Belles of Blue
The Scent of Bluebells brush the soul
And melt your tears away,
A gentle breeze through leafy trees
Gives purpose to your day.
The Shape of Bluebells cheers the heart
And lifts your spirit up,
Pure bells of joy sweet bells of cheer
To drain the bitter cup
The Smile of Bluebells clears the mind
And turns your fears to joy,
A smile to lighten all mankind
And every Girl and Boy.
The Sight of Bluebells in the wood
Confirms that Spring is here,
A carpet of the purest blue
To fill our lives with cheer.
The Strength of Bluebells is their 'Blue'
A colour so divine,
A lovely bright and heavenly hue
Sent from God's heart to mine.
The Source of Bluebells is the LORD
They grow at His command,
For by His own creative power
Each tree and flower was planned.
The Secret of the Blubells power
Lies in the joy it brings,
Inside the heart of every flower
The 'Joy of Heaven' rings.
Dedicated to all the lovely Belles in the PH Family
(John Knight - Colchester - October 2009)
poem by John Knight
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Where No Bells Toll
There is a wood
where we played as children
and bluebells grow
When you came home
after seeing the rape of Zimbabwe
we picked bluebells
When you came home
from the killing fields of Iraq
we picked bluebells
When you came home
from the poppy fields of Afghanistan
we picked bluebells
When you came home
telling of monks beaten in Tibet
we picked bluebells
When you came home
from the line of fire on the Gaza Strip
it was in a coffin
There is a wood
where history plays tricks on us
and bluebells grow
poem by Roger Taber
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When The Bluebells Bloom
There is so much beauty in Nature but as lovely a thing as I've seen
Is in May when the bluebells are blooming on the ditch along the old bohreen
The wild hyacinths of Mother Nature so lovely and bell like and blue
When the bohreen is lit by bright sunlight they sparkle in the morning dew.
Of the beautiful bluebells of Nature the memory with me remain
On the damp and shady ditch of the bohreem they bloom in the wind and the rain
Surrounded by Nature's leafy greenery where nesting birds whistle and sing
In fancy I can visualize the beauty of the Northern Spring.
In May when the bluebells are blooming birds whistle on the hedgerows and trees
And the wildflowers blooming amongst the long grass are dancing in the freshening breeze
And the hawthorns are heavily laden in their fragile blossoms of white
Than the natural beauty of Nature there's not a more beautiful sight.
When the bluebells bloom by the bohreen the little brown lark upwards fly
And pleasant the sound of his carolling this tiny speck in the Spring sky
And though I now live far from the bohreen in distance almost a World away
I fancy I hear the birds singing in the leafy woodlands of May.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Within The April Woodland Grow
Within the April woodland grow
The bluebells of the dawning spring,
A sea of blue like waves that flow
Upon the breeze they softly sing.
As now the boughs begin to leaf
The sun does shine with gentle beam,
To light the flowers there beneath
And glisten on the restful stream.
That through the woodland winds its way
And follows me where'er I tread,
For love has come to me this day
As to this land I now am wed.
My heart is filled with gladdened cheer
To see the sight and hear the sound,
To me the greatest time of year
When they adorn the barren ground.
Each one to me a lover's kiss
Upon my lips that waited long,
For now I feel a sense of bliss
That lifts me like the throstle's song.
Within the April woodland grow
The bluebells of the dawning spring,
A sea of blue like waves that flow
Unto the shore they softly sing.
poem by Andrew Blakemore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Four Seasons
I gaze out through my window to the colours of the leaves,
Reds and browns and yellows floating like fairies from the trees.
I follow the as they burst alive and dance among the breeze,
And my smile is echoed effortlessly in the colours of the leaves.
I peer out through my curtains to the snow upon the ground,
Dreaming of the diamonds drowsily fluttering from the clouds,
Strewn across the hedgerows and the fields and all around,
The snow lies peacefully sleeping, a jewel upon the ground.
And look! - all of a sudden grow the bluebells in the wood!
Swaying happily to and fro, just like they always should.
And as the spring awakens, rusty from the flood,
The sun begins to shine upon the bluebells in the wood.
