Oh I am but a simple leaf
withering within the gutter
one summer of bliss
now! Just an autumn flutter.
For some; destine to fall
upon stony ground, a part
of life’s infernal gyration.
Yet for those that fall
within your reach, to live
on within your soul!
While limbs that stretch
towards the solstice, create
vivacious veins as channels of hope,
a pledge of foliation continues
to endure what spring has
furnished; autumn expires.
Yes! If we can but learn
from nature’s complex simplicity,
that life be of a cycle
from the seed we are conceived,
then let spring be my beginning
winter my exultant eve!
Let our two cultures
merge as one, the
to become the sustenance;
our transfusion the
Let us breathe the
fragrance of born again;
let each slender limb,
stout body bear our
tenaciousness, each lyrical
leaf our life’s blood.
Let us mollycoddle each
precious tear that falls from a
angry sky; dance gracefully
upon the wind, embrace
on moonless nights, bathe
in summer madness.
Let us hear the bluebell call,
the daffodil pray, the apple
blossom bear witness; the
clamour of the field mouse
the pitapat of the butterfly
the silence of lovers in love.
Let us be sanctuary to the
symbolic songstress, scuttling
squirrel, vulgar urchin;
a fortress for the warrior
a haven for the pacifist
an inspiration for the poet!
The call of springtime
we will invoke,
we will gladly choke;
“This! Obliging old oak.”
Copyright Harry J Horsman 2000
The Happy Field and Spring Shower
Hand in hand, we fluttered like two butterflies
among the fragrant flowers of the field
and meandered, singing songs, along a stream.
No agendas to keep to; no schedules to curtail
the pure pleasure that we took
in consuming every lovely hour of our Saturday.
With our picnic lunch, we sat down on a blanket.
Later we lay looking up at clouds.
Transported to the wonderland of our imagination,
we named them fluffy mountain ranges,
bunnies, sheep, and Easter lily petals
until they morphed into lopsided bearded faces,
huge white polar bears and cotton-breathing dragons.
Unexpectedly, the clouds grew dark, and suddenly,
we saw and felt large raindrops splatter on our skin.
We fled our happy field, arriving home - two children,
wet and laughing, just as the spring shower let up.
How were we to know in the springtime of our lives
that the field and the rain from which we fled
I’d one day write about as metaphors for youth.
Written for the Spring Showers contest 3/30/13
There, just beyond the door yard, she wanders
and I, hiding behind the curtain, catch glimpses
before she disappears up the avenue
that winds through the apple orchard.
Each morning I watch for her as she walks aimlessly.
Sometimes she steps across her previous step and spins,
dragging a broken branch she found,
and with her eyes closed---smiles.
On occasion she willingly falls, lying there,
still smiling and staring dreamlike at the branches
now laden with white blossoms and the busy humming of bees.
I wish I could know her thoughts--
but then, I fear they might be of some other love
instead of the wonder of this perfect spring day,
or, maybe she dreams of that love that she hasn't yet found.
Perhaps tomorrow I'll stroll---and say "Hello"?
Those Were Golden Days of Splendor
Rushing clear water splattered over the rocks
melding into a huge spraying white foam
The sounds made sent heavenly tastes to my ears
the sight pierced my heart with love's stab
Stab that melds heart to a gentle Soul
a sweet pain born again and again so happily
Fast running stream in my mind's eye endures
stamps images with a clear splash of life
Just a swift stream from my youthful forays
days spent exploring Nature, the world anew
Memories time stamped , precious cargo aboard
faces of family waiting home for my return
Rushing water, a life in a bubbling brook
A memory, a love , a mental picture I took!
Robert J. Lindley, 08-26-2014
note: Looking back at the greatest time of my life.
I was ten years old, rambling the fields and woods
like a roaming gypsy on the prowl. My father was still alive,
my mother young and in good health and best of all my
baby brother was two years old, destined to live 12 more years.
A happy family of 11 children and two parents. Life was good!
Weren't we partners in everything?
Didn't we talk, study and sing?
Weren't we innocent?
Weren't we kids?
Why aren't we so anymore?
Why each has a life?
Why each has a door?
Weren't we there together?
Weren't we enjoying spring and summer?
Why aren't we so today?
Why can't we have fun and play?
Why can't we share our talks and say?
Didn't you promise me to be my soul?
Didn't I feel shocked and suddenly fall?
Don't you remember... anything at all?
We aren't partners...
We aren't... at all!
So sweet a kiss
The murmuring tunes of Spring
In the fragrant breath of night
Hums within my slumbering ears.
Like the whispering trees dancing
In the softest dews descending
From the vapours of the skies
When the soothing night
Was young with the glimmering moon of May.
The poor labouring clouds expanded wide
In the muted distance ripe with coldness
While the storming of the Eastern wind
Drifted through the blossoming fields
Graced by the sultry springs in the lulling hours.
