A Memory For To Cherish
White butterflies are dancing in the warm evening breeze
And the house sparrows are chirping on the sunlit garden trees
On a warm day in April in the far Southern Fall
Of the Southern Land's four Seasons the most pleasant one of all,
I love this Autumn weather and though Winter days are near
One has to say of April 'tis a pleasant time of year
Above the sunlit paddock to and fro across the sunlit sky
The dark winged welcome swallows chasing flying insects fly,
With his tail ever wagging perched on a garden wall
The black and white fantail or willy wagtail a bird that's known to all
Always on the look out for insects airborne or on the ground
Where willy wagtails are present insects sure to abound,
Of this sunny late April evening in the far Southern Fall
A memory for to cherish and a memory to recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Beautiful Day In October
The flies are buzzing in the sunshine and the little dark brown honeybees
Are busily gathering nectar from the flowers of the blossoming trees
On a beautiful day in October of around 27 degrees
And Nature she is at her calmest with only a very faint breeze
Under the house eaves lined with lots of feathers the house sparrows have their nest of hay
Non singers devoted to chirping they seem to chirp all through the day
Such beauty to inspire poets and artists the beauty that Nature create
The willy wagtail with tail wagging is perched on the back garden gate
A tiny black and white long tailed flycatcher always on the look out for flies
One who mobs the much bigger magpie undaunted it does seem by size,
A beautiful day in October butterflies flitting in the sunlight
And fuchsias and roses in full bloom such things that make a pretty sight
And Nature she is at her calmest with only a very slight breeze
And all around the sunlit garden the buzzings of flies and of bees.
poem by Francis Duggan
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It Is A Lovely Day
The parks and paddocks lush and green wildflowers bloom by the roadway
And birds are singing in the wood it is a lovely day
A forecast low of nineteen and a high of twenty three
And pink flowers in large clusters on the rhododendron tree,
Were I a poet I'd write a sonnet for today that would live on in time
But good poets are few or so 'twould seem in blank verse or in rhyme
For to be able to pen a sonnet to this day joy to others would bring
When Mother Nature is in bloom in the prime of the Spring,
The wattle birds are calling on the sunlit banksia trees
And there is a cool freshness in the freshening coastal breeze
And dark winged welcome swallows chirping as above the park they fly
All through the day they circle to and fro across the sky
And willy wagtail with his wagging tail is chasing flies and bees
And the sunlit park sounds happy with the songs of the pee wees.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Pleasant Day For July
In the cool sun of mid Winter a gentle northern breeze
Is whispering in the parkland on the gum and wattle trees
The leaves are quietly stirring as the branches gently sway
And the sparrows are chirping on a pleasant Winter's day.
Going by the weather forecast heavy rain is on the way
The calm before the storm as some are known to say
But we won't be complaining as we do need lots of rain
To add to the Town reservoir and bring life to the creek and drain.
A pleasant day for July in the Southern Winter of the year
The sweet flute of the magpie is a joyful thing to hear
The blackbirds in the garden gathering material for their nest
And Spring is not that distant the Season many love best.
A pleasant day for July with just a slight chill in the air
And even in the southern Winter days such as this are rare
The first of September the calendar Spring's first day
In time does not seem distant barely six weeks away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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April, Dear April
April, dear April, I beg you come soon –
And bring your sweet primroses too.
Let them join in with the daffodils’ play,
As skies offer sunshine anew.
April, dear April, my blessed spring child,
Ornate in your yellow and white,
Teasing the birds into trilling their songs
And dancing to music of flight.
April, dear April, come enter my dreams
And rid me from cold winter chills.
Banish the rain and those blustery winds
And warm up our countryside hills.
April, dear April, I know you can’t stay -
You have to move on ‘till next year.
And though I shall cherish the glory of summer,
You’ll always be my month most dear.
