stretch long necks to kiss the sun …
on tippy tiptoes
(In the words of a happy little mermaid)
I slide through silky cerulean seas
Silently swimming wherever I please;
I glide through water with buttery ease,
With skin that is smoother than ivory keys.
There are secret gardens I love to explore
Far below the world on the ocean floor,
Where are colors no man has seen before
Hidden in an underwater treasure store.
Deeper down in the sea, where I go on a whim,
The light is so far it is grayish and dim;
There the masts of shipwrecks rise dark and slim,
And coins of gold line passages I swim.
On tropical islands with flowing waves
I play in uncharted, mysterious caves,
Or nap in the sunlight's golden rays
In a silent shoal on balmy days.
I pick pretty flowers to put in my hair
And splash in the shallows with never a care;
The droplets shine like diamonds in the air,
Rising and falling like a crystal flare.
When the day is over, the dolphins sing mass
And the sun sets fire on the leaping bass,
Then I lie in a bed much clearer than glass
And pray a sweet dream for this mermaid lass.
The flower face of the sun bloomed on you;
the corona of light
easing the passage, caressing you.
Catwalking on the bright side of life;
the false jollity, aching to laugh.
Embraces, your body in a bowl of arms,
brave waves, the last goodbye.
My own desperate clutching, as if
I were a tree sucking at the sky.
The delicate frosting on my birthday cake -
a sugary irony.
How quickly the coronal of anniversary flowers
became a wreath.
Choking on the three hundred miles
to your resting place,
the car eating the road.
Tension-riddled, the family squabbles
snapped at the air.
Alone in the pristine, starched hotel room,
propped between pillow and sheet,
stiff as rigor mortis,
my eyes ploughing a newspaper,
thoughts turned introvert and febrile.
A white envelope holding the small silver gift
of your necklace, an oyster cradling its pearl.
Your gold ring playing its warmth
on my finger, thin and white,
the September sun shining in it.
A passion flower clinging to its wire hoop,
sweating out the fragrance of late summer.
Defiant and slightly shocking in my bright patchwork skirt;
a vibrant rainbow flying in the black leer of the cortege.
easing the great weight of his grief with Valium.
The voice of the vicar carrying,
stentorian, across the echoing expanse of church.
In your diaphanous dress you were a bride
displaying your bouquet -
the mourning arum's white head bowed.
Fine linen shrouding the table, pink curls of salmon,
water glasses floating their tiny icebergs.
Plumbing the depths of your wardrobe,
the outfits hanging limp as fish.
The room gasping in late sunlight,
heady with your Florentyna perfume and oxygen cylinders,
the light lying glassy and quiet.
Your loving memorabilia yielding to damp autumn earth.
My eyes opening to your immortality. An immortal truth.
Smiling faces with bright graces
Towards the sun always their faces
Sunflowers like army soldiers
Turn respectfully when sun shines
Like thousand kids of sun on earth
Looking at the sun from the crowd
Greenish-brown like mud in centre
Surrounded by yellow petals
Like fire flame when burning bright
Like rays of sun their petals are
Their centre ground like fungi rocks
As fertile soil for plantation
Their combination bright and light
Like reflection of day and night.
Poetess S. Nadia Azam Shah Bukhari
All Rights Reserved
I do not know?
Autumn came this summer
on a cool winter's day
Then spring walked in behind her
Then spring soon danced away:
A flower grew beside her
from a freshly fallen pile of snow
And the petals fall onto the ground
shortly after the winds blows:
As quickly as the seasons change
so the same, time does pass
and the memory of frozen ground
is soon your bed of grass:
The time which a flower bares it's bloom
or clouds share their summer rain
Quickly passes with the shifting winds
As it guides away your pain:
My lover spoke just as a friend
As a stranger, then took my hand
As one beginning drew to another end
the setting sun made me understand:
The Earth is not that far around
The sun rises in the day
And as quickly as the lightning strikes
The storm can roll away.
A young bud, I’m awakened by Bells of Ireland
and a magnificent Morning Glory,
Baby’s Breath and Freesia near my cheek.
