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!
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
Standing out in a field alone, a little white flower named Daisy longed for someone to share her world.
One day a blue flower named Bachelor Button entered her world they became friends.
She knew by his name that he was not the propagating kind, but that didn’t stop their relationship she called him BB short for best bud.
The seasons of Spring & Summer they enjoyed the sun, laughed in the rain and held on fast in the Fall.
Winter came it was long and hard they were both covered in a blanket of snow, not knowing whether they would ever see each other again or even survive .The snow fell then came the ice, this went on for months.
The Sun shone brightly the first day of spring. A few days later warmth of the sun melted the snow, Daisy popped up .
I’ve been waiting days for you to come out, said BB, they both chanted hooray!
The snow was completely gone in a few days, the birds started building their nests , bugs were crawling around ,butterflies began to visit the two flowers. I wish there were more of us Daisy said, to BB.
They laughed as the sun and wind blew through their leaves. Then it started the sun and rain took turns until one morning the air & field was filled with the smell of flowers.
Daisy and BB looked at each other and asked what kind of flowers are these ? they’re not white like daisies they’re not blue like bachelor buttons. They did not know the birds and bugs carried the seeds from the two of them and the caterpillars buried them under the soil.
The seeds from the new flowers were then carried by the winds many miles away, they landed in fertilized gardens and flourished, although they faced danger everyday.
as they were called WEEDS ..
The Gardener pulls weeds out of the garden so they don’t choke the flowers, which cost a lot of money and require lots of maintenance.
However there was a Gardener who saw her friends spending hours weeding their garden , that they didn’t have enough time to admire and enjoy the labors of their love
So she set out to give a home to all the weeds ,she provided a place where they could fit in and multiply, they required no maintenance, rain provides their water .
The best part of all is their beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Ask my granddaughter-- What are those flowers in the garden ?
She will answer "WILDFLOWERS " their parents were Daisy and BB
Meeting with a Tiger snake
The sky above is sheer perfection
The deepest shade of blue
The big gold sun, it shines on down
And lights on drops of dew
To make them shine like pretty gems
Upon the soft green leaves
Of trees reflected in the lake
Such a poem this morning weaves.
A tiger snake comes swimming by
He swims amidst some gulls
In his special wiggly way
It’s a blessing to my soul
To see these creatures swim together
No danger written there
He’s at peace with all that live
It seems he has no care.
He swims up to the leafy shore
Then hides behind a tree
He knows I’m there yet, doesn’t care
He has no fear of me
But when I try to get up closer
The snake, he flares his head
So I must heed this danger sign
Or soon I could be dead.
Then snake, he moves off through the bush
And goes upon his way
He’ll find some other place to lie
On this lovely summer’s day
The day is coming soon enough
[The autumn is quite near]
When this snake will sleep in peace
Until the spring is here.
4 March 2014 @ 1145hrs
Written August 21, 2013
There's a girl in the garden
She's messing with your rose bed
Plucking weeds out from your head
And watering the seeds in your bed
But where will she wander
When the roses are dead
Will she come back for more
When they turn back to red
She can run all alone
Write this story in stone
On concrete slabs
Of skin and bone
two hits and i’m hanging off cliffs, listening to water
watching moss fall like snowflakes.
nothing holding my heels down but gravity, irrelevant to me.
the little girl exploring the ocean floor, the caves that once held entrancing treasures.
even tactile pain drives me into a gust of euphoria.
my heart beats (slower than it should), but the trees don’t mind.
the four shades of green blend to create a forest-
with each exhale, branches move in tandem.
and a salty tear falls from my eye,
reminiscent of what once was here.
Spring has sprung again --
sunshine, flowers, waterfalls:
God’s gifts to mankind!
I remember the cabin by the lake in the wood
and Grandma giving us buckets, telling us we should
walk up the creek to get some water from the stream.
Remembering it now is almost like a dream.
No electricity, no plumbing, no water at hand
but we thought it the prettiest place in the land.
In spring we got water not far from the door.
As summer progressed we had to walk a little more.
By August the spring barely flowed at all
so we'd follow the stream, though we were quite small.
Alone in the woods with a bucket each,
following that creek 'til a pool we'd reach.
Filling the buckets, then back down the hill.
This was our chore, I remember it still.
We'd pick wild flowers and try to catch frogs,
taking too long as we walked along logs.
Every morning two buckets of water we brought.
These were for drinking, lake water was not.
Lake water was boiled and used for cleaning up.