From: Succumbed to Thinking by Mark Raymond Slaughter, lulu.com
Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2009
All rights reserved
April April April April
April April April April
April April April April
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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A Lovely Day In September
The nesting songbirds are singing on the sunlit bushes and trees
On this warm day in September of close to thirty degrees
The cows in the nearby paddock sit and chew their cuds at ease
And there is a pleasant freshness in the freshening coastal breeze
For the second week of the Spring a very warm day
The fruit bearing trees looking beautiful in their blooms of pink and gray
The poets and the artists by such beauty feel inspired
Of singing Nature's praises one never could feel tired
After the heavy rainfalls of late Winter the paddocks are looking green
And wildflowers known to some as weeds in plenty to be seen
Dragon flies out in swarms in the bright sunshine fly
And the dark winged welcome swallows are chirping in the sky
A lovely day in September close to thirty degrees
Songbirds sing in the sunshine in the freshening coastal breeze.
poem by Francis Duggan
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In July Far away
The pleasant natural aroma of meadows mown for silage or hay
Come wafting to my memory from places far away
And the sun at intervals shines through the gray clouds of the sky
And cattle in lush fields chew their cuds at ease in the warmth of July
Young birds chirping in the hedgerows near where the stream goes babbling by
And dark winged swallows chasing flying insects above the valley fly
It does not seem that long ago or a long gone yesterday
Since I walked in the old grassy fields in July far away
In the knee high rushes hidden from view the male pheasant cuck and crow
And dipper the dark brown river bird with breast as white as snow
Is singing in the babbling stream that flows down from the lake
His scratchy notes familiar once heard one cannot mistake
And white butterflies flitting in the breeze make for a pretty sight
Above the wildflowers in the fields in the Summer sunlight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Last Lovely Rose Of The Fall
Her pink petals lay on the short grass beside the red brick garden wall
By the thorny mother that bore her the last lovely rose of the Fall
White butterflies flit in the garden in the warm sunshine of mid day
And the shrike thrush he pipes on a low branch in his cloak of light brown to gray,
The rose tree has lost her last and her finest daughter next year new roses she will bear
And the rose tree in her flowers does look lovely than her there is none quite so fair
And her flowers they must return to Nature and on Nature's bosom decay
And the rose tree herself sooner or later must return to Nature one day,
The dark willy wagtail he sits on the brick wall his long black tail he wags to and fro
For him 'tis a very good Season on butterlies fat he does grow
Each life form serves a purpose in Nature for one to live one has to die
And what comes from Nature goes back to Nature and the same goes for you and for i
The pink rose petals lay on the grass by their mother on this warm March day in the Fall
And of all of the flowers in the garden in bloom she was the fairest of all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On The Fourth Day Of March
The pleasant aroma of the peppercorn trees
That come wafting to me in the evening breeze
And on the nearby pond the shy moorhen call
On the fourth day of March and the southern Fall.
A white backed magpie pipes on a nearby gum tree
A bird one so often does hear and does see
And though early Autumn the deciduous trees in the park of the town
Their leaves still quite green and not showing any brown.
The weather quite cool compared to yesterday
But the temperatures perfect for me anyway
Today a cool high of twenty two degrees
From the recent warm weather we do need some ease.
The brown and bare paddocks could do with some rain
And the farmers are feeling the financial strain
Of months of dry weather they feel burdened by care
And their financial cross for them heavy to bear.
There is not one rain cloud in the clear blue sky
And the thistledown flying in the breeze through the sky
And the dark moorhen call in the brown pond nearby
And the paddocks are looking so bare, brown and dry.
poem by Francis Duggan
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South Gippsland In April
The leaves on the deciduous trees are turning brown
Yet in the Parks and gardens of Wonthaggi Town
The mynas are singing their songs tell of rain
And the frogs they are calling in the roadside drain.
Though into mid April and the Winter quite near
The weather quite warm for the time of year
On the beach at Cape Paterson the sun lovers lay
It may rain tomorrow but the sun shines today.
Only six weeks left of Autumn the time ticking on
And quite Summery weather though Summer is long gone
The old coastal hills overlooking the sea shore
Have seldom looked this dry or this brown before.
South Gippsland in April a fresh coastal breeze
In the woodland is soughing in the sunlit trees
Utopia on Earth the South Gippslanders say
That from where they live Heaven is not far away.
The birds in the Parkland they whistle and sing
It is more like weather in Summer or late Spring
The sun shining brightly but those brown hills nearby
A few hours of rain now would surely enjoy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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I Feel Lucky To Live In This Country
We did have some showers in the morning though it was quite welcome the rain
And the day it has turned out quite windy and the sun is out shining again
For mid Fall it is such good weather the butterflies dance in the breeze
And the temperatures so very pleasant a tad over twenty degrees.
