Embracing the Roses
Crisp blue sky
Parks
The night
Their love
Rustled
In dewy
Greening gardens
…unobserved
(Mountaintop Gardens, Tennessee
July 27,2006)
poem by Debora Short
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Love Scales Whistling
Tea kettle laugh-en
Hot Water chort-ling
Bubb-ling Boil-ing joy
Occupational
Love scales whistling
Serving savor-ed smiles
To their garden faces
(Mountaintop Gardens, Tennessee
~August 9,2006)
poem by Debora Short
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Delicious Wilds...
She's the concrete,
flowers, wind and sky, too!
The strong child
among
the cedars and sun
delicious wilds...
March 29,2006
~Mountaintop Cottage, Tennessee
poem by Debora Short
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The Watering Can...
And, what of those
Petunias gracing
Your new deck
Would they not die
If your hand
Did not carry
His water to
Feed their beauty
(Mountaintop Cottage, Tennessee
August 3,2006)
poem by Debora Short
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The Watering Can
And, what of those
Petunias gracing
Your new deck
Would they not die
If your hand
Did not carry
His water to
Feed their beauty
(Mountaintop Cottage, Tennessee
August 3,2006)
poem by Debora Short
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Quit My Gardens, O Crows!
quit my gardens, o crows!
&
o noisy quarrelsome crows!
quit my gardens-
o birds of all feathers!
of different melodies!
of lonely bushes and thickets!
of far-away lands!
come here! visit me!
grace my gardens and groves!
nay, all yours, your heavens!
no, ours!
sing singly; sing in chorus!
melt in sorrowful strains;
and in joyous tunes!
but o hoarse-throated crows!
vacate my gardens
and retreat to the forest!
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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The First Of September
The morning it is breaking cloudy and gray
It does seem another cool late Winter's day
But the birds in the Parkland they whistle and sing
Believe it or not 'tis the first day of Spring
The first day of September the day of the year
When to Australia in the Southern Hemisphere
The Spring she arrives for her three months stay
With much warmer weather just a few weeks away
The Spring has arrived with her wildflowers and green
And her beauty in gardens and parks to be seen
Spring she arrives and she brings with her new life
And in parks and gardens Nature's beauty is rife
For the first day of September a cool chill in the breeze
But the birds chirp and whistle on the bushes and trees.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Year in Haiku
JANUARY
Delightful display
Of snowdrops bowing white heads
To the sun’s glory.
FEBRUARY
Green buds now appear
Indicating spring will soon
Energise us all.
MARCH
Lambs gambol in fields
Frisky with the joys of life
Bleating happily.
APRIL
Bluebells standing proud
Beneath trees now sparsely dressed
With freshest green leaves.
MAY
Much awaited sound
Echoes through forest and copse -
Cuckoo’s arrival.
JUNE
Parks and gardens burst
With sounds and vibrant colours
Perfect harmony.
JULY
Beaches become full
Of families having fun
In sand and big waves.
AUGUST
Ripe golden harvest
Burning sun in azure skies
Labours rewarded.
SEPTEMBER
Swallows congregate
On telephone wires ready
To migrate down south.
OCTOBER
Red and gold leaves fall,
Crunchy as cornflakes beneath
Feet on a crisp morn.
NOVEMBER
Frosty webs sparkle
In the early morning sun
Brightly bejewelled.
DECEMBER
First few flakes of snow
Dust gardens like icing on
A chocolate cake.
poem by Paul Holmes
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Lost Horizons
The last horizons I can see are filled with bars and factories
And in them all we fight to stay awake...
Drink enough of anything to make this world look new again
Drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves
She had nothing left to say so she said she loved me
I stood there grateful for the lie...
Drink enough of anything to make this girl look new again
Drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves
Turn summer trees to bones and ice
Turn insect songs against the night
With words we build and words we break
Im drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves...