The only one who drank it was the cocker spaniel pup.
The stream was the run-off from melted snow.
Down the mountain it ran, to the lake below.
Fast and furious , the winter through
but gentle and quiet by summer it grew.
The cabins at the lake are updated now
with electricity and plumbing but I remember how
two eight year old girls went for water each day.
Their chore done before they headed off to play.
for Constance's 'Write Me a rippling Stream'
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.
Dancing silver mists
Drape like curtains over stone
Proclaiming the Spring
I do not know?
Fallen snow will remind of me/ it is snowing ...
Slowly as in the dream/
Boy word-beads/ with signs on his spine/
He kisses fine/
Your eyelids /
And it snows ... It snows /so slow/
It does/ and you're thinking of me/
'Coz it's warm/ it's better to stay in warmth/
Waiting for summer dim/
It is snowing/ slowly like in the dream/
Flakes/ go round/ playing the music theme/
You've been looking for rescue/
You searched in wine/
But it's in me/
all the rescues are mine/
It is snowing/ the snow is fluffy and white/
If you see darkness/ I'm deaf and blind/
there's the cast of time/ on the arm/
But I discern the light/
Dreams/ upon your eyelids tips/
Prepare you for winter drowse/
And it snows/
Fallen snow/ will remind of spring /
it will crumble and crackle in vain/
It will snow / fluffy /white/ and slow/
And you'll become whole/
The Princess and the Sacred Spring
A spring beside the Castle of a kindly King,
Is blessed and used to heal the sick, weak, and distressed.
His sweet daughter ministers this miracle retreat,
And light from beacon tower leads them to the site…
The old, and young, school children, babies join the fold.
She implores the strength from this holy spring and pours
The source that feeds her Princess power as the force
For healing, not through intelligence, but deep feeling
Of glow within…her shining gem from sacred flow.
February 3, 2015
Contest: Plucky Two By Nine
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
2nd and 9th words of each line must rhyme
poem must include these words:
king, blessed, retreat, light, school,
strength, princess, intelligence, gem
first place white ribbon
Down by the spring's watery edge
I soak my feet to cool them from
the long, day's heavy dread.
The shade of the pine tree's tops
give notice to the cooler, filled with bright
colored pops. I soak up the warm Summer
breeze, as I watch the yellow daisy's
busy with the bumble bees.
Friends are laughing and children
at play with family and friends.
This has become a place of comfort for me,
when the day has come, almost it's end.
I do not know?
Those Distant African Nights...
The shadows swayed in your candlelit room,
a cool breeze teasing your bare back,
streaks of lightning forked in the Johannesburg night,
as my hands stroked your hair,
kissing your soft mouth,
ever so tight.
You whispered that you loved me,
and I kept silent,
the rain fell,
the breeze teased your naked back,
you whispered that you loved me,
as my lips found yours,
the rain washed over our tender nights,
lightning and candlelight,
etching poems on your burnished skin,
a fear gnawed at me,
We parted ways,
and you could never forgive me, you said,
now, after numberless thunderstorms,
the rain that falls,
echo the countless tears that I have shed.
You are long gone,
happy, I pray,
yet the memories persist,
those precious moments shall never,
like the Jo'burg rains,
and I wish you well,
for loving me as you did,
for it was I who was not worthy,
and it is I who is not worthy,
You were always true,
it was I who always,
to give myself,
completely to you.
With each stone,
A certain size,
A distinct color,
Water flows gracefully
Over each backbone of the brook.
Along the brook,
The water is pristine,
Yet calm and quiet,
Rolling over stones
And pebbles, the water streams into
A natural spring.
The spring dwells
Offering life after passing.
Bright blue skies on a spring day
Fulfills my horizon
Blue birds and robins pass me by
Mountain, trees, and animals
Priase God Abroad
The frsh air bring forth calmness
A quiet serene a waits my soul
Red orange and violets
Represents God's glory
Flowers slowly rise with the sun
And water crickets sings songs of glory
Fresh water arises with the scent
Of of sweet savory of God's spices
Beach rolls in the lazy tide
I sit back and enjoy it all
The art of spring is glorification
Of all tings God created
He's the world famous artist
squishy sodden miles
Spring waters my feet
Rhythm created on water tends to kill
Images of trees and sky reflected in lake
Still water but, not any more still
At least not dry or frozen and opaque
Creating a wonderful picnic spot
Inviting place for geese to immigrate
Time to make trips and enjoy a lot
Deer will stay out long to graze
For next few months of spring and summer
Artists will come with canvas and brushes
Boating or may be fishing can occur
Trees will wear colourful dresses.