I have every cause to feel happy on this rather beautiful day
The butcherbird the familiar fellow in his cloak of dark brown and gray
His bubbling notes he is piping on high branch of the blackwood tree
Though nesting Season for him over and no need to defend territory.
I feel lucky to live in this Country in this warm and balmy Land of the South
When darkness it cloaks the woodland one hear the soft call of the frogmouth
A beautiful place for to live in where the coldest of weather is not cold
But oh how the time ticks on quickly and even the young are growing old.
For April it is splendid weather the wind gently soughing in the trees
And butterflies dance in the sunshine in this Land of the Southern seas
I feel lucky to live in this Country this weather for all to enjoy
The magpie he pipes in the sunshine and so very happy am I.
poem by Francis Duggan
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For Istanbul
April
It's impossible
To write poems
If you're in love
And not to
If the month is April
Desires & Memories
Desires are different
So are the memories.
How can anyone live, tell me,
In a town that has no sunshine?
Insects
No use thinking,
Just crave!
See, that's what the insects do.
Invitation
I'm waiting.
Come when the weather is such
That there can be no turning back.
poem by Orhan Veli Kanik
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A Stroll Along Old Memory Lane
A stroll along old memory lane is a thing I do enjoy
And I can hear the songbirds sing in the groves of Lisnaboy
And white butterflies are flitting midst the wildflowers of July
And above the rushy meadow the lark carolling in the sky
A stroll along old memory lane on a bright Summer's day
And from the sunlit meadow the scent of new mown hay
Is so pleasant to the nostrils in the freshening morning breeze
And the temperature a perfect of around 23 degrees
And on the leafy hedgerows the young birds chirp and sing
A stroll along old memory lane is such a pleasant thing
The hum of the wild honeybees the buzzing of the flies
The past from us not distant when we do visualize
And the skylark's song in the sunny sky is a pleasant thing to hear
As you walk along old memory lane in the Summer of the year.
poem by Francis Duggan
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April
Honeysuckle cascading along the garden wall,
Bees hum, and insects everywhere abound,
The cuckoo sends us all his two-note call,
So many voices in one glorious sound.
April showers glinting, on soft new born shoots,
Daffodils of yellow, shine so ultra bright,
Down river, paddling, come the aquatic coots,
Plumage black, bills of white, and a fork tailed kite,
Swoops down, and with this long wings soars again,
And with no backward glance, gives his farewell,
Listen to April, hear now how it sings,
A wondrous month, wherein the heart can dwell.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Day For November Quite Warm
The day for November quite warm with only the faintest sign of breeze
And starlings from the trees to the garden railings flying and flying back again to the trees
The weather temperature in the high twenties from 27 to 29 degrees
And in the shade of the gum in the paddock the cow sits and chews her cud at ease.
White butterflies out in the sunshine they do not like the wind and the rain
Why they like the calm sunny weather do not ask me since I cannot explain
Anything of the workings of Nature of Nature's ways so little I know
Of Nature's ways I know as much now as I did five decades ago.
The poets love Spring for Nature's greenery her beauty them always inspire
In their words they always laud the Earth Mother of singing her praises they never do tire
And the artists try to capture some of nature's beauty on their canvas the flora and fauna of the woods and the hills and sea shore
I know of so many fine artists in fact there has never been more.
The day for November quite warm even warm for the time of year
And on the wattle tree in the garden the song of the blackbird I hear
'Tis said when birds sing in warm sunshine that rain cannot be far away
The radio weather forecaster says the weather is changing with thunder showers later today.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Rainy Morning In May
There is a distinct coolness in the late Autumn breeze
And it's chilly in the highlands though not cold enough to freeze
And a high today the forecast read of 17 degrees
And the currawongs are piping on the eucalyptus trees.
And the rain come down in drizzles and the rainy sky is gray
And the ravens they are cawing on the pines across the way
And even for the end of Autumn this is not a pleasant day
And the Winter is approaching as we near the end of May.
On the golf links looking green now people play golf in the rain
And for the eastern suburbs golfers it's umbrella time again
Doesn't matter about the weather they will play rain, hail or shine
And they have been playing all morning since the gates opened at nine.
