettered fellowship, then Satan entered into it.
Satan’s ploy had caused man to fall, but that my friend was not all.
Being banished from Paradise, started for all men a world of strife.
God no longer walked with them, as their fellowship came to an end.
Outside the garden it got worse, for on the earth God put a curse.
One thing lost in all this strife, was man’s assurance of Eternal Life,
When man takes his last breath, without God, he faces Eternal Death.
It’s from Adam that we inherit sin, that causes us deep grief within.
Friend it is this sin that causes strife, affecting each and every life.
All wicked trials, big and small, can be traced back to Adam’s fall.
And all evil emotions deep within, stem from Adam’s original sin.
Just as Adam caused all men to fall, Christ came to redeem us all,
To redeem us from a market of sin, that causes us bondage within.
He came in the midst of our strife, to restore to all men Eternal Life,
And give to all an inner peace, and a relationship that won’t cease.
(Copyright ©02/2005)
An Early Day in May
May soothed
– sensual breeze caressing.
Snug, she cooed in floral chroma;
Gave artistic license – dressing up
Pubescent fields, teenage woods,
Jaded lanes; embellishing
Craggy watersides.
Warmth was kind – sun tempered,
Lifting life; erecting bluebell swathes
For good measure: late-spring treasure.
At hill’s base
A mirrored lake, brooding,
Bathed in halcyon haze –
Yet hectic life scurried,
Spurred on by procreational drive,
To see it all survived another year.
Back home, garden tulips flared,
Thrust aloft on rigid stems, and
Under day-time brilliance,
Open goblets, clustered,
Sought out heavenly guidance –
Lauding hallowed Tulipa gods.
May is Nature’s intermission –
Bridging April’s go-ahead
With hothead June.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
s pring spring spring spring spring spring
spring spring spring spring spring spring
spring spring spring spring spring spring
spring spring spring spring spring spring
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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