Sky will finally get rid of grey cover
The vision can roam clearly and further
Fog will entirely vanish from atmosphere
Season to enjoy the beautiful youth of nature
Vibrant colours of spring will be hidden
They will not be so in summer and fall
Leaves will turn first green then golden
And will not be in winter at all.
I do not know?
A path leads,
to where wild grass grows,
sashaying in the summer breeze.
Along the path,
lightness settles within,
feeling the grass,
swaying to the lilting bird-song,
in a dance of intimate abandon,
brushing the remnants of pain away.
Melodies float across fields of green,
delicately caressing my heart,
teasing emptiness to flee,
comforting the mind,
to silently be.
savouring the peace,
a momentary respite,
from the burdens of the now,
all is quiet,
a stillness cradling fractured emotions,
the grass in the fields sway,
nudging dimming light to take leave,
of the day
Moments to Reflect
Seed of Birth
After a summer shower I watch the wonders unfold Gods truth is being shown. His love for all shall be known to all who have eyes that can see. The miracle of life that is a delight to behold can be seen in a drop of rain on the end of a leaf. Sparkling like a diamond in the light, more precious than gold, a secret is told. The water of life, without it we cannot go on the earth would be has dry has a bone. A desert: a waste land as hot as Hades and not fit to be called home. The water of life He is known.
The air so sweet and clean the breath of life He has been called. A blessing from the father it is a Gift given to us all. When the air can been seen it is unclean and in this state I call it satans breathe, oh so foul and within it only death can be found.
Flower and trees, grass that is so green that there is not any artist in the world that could paint a more beautiful scene. Concrete streets and black top parking lots; progress is what it is called…maybe not. An eyesore, mans’ master piece his legacy, beauty it’s not.
Like a spring rain or after a summer shower; new life does salvation brings. Like the morning dew shining like tiny jewels, in the sunshine they do glow. Flowers blooming and life a renewing, with Jesus this is how salvation goes.
Rain can be seen as the world being baptized and cleansed, purifying it of mankind sins. This is a fresh beginning but it not at its end it only truth starts when you ask Jesus to come in.
After a gentle rain shower our God reminds humanity of His power and His promise: rainbow in the sky a wonderful, magical miracle, truly a delightful sight. His signature written in the sky, proof that He tells no lies; never again with water will He end the world that has bought to Him so much pain. His tears of sadness, never again will the world end with rain.
The evil one try his best with his temptation and his tests to cause us to die and never to rise; humanity he do hate want to take all with him into that fiery lake. These are the tools of his trade war and strife adding in a touch of worldly lust doing his best to kill our trust in the Lord who has given us so much. The spiritual war is what we are in do not fall for satan schemes. Heaven or hell which one will it be? Like the sun gives life to flower, the Son gives life to all who follows. He who is free is free in deed.
Christ the savior God did send, it shows us that satan cannot win. Like a summer day after a spring rain new life will begin. He will pardon us of all our sins but you must ask him to come in His forgiveness know no end. Open your heart and let Him in then and only then can you win. In Him salvation is guarantee and a new life can begin; so you must choose Heaven or hell where will you spend eternity in?
God our Father gave His Son to the world so that we would have a path to the truth a light to shine in the darkest of time. Allow His attributes to shine forth you do not would to lose your soul. Before time ever begin He love us, will you not trust in Him sight unseen, the One who gives all life meaning?
All it takes is faith to bypass that fiery lake, because tomorrow is not promise and another sunshine you may not see. Time is on no one side, so do not go chasing rainbows you cannot fly. Keep what real in your mind the reality is sin must die. God give His Son to pay a price that He did not owe, the cost was high, but gift that is given for those who believe; is to be by His side, salvation is free are you ready to receive?
Summer shower and gentle breeze,
Golden flower and dew drops of leaves.
Soft green grass beneath your feet.
The only thing sweeter is than life is living with Jesus for all eternity.
The strong gust of wind was cut off from its source; a frigid early spring blast that swept across a lofty mountain range, high above British Columbia.
It then encircled one of the lesser peaks and swooped down upon the slippery ice pack below, reaching out with cold, airy tentacles to caress the frozen surface, as it skimmed ever downward, dipping its fingers into each crevasse, only to dissipate into nothingness when swallowed by the vast emptiness of the frigid ice chasms below.