At last, through my curtains I see the flowers of July,
Their beauty almost mirrored in the sunshine in the sky,
And I see the tuplips grinning as a bright blue butterfly
Lands upon the petals of the flowers in July.
poem by Twilight Whispers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Too Soon (Dedicated To Mrs Tham My El Lit Teacher, hi PUALINA
The bluebells of June have finally been lost,
back to the earth that bore them,
throughout my life I will dread their flowering
for they scar a time of yearning.
Their coming fills me with the happiness
of memories of you, but they still gave me suffering
with the time of mourning for you
But yet these could still
Reveal the secret garden of my heart.
The forest floor, full of purple glory
scented gently of you,
one March we strolled its peaceful path
a meadow beneath our feet.
A year passed in a blink of an eye,
And then you were gone
Later in the month of June,
came the anguish of my soul -
you left me far too soon,
Like the bluebells of June
If only I could hear your voice,
the calming things you would say,
the earth itself would bow to my grief.
Like the bluebells every June,
You came and-
Gone too soon.
12/07/12
poem by Skylar Stamon Silver Salvatore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To One Dead
A blackbird singing
On a moss-upholstered stone,
Bluebells swinging,
Shadows wildly blown,
A song in the wood,
A ship on the sea.
The song was for you
and the ship was for me.
A blackbird singing
I hear in my troubled mind,
Bluebells swinging,
I see in a distant wind.
But sorrow and silence,
Are the wood's threnody,
The silence for you
and the sorrow for me.
poem by Francis Ledwidge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dearest Mother
When I was a child, you showed me a meadow of flowers.
You told me their names and we stayed there for hours.
Buttercups glistened as they drank the sun's rays
Amongst bluebells that glowed in their majestic ways.
I played in the meadow, but loved holding your hand.
You taught me about life and helped me understand
That love, like these flowers, though silent, can voice
A splendiferous message when it's my choice,
To express love with actions like forgive and forget;
To greet all with a smile and be glad that we've met;
To lead a colorful, bountiful life and have fun,
Praising the heavens as do flowers the sun.
This selfless love that you've forever shown me
Has opened my eyes so that I'll always see
The softness that buttercups and bluebells display
With their colors and scents that can lighten life's way.
Thank you, dearest mother, for your hand from the start.
Though flowers will fade, your love lives deep in my heart.
poem by Gregory Huyette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mommio
When I was a child, you showed me a meadow of flowers.
You told me their names and we stayed there for hours.
Buttercups glistened as they drank the sun’s rays
Amongst bluebells that glowed in their majestic ways.
I played in the meadow, but loved holding your hand.
You taught me about life and helped me understand
That love, like these flowers, though silent, can voice
A splendiferous message when it’s my choice,
To express love with actions like forgive and forget;
To greet all with a smile and be glad that we’ve met;
To lead a colorful, bountiful life and have fun,
Praising the heavens as do flowers the sun.
This selfless love that you’ve forever shown me
Has opened my eyes so that I’ll always see
The softness that buttercups and bluebells display
With their colors and scents that can lighten life’s way.
Thank you, dearest mother, for your hand from the start.
Though flowers will fade, your love lives deep in my heart.
poem by Gregory Huyette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Mommio
When I was a child, you showed me a meadow of flowers.
You told me their names and we stayed there for hours.
Buttercups glistened as they drank the sun’s rays
Amongst bluebells that glowed in their majestic ways.
I played in the meadow, but loved holding your hand.
You taught me about life and helped me understand
That love, like these flowers, though silent, can voice
A splendiferous message when it’s my choice,
To express love with actions like forgive and forget;
To greet all with a smile and be glad that we’ve met;
To lead a colorful, bountiful life and have fun,
Praising the heavens as do flowers the sun.
This selfless love that you’ve forever shown me
Has opened my eyes so that I’ll always see
The softness that buttercups and bluebells display
With their colors and scents that can lighten life’s way.
Thank you, dearest mother, for your hand from the start.
Though flowers will fade, your love lives deep in my heart.
poem by Gregory Huyette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Quietude Of A Bluebells Mound
In and out the dappled dew wet ferns
My grey ghostly spirit glides
In and out these mottled skies
Beneath those blue bristle furs
Where a fox cub has lain aground...
Here shall my heart be found...
Here shall my spirits soul, resound...