Drink enough of anything to make myself look new again
Drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves
song performed by by Gin Blossoms
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House Sparrows
The house sparrows in Spring under house eaves build their nests of hay
And renowned for their chirping they chirp all the day
In cypress and hedges from predators they hide
Familiar in gardens they are known Worldwide.
Brought to this Land by people from Lands far away
Around human dwellings they are happy to stay
Of shyness and lack of self confidence house sparrows are free
And on their worth or lack of worth some choose to disagree.
Originally from Africa of the weaver family
In gardens and Parklands them one often see
Familiar in their feathers of light gray and brown
They search for crumbs under the park benches in the parks of the Town.
The common house sparrows are birds everyone know
Familiar to gardens and to the hedgerow
Classified as songbirds though they don't have a song
They are famed as chirpers they chirp all day long.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Children of Uganda - repost
Agony Clad
In black wreaths
Little soldiers…once
Tiny bright-eyed legacies
Now, torn, mud-covered
And cold
Their silent tears
Of
Hope cruelly stolen
(Mountaintop Cottage, Tennessee
June 26,2006)
poem by Debora Short
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Laburnums
OVER old walls the Laburnums
hang cones of fire;
Laburnums that grow out of old
mould in old gardens:
Old maids and old men who have savings or pensions have
Shuttered themselves in the pales of old gardens.
The gardens grow wild; out of their mould the Laburnums
Draw cones of fire.
And we, who've no lindens, no palms, no cedars of Lebanon,
Rejoice you have gardens with mould, old men and old maids:
The bare and the dusty streets have now the Laburnums,
Have now cones of fire!
poem by Padraic Colum
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Green Fingers
People have gardens, both large and small,
Whilst flat dwellers have no garden at all.
Some people love to surround their homes
With comical-looking, little garden gnomes.
A few gardens boast fantastic water-features,
Or a large array of stone, woodland creatures.
To make their garden nice, some folk really do try,
Whilst other gardens really are a sight for sore eyes.
Some folk really wish their garden was just not there,
And, about them, they, very obviously, just do not care.
Without a garden, some people would feel really lost,
And they keep them looking nice, whatever the cost.
Some people are blessed: they have green fingers,
And, in their gardens, for hours, they love to linger.
When some people pull on their gardening gloves,
They tend their gardens with such heartfelt love.
People love to spend their time sowing seeds,
Trimming their hedges, and pulling up weeds.
Some tend flower beds, upon bended knee.
Some grow delicious fruit upon their trees.
The gardener's nightmare is the garden pest:
To eradicate them all, they do their best.
Some people love to escape to their sheds,
Where they can think, and clear their heads.
In their gardens, people love to spend time,
But they like it best, when the weather is fine.
When all of their gardening chores are done,
Some people love to sit and relax in the sun.
Time spent in the garden, always really flies;
The benefits of gardening cannot be denied.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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These gardens may be called the gardens of the respectable working classes.
quote by Robert Fortune
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spring's Best of Show
The set is ready and everything is fine
the weather is perfect and so divine
The media is waiting holding their breath
The flowers of spring will show their best
It's spring time and the colors stands out from all the rest
Mothers are walking their strollers in the parks
From mouths of mothers and babes alike
There comes a chorus of oohs and aahs
The sunlight glows and flowers will grow
Spring time is showing its best of show
The colors are everywhere standing out
Beauty in nature there is not doubts
Children are playing and singing songs
The family picnic is coming on real strong
The trees are greening and the plants are growing tall
Soon more will add to this bountiful affair
Summer this year will be such a wonderful time
Baseball and games to the children's delight
With the dance of colors to start off the show
Spring is here and see all the colors so dear
So come on out to the gardens and parks and cheer! ! !
poem by Michael Brock
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I Was At Hastings Gardens And I Saw
I was at Hastings Gardens and I saw
High, high above and stretching through the stars
The giant Night crawling inexorably
The sea ebbed and flowed all quietly
While giant Night crawled inexorably
Across the marbled blue of heaven’s dome.
