In winter’s white, as angels cry
for early spring to warm the wind,
to bring to life with gentle sigh,
in love, the bitter frost has thinned.
For early spring to warm the wind,
at Valentine’s romantic calls,
in love, the bitter frost has thinned,
where dancers twirl amid stone walls.
At Valentine’s romantic calls,
rebirth of nature’s light divine,
where dancers twirl amid stone walls,
and blossoms pastel shades recline.
Rebirth of nature’s light divine,
when day equals the hours of night,
and blossoms pastel shades recline,
to hail the queen of May in light.
When day equals the hours of night,
a summer’s sun will come to play,
to hail the queen of May in light,
we chant and sing along the way.
A summer’s sun will come to play,
so life can grow as gods decreed,
we chant and sing along the way,
with warmth and light our hunger feed.
So life can grow as gods decreed,
the rays of sun on seeds we’ve sown,
with warmth and light our hunger feed,
the wealth of harvest is our own.
The rays of sun on seeds we’ve sown,
in autumn breeze that chills the heat,
the wealth of harvest is our own,
as gold and red belies our feet.
In autumn breeze that chills the heat,
a year that ends with blessed Samhain,
as gold and red belies our feet,
the call of Ancient’s name to reign.
A year that ends with blessed Samhain,
to bring to life with gentle sigh,
the call of Ancient’s name to reign,
in winter’s white, as angels cry.
The days are warming, the wheat is growing,
Cold winds soon away from us flowing.
The buds are popping all over the trees,
and soon I'm sure will come the bees.
This is my favorite time of year,
for springs warm days are very near.
It's still a little early I know it's true,
But this feeling's so very much like the flu.
I am longing to dig and plant the ground,
But wait I will, until spring comes round!
For many times this fever I've faced
and to the garden shops I race...
Happily planting and feeling so good,
With the next week in snow I stood.
Lessons sometimes are hard to learn,
I think this time I'll wait my turn.
Its beautiful flowers that I want to see,
So hurry up Spring for I have SEEDS!
Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat!
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?
Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...
After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!
My theme is: Happiness In Childhood
I do not know?
My Wishes are Simple
My wishes are simple,
my desires few,
to gaze upon an ocean,
and marvel at a solitary drop of dew.
My wishes are simple,
my dreams not too grand,
to feel the waves teasing my tired feet,
with no footprints left in the cool, wet sand.
My wishes are simple,
my thoughts serenely gentle, calm,
my heart resting beneath a swaying palm,
healing my being, caressed by nature's soothing balm.
She slips from the sleeping ice.
Green, fresh, free to flow
through the great fjord.
Past the blue mountains.
She glides smoothly
over the rocks with glee,
covering them with her cool touch.
Tall evergreens cheer her on.
Waving as she courses down her chosen path,
All the while never tiring!
Surging forward to join the others like her.
This vast journey ,
will not end till she reaches
The Great Shores.
Her journey is joyful.
Touching all on her banks,
leaving the gift of life in her wake.
Atop the seas where mists descend and waves high meet
the flare of stars, that draw details where verses hang
and send enounced spring's sightly messages to greet
the Oxford skies of notte blue and eyes unsung,
splendiferous the ocean moons illuminate
above the passages of ships that mettlesome
advance beyond the skylines and scopes equate
multi-dimensional expand with diesels' thrum.
The nautilus become gray shades - in haze to wave
and colorful their messages on winds shall die
it is their voice in nimbus gray to fade and crave
the dancing layers of cold rains and winds' war cry.
Above the fields and seaward trips of compassed routes
on skyway paths the thoughts ascend and Oxford blues. .
© 05-10-2013, G. V., All Rights Reserved
(A hexameter sonnet)
It’s a day in April
having a sail on Lake Windermere
lovely views all around
feeling at peace and no fear
The trees and the hills
Look so very green
Reminding me it is spring
With all it’s splendour so clean
Leaving now in the afternoon
to sail back to Ambleside
the sun is out, thankfully
feeling it’s warmth like a newly wed bride
Such a relaxing day
such a joy to behold
such a pleasurable time
a moment forever told
Early Christmas morning I glanced outside,
and no snow was falling, and suddenly a vision of a luminous light
with a trembling child appeared in sight...
and could this have been the Infant of prophecy and might?
And He softly said with the sweetest and kindest voice,
"I bring you no snow but endless love...the warmest flame
that makes every forsaken and unhappy heart rejoice;
it's a gift so gladly given to all the believers of this blessed age."
Struck by that splendid appearance, unafraid,
I ran to thank him for those wonderful words,;
and not having seen any gift under the decorated spruce,
I seemed puzzled, but not fearful or nearly surprised.
There it stood, my gift from that generous child with golden, curly hair:
a purple spring crocus never seen before, an Alpine flower
which grows in early April in every emerald meadow...
I leaned forward with much gentleness and plucked it from the cold snow.
When I stood up, he was gone and not a trace of him could be found,
and who was that cherub without wings...to leave that flower in the bitter cold?
Wasn't He the Christ Child who was born in a Bethlehem's abandoned stable?
And wasn't hope the meaning of the purple spring crocus so beautiful?
The grasses are green...
and sky is so blue...
true spring can be seen...
in oh! what a view!
The beautiful flowers...
of colors enthrall...
share springtime showers..
from heavens fall..
The trees bear foliage...
the songbirds appear...
singing such knowledge...
of springtime cheer!
The bees come alive...
as flowers hold their heed...
then back to the hive...
with harvested need...
Good weather for days...
of sunshine perchance...
Unless raininess plays..
in vegetative advance...
Such flourishing nature..
lends spring fully cast...
thus nurtures such stature...
for summer at last.
The prickly pear cactus is frozen
And the plant has toppled over
As the temperature rises, clouds cover
And the plant thaws will it spring approval
In the spring will it be a trooper
With the instinct for survival all over
(This was the morning that Cody had phone calls at three AM and he didn't wake up to
answer them and I finally just got up. No excuse. I should have checked my work. Sara)