I pulled the weary drapes
When the night grew old with silence
From a crystal window
Mirrored against the dumb fields
Black with the night.
A soft mist exudes the dead wind
Curled around the nodding branches.
Then I stealed away to the vacant spot
Where a crackling fire
Invaded the mournful breath of silence.
Lipsing sounds intrudes the night
Upon the quiet slopes and verdant span
Where the blossoms gently bow
Kissing soft the silver spray
Fluttering in the starry distance.
There sauntered I
Under the gladsome sky
To pluck a cherry from its stem
Outstretched beneath the sobbing moon
That in the dawning misty hours
That silver orb of light expires
When the sun had greet the day
With a golden sigh!
April's last Flowers
I was watching carefully
The last stems
Of April's Red flowers
Which were spreading their beauty and smile
Unconcerned with the destiny
That after April
There would be almost no such flowers
Of red Lily
For another one year.01
The flowers were smiling
As if, it makes no difference to them
Whether, they would be here or not
When the hot winds of summer
Would try to wither and make dull
The beauty and grace
Of every human face
As often they succeed in withering
The beauty of flowers and life
That exits and breath
Without the love drops of life giving water.02
The last flowers of April
Were also unconcerned
That they would shrink and would get dried
By the heat and dust of summer
In the days to come
When the scorching Sun would
Burn the Earth, Sea and Water
To create the wonders of rains
For thirty lands and sky of the earth.03
What a great way to live life
In these smiling last flowers of April
Alas! If only humans can understand
How to live a life with the pleasure of love
And get lost forever
Without the worries of tomorrows.04
The flowers were enjoying
Every moment of their existence
With the butterflies and black bees
Which were hovering on them
Since day one
And were trying to please and praise them
To win their hearts
Like men praise and please the women
When they want to attract and win their heart. 05
The hovering butterflies and bees too
Were trying to show their love
To all the beautiful flowers of April
Before the alluring beauty of these flowers
So that these alluring flowers
May allow them to come close and kiss them
In the flowering season of spring.06
Every time these symbols of love
The black bees, butterflies and
Even the little black tiny bird
Were coming close
To kiss and to touch the petals of flowers
They were charging with a new energy
After getting the love drops
From their beloved red flowers
And they were flying
More and more high in the sky
Perhaps to touch the those lofty heights
Which can only be seen
When nectar like love drops
Creates its magic on these searching lips
Filling it with the energy of love
Which get reflected in every new flight
Of these beautiful creatures
When they fly from one flower to another. 07
And I was watching silently
With a Camera in my hand
The last of these April flowers
To catch the glimpse of
Any of these memorable moments.08
Their silent game of nectar and pleasure hunt
Continued in that bright sunlight
As more and more new creatures
Were coming to please and to win their beloved
Standing there with its ravishing beauty
So that, they may welcome them
With a smile and beauty
And may allow them to taste
The nectar of these red beauty and love
Which starts pouring it's magic
With the approach of April
In spring every year. 09
Ravindra K Kapoor
Kanpur India 2nd May
I feel sad to day
I feel sad in heart to day, to see what is happening all around me
The season of spring is singing the tune of autumn
The Koyals* and nightingales have left without singing,
This beautiful garden and the trees,
Before the spring would have bloom them to sing,
In full throated ease and beauty
They have left the nest and the tree and even the Garden
To see all this
I am very sad to day, sad, very sad in heart
Adieu my friends, you are the birds, who could have sung,
Many more songs and would have given many more dreams,
To those who are still in the garden, in the hope of a Koyal’s melody
But these are the dreams for awaken eyes
And not for those who are sleeping
As day dreams can be put to shape, but the dreams of sleeping eyes
Very rarely get a shape and are often get lost in sleep alone
I feel very sad,
To realize and to see things as they getting all around me
Kanpur India 31 01 2010
*Koyal . A melody singing bird of India (like the Nightingale of John Keats)
Koyal mainly sings in the season of spring.
Hark! Don’t forsake me.
Search for me.
Look down low, in the underbrush.
I will be good for you.
Though I’ve been given just a little of our endless world,
I have the glowing fire of raging cordilleras,
The blazing sunsets of Equatorial skies,
The lustrous skin of succulent citrus.
I am orange truth.
Winter days so cold and dreary
Cause the soul to grow weak and weary
Ice has covered all the trees
It seems we are in a deep freeze
But Spring is coming to the rescue
Bringing hope and life anew
Blossoms will soon cover the trees
In will come the tropic breeze
Then will come the butterflies
Fluttering as they beautify
Followed by the bumblebees
As birds sing happily in the trees
Winter soon will have to go
As Spring comes in with gentle kiss
Proclaiming to the cold and snow
That winter thusly is dismissed
1 - 20- 2013