Larkspur and Delphinium happily look on
as blissfully I sun myself throughout the morn
surrounded by an ever-present bright array of beauty!
Enchantingly time passes as I take notice of
Lavender’s allure and the grace of Queen of Lace;
the charm of Jonquille, Jasmine, and Gardenia.
Pansy, Tulip, Peony, and Petunia want to play,
swaying gleefully with Buttercup and fellow Gladiola.
Periwinkle seems to wink at me
as I sneak a peek at pretty Primrose in repose.
However, when sweet Violet I spy,
she always shrinks so shyly from my gaze.
I’m cheered by Chrysanthemum and yellow Daffodil.
Marigold and Sunflower never fail to make me smile;
Magnolia and Myrtle nod hello to me
and Forget-me-not reminds me she is there!
Through the whole sweet afternoon,
fair Lilac’s scent permeates the air.
Soon enough Sun bids us all Adieu.
I then see white against the fading light -
Iris, Lily, Narcissus, Limonium and Rose.
Inhaling Orchid’s heady fragrance through the night,
I slumber in tranquility, wondering in dreams. . .
what flower I’ll be blossoming into!
For SandyIvy's "My own little Garden" Poetry Contest
I do not know?
Summer fun in the glorious sunshine,
high spirits and glowing smiles.
Everything seems worth while. With
warm embrace upon you're face.
Summer is in full bloom, mother nature
she is exquisitely bliss in all colours of
flowers and upon butterflies wings and
many more marvellous things.
An uplifting feeling from an energising
sun, luminous green hills and a stunning
blue sky. Every colour so bold and brilliant.
This wondrous world is truly one in a million.
Sunflowers turn slowly
to follow the sun.
They bow their heavy heads
when afternoon’s done.
What a golden vision
they share row after row
With deep amber faces,
their tiny seeds all aglow.
The summer breezes blowing
o’er the fields with warm air
Shares pride in a country
with its beauty so fair.
I smile in contentment
as I l leave old Italy
With a sea of them waving
good-bye to me.
Fiori della Toscana
Solefiori ruotare lentamente
a seguire il sole.
Si inchinano le loro teste pesanti
Quando ha fatto pomeriggio.
Che una visione d'oro
essi condividono la riga dopo riga
Con facce profondo ambrati,
Loro piccoli semi tutto raggiante.
La brezza estiva che soffia
sopra i campi con aria calda
Orgoglio di azioni in un paese
con la sua bellezza così fiera.
Sorrido in contentezza
come ho l lasciare la vecchia Italia
Con un mare di loro sventolando
good-bye a me.
Note: This translation is as close to my original poem as possible.
Click on the link to see a picture of sunflowers:
Scent Of Paddy Flower
By Goutam Hazra
My father told me
I was just a boy then,
“Follow the scent of paddy flower
move with the wind it carries,
surely you will go to heaven.”
he would catch
fistful of wind
bring near to my face
“Isn’t it godly!”
Magically, opened his hand
but I never felt
what scent he meant.
Days of kind rain
“Son, see the misty wind
rushing all over the paddy field
comes every year
to drink the scent of paddy flower.”
Mere as a boy
I could see only
tides of a green plane
touching my little finger
and racing far… too far.
I would ask
“Where have they gone?”
Smiled my father
“Did not you listen,
they are going to heaven,
call the goddess then,
‘come goddess dear’
we all are ready with paddy flower.”
Curious was my face,
“Goddess will arrive smiling
her feet will be here
Seeing a pot in her hand
all those paddy flowers
delighted, will open their mouth more wider
and life will be poured…”
“Where these flowers come from?”
Remained my father smiling
speaking all his mind
looking high at sky
asked me to see there
spoke he again.
“Rain, rain, kind monsoon rain
on the first day of its shower
kind rain would ask me to come here
with bagful of paddy seeds,
‘let seeds be spread all over,
let its eternal relation with soil
be the fertilizer’
when all said is done
starts showering its kind
make visible hiding life in the abyss of seed.
Happy wind changes color
being green all around
waits for the day
when the wind would smell the scent of paddy flower.”
Days passed by,
kind rain was still in waiting
sometimes hidden beyond horizon
or simply making sun blind with its smoky face
and whenever wind said,
‘Dry I’m now’
quenched the thirst.
