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.
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
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!
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.
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.
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)
Sometimes we see our whole life
in a desert photograph all purple
tinted and unshaded from the scorching
sun. There is no water in those dry
hills to quench a thirst unsatisfied.
Yet we wander in futility searching for
a spring which runs there with cooling
water. We could bath in it and pipe it
down to water a garden of cantelopes
and grapes. Water is the lifeblood of
the land, and desert is the antithesis
of the sea. No prudent man would swallow
the briney sea. He would float on
it, buoyed up by hopes of perfection
which grasping he cannot reach. The
ship of body sails fervently on that sea
and seeks a port to dock. Finding only
a calm harbor on a desert island the sailor
struggles ashore and plants his flag of
Buddhist prayers. The prayers fly to
higher skies and reach the ears of his
dharma. His path is more golden than
he knew when he set sail that hopeful
morning. All friends were at the dock
waving then. He knew he would never
return the same. Now, in looking back
I walked where the words led me, but I
did not board that ship. I stumbled and
I lurched but yet I fell in a forward
motion. A canteen was on my hip and
filled with coolness from the spring-hill
in the desert where only cactus blooms
and lizards hide from the midday sun,
waiting for the season of rain. Reaching
beach, I waded out into the salty sea.
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 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)
Scarlet sage' path...
feet rambling about the hill
of a quite woodland
with Carolina willows
and southern magnolias.
Lanky short-leaf pines
shade the milk-pea verdant shrubs;
petrels watch the swift,
mottled squirrels climb black oaks
while a cavalcade stirs them.
Hyacinths in bloom
have a stronger, sweeter scent
than the white jasmines...
is fragrance a flower's gift
to all lovers strolling by?
Daffodils bunch, spring has sprung,
Sun raises higher to waken sleepy heads;
No time for hibernation now as spring fever hits, -
create time to get together; go fly a kite,
or sit and chill, make daisy chains.
Let the sunshine bring warm sunny days.
In meadows baby lambs take their first steps;
whilst mad March hare hops and plays
with baby bunnies dotting the green fields
of the countryside.
A season where everything wants to bloom,
time to trim those lawns and weed again;
and all just in time before spring rains
will once more aid those thirsty
flowers and bulbs as they grow.
For it is now that gorgeous butterflies
flutter gracefully by giving nature a helping hand;
pollinating the kingdom while watching little chicks -
crack open their Easter eggs, just in time
to join in the madness of this happy holiday season.
I do not know?
As the Robins dart across the grass
Ignoring the clouds of gray
Cold breeze and cold dry air
Every so often they bob their heads
Eating a bug or seed something to me unseen
The Redbuds that in the wild do grow
Begin to show their true colors
Along the roads as about our lives we go
Awaking soon to different shades of green
They'll fill the artist's canvas of woods
Each tree shows its beautiful or knarled
Structure that's not now hidden by leaf or flower
Some being stately and others
Seem to be dower some look as
Though being crownded or shaped
By ice storm or children playing on tender limbs
Soon the full canvas will be painted
With all the colors of spring bringing
To mind love and romance of the springtime
A time of sunny days with just enough warmth
Color, aroma, and scent of spring flowers
To fill all hearts with those desires..amore
I do not know?
Magic is working,
love is forming,
flowers are growing.
They stick together as one.
Love is soft as flower petals,
love is good and strong,
love is happniess for all.
Love means more than you together.
We share thy love,
as spring has formed.
Spring is magic,
an spring is more.