I was at Hastings Gardens and I saw
Nigh, nigh around, around me turn and churn
A mist full-hovering around and like a net
Incorporating all it met: grey like a phantom
Stood the Night
Like a grey thief in phantom’s garbs full dressed.
I was at Hastings Gardens and I saw
A sickle huge scar heaven’s face
And spreading horror like a scimitar
Amidst the nebulae amidst the stars
And of a sudden me thought that I heard
A cry pervasive high across the skies
Lo cometh Night make way, make way
I looked in motion saw the sickle huge
Like clouds spreading over heaven’s whole
Is it the Night? Is it The Night?
Is Night a moving sickle in heaven’s face?
No reply to me came; and from the ravelin
Two old oaks whispering in the night I heard.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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Discern....
words are grasses
they cover the dead
and make us a green patch of plains
and rise up
for hills dressed for a beautiful gaze
of the sun
discern then
for i make a lot of grass gardens
underneath
you keep on thinking what i must have buried
guessing
about dead frogs and chickens and even
bodies of lovers
perhaps (but this is all murderous
and too harsh
for me, for i am as you know
a man of peace
and the law)
i have lots of grass gardens and discern from them
the women that stand there
and all those who love me from the beginning of
my poem
and the end of those plots and stories
that i have long told you
i am not that wicked and witches hate me
for all these
i have only love to offer
and they all love me in return without even
those gardens of grass
those words that
conceal
those that you have not understood and
cannot kill
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hope Gardens Every Whisper
Hope gardens every whisper
Ever thought thoughtful flowers
A brocade of desire
Like dew-fall they are there to wander
The landscape of your dreams
To filter down and replenish
Every fallen leaf thereafter
Every jasmine is a star-gazer
White and pure in the now and hereafter
Hope gardens eternal
Just listen to the children's laughter
Their sudden mist of tears may fall
But search what happens after
Their limbs move gentler than the rain
When they in your arms are renewed
With your love again
Hope gardens every whisper
To a rainbows end we all must surrender
Pliant with; root in the earth, seeking heaven.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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My Sweet Violets
They are coming up in my gardens
Why, just like wild flowers they grow
A delicious early spring splash of color
That’s why I really love them so
They are pale as a spring violet can be
A lavender color they are
Tiny with a fragrance so special
The best early flower by far
They always infuse with my landscape
I love the perfect way that they blend
With other flowers like blue Forget-me-not’s
And when finished tiny seeds they send
I do so enjoy my flowers in spring
I even pick them for a wonderful bouquet
I wish you could visit my gardens as well
I’d serve you sweet tea without any delay!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Plein Air Painting
Red
Emotionally tense
Evoking thoughts
Of sexy red lips
And swaying hips
Strolling through
Red-light districts
Or
That red devil
Lighting fiery matches
Boiling blood pressures
Blue
Color of sky and sea
Symbol of depth, stability,
Loyalty, trust,
Faith, heart and heaven
Red and blue
When swirled
Together with
My sabled brush
Produce noble shades of purple
Threaded with spirituality,
Wisdom, creativity and mystery
And me the painter of
His Mountains majesty
Sitting on top this
Heavenly hill
Before my blank canvas
Trying hard to remember
To paint shadows with
The color
Purple instead of
That dark
Tube of my
Paines’ grey
(The Mountaintop, Tennessee
August 3,2006)
poem by Debora Short
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Spaces
Space
No center, no above, no below
Ceaselessly devouring and engendering itself
Whirlpool space
And drop into height
Spaces
Clarities steeply cut
Suspended
By the night's flank
Black gardens of rock crystal
Flowering on a rod of smoke
White gardens exploding in the air
Space
One space opening up
Corolla
And dissolving
Space in space
All is nowhere
Place of impalpable nuptials
poem by Octavio Paz
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