When you hear the spur winged plover calling o'er his breediong ground
In the darkness of the morning o'er the paddock flying around
You know what time of year it is as they breed in the late Fall
And they raise their chicks in winter in the dampest days of all.
It's been drizzling all the morning and the sky is looking gray
And the weather is not pleasant even though it is late May
And the golfers on the golf links practice their swings in the rain
And for the outdoor lover it's umbrella time again.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Lost April
(newman/spencer/delange)
Lost april,
Where did you go?
Like winter's snow,
I saw you vanish.
Lost april,
So soft and warm.
A memory
Not even time can banish.
Lost april,
That taught me this.
A single kiss
Could lead to heaven.
But april had numbered days,
So when they passed,
Love couldn't last.
I lost love and you,
And april, too.
~interlude~
So when they passed,
Love couldn't last.
I lost love and you,
And april, too.
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Seeing Little Lorikeets
They looked like African lovebirds that I see
On trees near Dimboola in the Vic Mallee
But then I told myself this cannot be
As African lovebirds in Australia don't live free.
Lit by a shaft of bright April sun shine
On pleasant evening in middle Autumn time
Small green feathered Parrots with red faces and dark bills
On eucalyptus branches uttered high pitched trills.
It took me back to photograph I'd seen
Of litle red faced parrots dressed in green
That fly from tree to tree in daylight hours
In search of fruit and eucalyptus flowers.
And 'twas then I realized that I had come to meet
The smallest of the lories little lorikeets
Near Dimboola Town on small roadside Parkway
On eucalyptus trees on sunlit April day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Return To Nature
Suppose I am one who has a big ego I did have big plans once I do recall
But egos are a thing that inspire in us the need for success and are part of human nature after all
And now that my ego is a bit deflated and others I don't feel need to impress
Something perhaps that came with the realization that my life never has been a success.
Still I am one who finds solace in Nature and Nature the only God of which I know
I've always marvelled at her strength and beauty and still my admiration for her only grow
I had a church God when I was years younger but I gave my unseen church God away
And I returned again to Mother Nature and in her bosom I will rest one day.
The free born birds that sing in Nature's garden each species is distinctive by their song
And the fox that hunts for rabbits in the paddocks these creatures all to Nature's World belong
And the wedge tailed eagle soaring in the calm sky a very large and fearless bird of prey
Too is a part of Mother Nature's World and in Nature's bosom this bird's bones too will lay.
The swallows fly to warm climes in Winter and return home to greet the warmth of Spring
And chase insects o'er the valley where they first saw daylight and as they fly one hear them chirp and sing
How they can find their way to a far Country in late Fall and in the Spring find their way home again
Is something for which scientists can offer theories yet somehow seems beyond them to explain.
The World is quieter in Mother Nature's World for man made noise to Nature doesn't belong
On sunlit tree beside the rippling waters the thrush in Spring is singing all day long
And Nature she presides o'er all her Seasons and she has seen so many Seasons come and go
Her flowers of Spring and Summer and her brown leaves of Autumn and her hills of Winter wear white hats of snow.
I do not worship false Gods any longer and I returned to Nature years ago
And though Mother Nature has so much to teach us so little about her I seem to know
Yet I feel happy to walk in her garden and along the bank of her quiet water way
'Twas an act of Nature brought me to this World and I'll return to her bosom one day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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White Butterflies
Their beauty sad to say will not last long a few days to live that is all
The white butterflies in the garden on this warm day in the Fall
So little time in their bloom of beauty to mate and lay their eggs and to fly
Around the wildflowers and the flowering bushes when the sun shines bright in the sky
Of death they would not have a sense of but a few days in time to them must seem long
Their is so much to learn of Nature though Nature keeps proving us wrong
So innocent in their great beauty they are as natural as bird song
And so soon to return to Nature for to Nature they surely belong,
In the sky they seem to be dancing perhaps in a courtship display
Of butterfly life i am ignorant and my assumptions a guess anyway
As butterflies their's is a brief existence their life span is forty eight hours
They will be outlived by most insects and they will be outlived by the flowers
In a few days they will be with Nature as Nature takes back
what she does create
In the sunshine they flit through the garden seemingly quite unaware of their fate.
poem by Francis Duggan
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