Here in the quietude of a bluebells, mound.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Lover's Vow To Spring
Love, there's an ancient quarry where bluebells grow
Like sapphires in the melting snow
Like quartz-clocks they tell the time is spring
If ‘ere you'd listen, you might just here them ring
Like a mountain Elysian blue spring,
Oh darling do you hear an after-ring!
And if so take mine own!
For now I've loved all summers are postpone.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ballad Of Jingle Jangle Jim (Fun Poem 32)
This is the ballad of Jingle Jangle Jim,
the bravest man there has ever been.
Jingle Jangle was walking through a wooded jungle one day,
when from a bush he heard a maiden call out in distress.
‘Oooh there is a snake in the grass.’
Jingle Jangle being the brave sort,
just jumped over the bush to save the young lass.
He grabbed hold of the six-inch snake in the grass.
The biggest grass snake he ever saw.
He wrassled that snake here and there,
even got it in a scissor grip.
He grabbed it with both hands
and waved it about a bit more,
and then rolled repeatedly on the wooded jungle floor.
The poor little snake looked cross-eyed
at this Jingle Jangle twit.
‘Hey, you idiot, you could have killed me.
Now just what do you think you were doing? ’
Jingle Jangle looked at the snake for a minute.
‘Wait just a minute, snakes don’t talk.’
‘This one can and if you don’t put me down I’ll arrest you,
I‘m an undercover pygmy policeman you see.
I’m on a stake out to catch the thief
who has been stealing Farmer Giles,
beautiful, award winning blue-belles.
Now put me down you Jingle Jangle idiot,
or Ill arrest you for the said crime.’
Jingle Jangle dropped him right there.
The grass snake was as dizzy as hell.
He looked up at Jingle Jangle,
shook his little head.
’Farmer Giles can look after
his own precious bluebells
’cause I quite.
The story is not over just yet,
for Jingle Jangle Jim and the snake
did a moonlight flit
with all of Farmer Giles precious bluebells.
The moral of the story
is never ask a snake in the grass
to look after your precious bluebells.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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1133 Heaven On Earth
Where is Heaven is there such a place?
A place where God is real and Angels dwell
Can we find Heaven - while we're here on earth
Or does your life on Earth resemble Hell?
Heaven is all around in Nature shown
The 'Gift of God' to all who are His own.
Heaven is a clearing in the woods
A place were bluebells in profusion grow
A place of solitude qnd quietness
A place where only rabbits and the badgers go.
The Angels gather there but are unseen
Except by those who have departed from this scene.
Heaven is a stretch of sandy coast
The place where Baby Angels love to play
The murmer of the sea the gentle wind
The changing panorama of each day.
And those who have departed from this life
Can live contented there as Man & Wife.
Heaven is a mountain-side retreat
A place with lovely vistas near and far
A pace that's shaped by God's almighty hand
Which urban noise and crime can never mar.
A place for our beloved who've gone before
Where Angels hover close to Heaven's Door.
Heaven's set beside a placid lake
In which are mirrored trees and clouds above
A place of peace - serenity and joy
A place of holiness - a place of love.
Martyrs and Saints sing out to God in Praise
And with the Angels serve Him all their days.
God's gift to us - right from our day of birth
The 'Joys of Heaven' - right where we are on EARTH! ! !
(John Knight - Colchester - December 2009)
poem by John Knight
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bluebell
A fine and subtle spirit dwells
In every little flower,
Each one its own sweet feeling breathes
With more or less of power.
There is a silent eloquence
In every wild bluebell
That fills my softened heart with bliss
That words could never tell.
Yet I recall not long ago
A bright and sunny day,
'Twas when I led a toilsome life
So many leagues away;
That day along a sunny road
All carelessly I strayed,
Between two banks where smiling flowers
Their varied hues displayed.
Before me rose a lofty hill,
Behind me lay the sea,
My heart was not so heavy then
As it was wont to be.
Less harassed than at other times
I saw the scene was fair,
And spoke and laughed to those around,
As if I knew no care.
But when I looked upon the bank
My wandering glances fell
Upon a little trembling flower,
A single sweet bluebell.
Whence came that rising in my throat,
That dimness in my eye?
Why did those burning drops distil -
Those bitter feelings rise?
O, that lone flower recalled to me
My happy childhood's hours
When bluebells seemed like fairy gifts
A prize among the flowers,
Those sunny days of merriment
When heart and soul were free,
And when I dwelt with kindred hearts
That loved and cared for me.