The main body of wind rushed on, over the thick, craggy glacier that had recently become an impenetrable shroud for several unfortunate ice climbers, who for one fateful moment challenged the supremacy of the mountain.
The wind now reached magnificent snow fields. Untouched by the imprint of man; it swirled the fresh offering of snow into powder so fine and glimmering, that the human eye left unprotected, would most certainly be blinded by its glare.
The wind was less bitter now. The warmth of the sun at the lower altitude tempered its bite as it continued downward past a small group of skiers, lending sting and color to their cheeks. It exhilarated them and the memory would help bring them back to the mountain again and again, much as the drug addict must return to that which obsesses him.
The wind had now reached the tree line and was met by green, trenchant sentries waiting in dwindling cradles of snowy whiteness. At first they would bend and sway in deference to the wind, as it attempted to bully its way past. Then the trees became the master, slowing and tempering that which so boldly challenged their strength and stamina.
This left the wind transformed once again, now becoming an energetic breeze, reaching out to the upper meadows of the mountain: adolescent fields now alive with the arrival of a warming season and the promise of springtime’s grace.
The breeze was refreshing in the late morning sun. Its welcoming touch stirred everything in sight: rippling through the young grass, now caressing the immature leaves on awakening trees that harbored mating song birds and caustic squirrels.
The high meadow spring flowers swayed beneath its gentle touch and a hare frolicked this way and that in the beautiful moment called ‘spring’.
The breeze then happened upon a flowing stream. Icy cold and gurgling, the brook wended its way down the mountain side, offering a ride to the transient traveler and carrying it along on its surface, just above the ripples and eddies that danced over boulders and foaming white water.
It tumbled along with the stream, as other small rivulets joined in and soon was hitching a ride with a river that had grown more powerful: over falls and through canyons, now widening out as the steep incline of the mountain slowly vanished.
The river grew fat and sluggish in its mighty girth and the wind, with very little propulsion, had no choice but to lessen once more and become a mere whisper of what it once had been.
The scene was no longer recognizable to the errant puff of air. Everywhere was the beginnings of the trappings of man and fearful in its vulnerability, it chose to remain with the river: skimming along under steel bridges, past little towns and eventually a small city.
It dare not leave the river, for it feared dissipation and the river must wend its way to the sea if the little breeze was to survive.
And just when it seemed that all hope might be gone for the tiny little waft, the languid river gulped in its first salty taste of the ocean and the childlike wisp of air was immediately adopted by the offshore breeze, caressing it gently in its more powerful grasp: nursing it back to health, giving it the strength to survive.
Then, into a harbor that was generously sprinkled with small vessels: some with trim masts that invited the puff of air to now come and frolic, if only for a moment or two.
The regenerated breeze felt stronger now, as it playfully sparred with white sails, while tumbling this way and that, tickling and teasing all that it touched.
It had now reached the ocean, where it would once again be renewed: drawn upward far above the clouds and absorbed into the powerful upper level winds, only to begin another long and treacherous journey, fraught with excitement, as well as adventure.
And in the end, there was and still is the vast and powerful sea, from whence all life once emanated and in its own and very special way, so too . . even the wind.
The moist air come around once more
to start the new life of nature to be sure
spring showers that cleanses our world.
The snow melts to a degree for it is time to see
a world of wonders for everyone
that needs a spring showers to be free.
The ground gets all soft for things to grow
to be part of this emotional adaptation
is how we should know.
The binds of winter goes away
to be come a new season to portray
a wonder of colors and beauty.
The moment has come to use your umbrellas
in many ways can block the showers
that might drizzle on us to ruin our day.
Spring Showers Contest
March 25 2013
None of that City Water for Them
By Elton Camp
We have friends who tap water won’t drink
They complain about both its taste and stink
Instead of using the public water supply
To get it from a spring or well they try
The spring on the edge of town many thrill
They don’t see the septic tanks on the hill
Some spend to have their own well drilled
From it, keep their drinking vessels filled
But it hasn’t been treated with chlorine
The danger of that they haven’t yet seen
The neighbor’s hog pen they don’t see
Nor when his sons go outside to pee
Now I prefer what comes out of the pipe
For I have found no reason at all to gripe
Deep within a mountain
At it's heart
A spring flowed
From it, love
Water is the source of everything
An eagles' golden wing
Filled with love,
began in a spring
The water of love
In its' heart
Love to seep
Keep the love
Keep the faith
A mountain spring
Can give you everything
The water of love
For in the heart
Flowing you see
There is no other way
What was always known
A living Heartstone