Someday wind played naughty with sun
asked kind rain to make it misty
and with brushes of sun rays
painted a rainbow on the face of east sky.
Wait was over
green field blossomed with flowers
and wind said,
“Fill in my heart
with scent of flower
I shall bring life…”
Happy was my father’s voice
“Rain, rain, kind monsoon rain
green wind brining life
scent of paddy flower
is made so.
Bare footed be here
print your soul
in the dust of this soil
kind rain will come
green wind being there
life will be yours
with the scent of paddy flower.”
How old was I then
nine or ten
my father looked up
up to the sky
again and again
for a month long
only to see
change of sky’s color
from the color of a summer day to a long humid night.
Dry wind cried at last
over my father’s sweating body
“Rain, rain O kind rain, where have you gone.”
One day sudden
kind rain came again.
Cried to my father
“Why no green wind came this year
to bring me here.
Desert wind why
dry my breath
seeds you have sown
how could I then
enliven with my rain.”
my father had asked the rain.
Short-lived, hurried rain could spell its last breath,
“I am not that rain
as was your friend,
I am the curse of dying forest
I am the ghost of all pollution
I am born out of acid weather…”
Who knew, it left for where?
My father cried
As kind rain left him alone
hiding in a dry wind’s bone.
My father was still
going every morning
asking the soil
if soil could alone
make the paddy flowers to be born.
Year passed by,
came back the time,
for green wind to bring kind rain.
Rain came one day.
as a cloudburst
like an unkind monster
in the life of a simple farmer?
Dumb remained my father
for days together
sad was his voice at last,
“Run away, son, run away from here,
sky rain wind
river village land;
thread of this garland
who cuts it
go, stop now there hand.”
Draught and flood,
uncertainty of life
changed my mind
as of a farmer’s son.
Books, studies and education
reasons, truth and compassion
might have had fulfilled my father’s mission.
Does not this civilization
as the products to do more production.
Run, run and run
run ahead of time
let be it, at the cost of inhaling killer tension,
stress taking over your life.
Insomnia, cholesterol or cynicism
is our success’s companion?
‘A’ is shaped as ‘B’
and ‘B’ is sold as ‘C’.
but I found the basic
what it remain
as life’s supreme conviction
‘simply a fist full of paddy
and its grain’.
Scent of life
So here, I am again
standing in front of this green plane
searching for the shadow of my father.
Green wind surrounds my existence
I can see the dance of those bunches.
My mind whispers to my ear
echoes those words of my father,
“Bare footed be here
print your soul
in the dust of this soil
rain will come
green wind being there
life will be yours
with the scent of paddy flower.”
I never felt so,
what I smell now
is the scent of paddy flower.
Under sunlight waits a voiceless desire
Gray clouds roll in to dim the cheerful day
Open blossoms cheer up the self-esteem
While some of the folks now decide to pray
White daisies create a delicate spray
As butterfly flutters close to the heart
Gold sunflowers begin to faintly sway
While gentle leaves blow and choose to depart
An autumn sunshine dawns distinct to start
Soft colors, crisp and fresh, seem to appear
All the stories the season does impart
Tales of joy, truth and all that’s sincere
These summer dreams fading into visions
As time shifts will the heart choose it listens?
A rose is a rose.
A lily is a lily.
Flowers fading fast
beneath the sweltering sun
on a blazing Summer day.
Look, it's the first bloom of spring
A proud daffodil stands all alone
Soon to be joined by others
And light up our lovely home
Like the sun she beams so brightly
Announcing that Spring is here
There's no shyness in her yellow bud
She wants our notice that much is clear
So like a magnet I'm drawn to her
And to all that she represents
The changing of the seasons
Gazing upon her brings sweet content
The birds are singing a happy song
The breeze is waving its approval
New beginnings are bursting forth
Bright colors are Winter's removal
Sleepy beauty is waking up
The prince has placed his kiss
The lone daffodil is now surrounded
Together they dance in bliss
Kindly my Spring fever is satisfied
What once was hope has now arrived
And the world has come alive again
The long Winter I've survived!