I had not then mid heartless crowds
To spend a thankless life
In seeking after others' weal
With anxious toil and strife.
'Sad wanderer, weep those blissful times
That never may return!'
The lovely floweret seemed to say,
And thus it made me mourn.
poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Twelfth Of Never
(1957) paul francis webster, jerry livingston
You ask me how much I need you
Must I explain
I need you oh my darling
Like roses need rain
You ask how long Ill love you
Ill tell you true
Until the twelfth of never
Ill still be loving you
Hold me close
Never let me go
Hold me close
Melt my heart like april snow
Ill love you til the bluebells
Forget to bloom
Ill love you til the clover
Has lost its perfume
And Ill love you til the poets
Run out of rhyme
Until the twelfth of never
And thats a long, long time
Hold me close
Never let me go
Hold me close
Melt my heart like april snow
Ill love you til the bluebells
Forget to bloom
Ill love you til the clover
Has lost its perfume
And Ill love you til the poets
Run out of rhyme
Until the twelfth of never
And thats a long, long time
Until the twelfth of never
And thats a long, long time
A long, long time
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Twelfth Of Never
(1957) Paul Francis Webster, Jerry Livingston
You ask me how much I need you
Must I explain
I need you oh my darling
Like roses need rain
You ask how long I'll love you
I'll tell you true
Until the Twelfth of Never
I'll still be loving you
Hold me close
Never let me go
Hold me close
Melt my heart like April snow
I'll love you 'til the bluebells
Forget to bloom
I'll love you 'til the clover
Has lost its perfume
And I'll love you 'til the poets
Run out of rhyme
Until the Twelfth of Never
And that's a long, long time
Hold me close
Never let me go
Hold me close
Melt my heart like April snow
I'll love you 'til the bluebells
Forget to bloom
I'll love you 'til the clover
Has lost its perfume
And I'll love you 'til the poets
Run out of rhyme
Until the Twelfth of Never
And that's a long, long time
Until the Twelfth of Never
And that's a long, long time
A long, long time
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Twelfth Of Never
(paul francis webster/jerry livingston)
You ask me how much I need you
Must I explain
I need you oh my darling
Like roses need rain
You ask how long Ill love you
Ill tell you true
Until the twelfth of never
Ill still be loving you
Hold me close
Never let me go
Hold me close
Melt my heart like april snow
Ill love you til the bluebells
Forget to bloom
Ill love you til the clover
Has lost its perfume
And Ill love you til the poets
Run out of rhyme
Until the twelfth of never
And thats a long, long time
Hold me close
Never let me go
Hold me close
Melt my heart like april snow
Ill love you til the bluebells
Forget to bloom
Ill love you til the clover
Has lost its perfume
And Ill love you til the poets
Run out of rhyme
Until the twelfth of never
And thats a long, long time
Until the twelfth of never
And thats a long, long time
A long, long time
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My morning began
Taking bluebells to Mother
Maybe the last time
However ~ the less I come
The closer our next meeting
tanka by Res John Burman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Windflowers
When I was little and good
I walked in the dappled wood
Where light white windflowers grew,
And hyacinths heavy and blue.
The windflowers fluttered light,
Like butterflies white and bright;
The bluebells tremulous stood
Deep in the heart of the wood.
I gathered the white and the blue,
The wild wet woodland through,
With hands too silly and small
To clasp and carry them all.
Some dropped from my hands and died
By the home-road's grassy side;
And those that my fond hands pressed
Died even before the rest.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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October in New Zealand
O JUNE has her diamonds, her diamonds of sheen,
Meet for a queen’s neck, if Death had e’er a queen!
June has her blue days, jewels of delight,
Set in the ivory of Alp-land white,—
But October, October’s the lady o’ the year!
O January’s garland is redder than the rose,
And the wine-red ruby of January glows
All the way to madness and half the way to sin,
When sleep is in the poppy and fire is in the whin!
But October, October’s the lady o’ the year!
October will ride in a mantle o’ the vair,
With the flower o’ the quince in her dew-wet hair;
October will ride to the gates of the day,
With the bluebells ringing on her maiden way;—
For October, October’s the lady o’ the year!
poem by Jessie Mackay
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