Contest: Spring Fever
Sponsored by: POETESS DARKLY
what new plant is this
flowering bees this morning
and butterflies too?
running to and fro
a group of ants in action
searching for food
bathed in the sunshine
shimmering pools of water
pulsating with life
I see the flower blooming
As the sun shines bright
It opens very slowly
and lets in the light
The beauty is incredible
Like nothing seen before
The milky shiny colour
No one could ignore
But now the sky is cloudy
The sun is almost gone
The flower closes quickly
Hopefully to open in
the new dawn
I try to ignore the squirming Hyde within
And, with effort still,
I raise myself for the last traces
of sunshine and fun.
What was left of the day, I savor for me.
As the withering leaves of silence
have perfected the petals of stillness,
Such absence of sound
Never a serenity to the mind.
Disturbing solitude haunts.
Loneliness seems vivid as reality speaks
Even the poignant sadness never parts
Solitary confinement paints an art.
Like the spectator in a thousand theatre plays,
I achingly wait for the final curtains to part.
Then, as always expected -
Left were the
together with the late sunset wind.
Tiny golden flecks
imprinting on the soft white
laces and trims.
Catching shadow images
of the last rays of brilliance,
blending slowly in yellow embers,
forming orange coals,
turning into sunkissed glow
of a sad goodbye.
ever so softly fading
into dullness and cloudless cold.
And as the night falls,
its shadowy self dances
against the moonlit music of silence.
I listen and search still
for what is left.
No traces of the sun
whose magnificence and radiance
had touched the leaves of laughter
during my daytime slumbering; children frolicking,
early had the mind sensing.
And, gone astray were the seeds of kindness
the day had grown.
It seemed they were sown
by someone I wish I had known.
If only I could frolic
where little lads had been early today -
in the meadows,
by the pond,
along the shores,
around friendly trees and smiling flowers,
with the meadowlarks and chirpy games,
I’d give away anything.
Basking in the sun on such a lemony day,
someone sulks to find it's an emotional burn.
If only I could catch the loveliness of the sun,
I'd give away anything.
Just for something this grand.
The mind wills but the heart groans.
A moment of joy and laughter, so fleeting.
Forgot me, gave away the troubles.
Today could be A DAY,
If only, ever so softly, I could catch the sun.
Spring has sprung again --
sunshine, flowers, waterfalls:
God’s gifts to mankind!
We've had a glorious season of summer
Love's warmth shinned on you and me
And everyday was a beauty bright
As far as the eyes could see
Flowers showed off their fragrant bloom
The sun's rays were like a symphony
Summer breeze set a vacation mood
And blew work's ambition to apathy
But now the leaves have begun to fall
And cooler nights are all in vogue
The consistency of summer's heat
Has all but fully gone rogue
So, one by one the flower blooms fade
Until only a lone rose petal remains
I breath in the scent of summer memories
Lingering in the moment of season's change
Contest: Kelly's "End Of Summer"
Poet: Lyric Man
B asking in the sunshine
U pon a lovely flower
T reating on its nectar
T hen moving to another
E njoying nectar anew
R ising with the breeze
F loating in the air
L ovely to view in the
Y ellow glowing sunshine
I know belamour means lover;
but a flower too is defined.
Webster puts it undercover -
a flower, who knows what kind?
Gertrude Stein penned famous words we've heard,
"A rose is a rose is a rose."
Smelling a rose, our minds are stirred,
but a belamour? no nose knows.
Meet the artist - George Dunlop Leslie.
His painting called Sun and Moon Flowers
has caught my attention expressly,
for I have not heard of moon flowers.
On closer examination
I found only sunflowers full burst.
Reading George’s explanation
has not quenched my mind of its thirst.
He explained contradistinction,
moonflowers have a paler bloom.
With florist’s flair for composition
so George arranged the girls in the room.
Sun or moon flowers? my mind's still mud;
but go back to that "belamour".
Belamour’s an unopened bud,
that's what Webster meant, now I'm sure.
I was a child catching butterflies
on the yellow flowers
sprinkled on the green grass
at the roadside
They were beautiful butterflies -
and some tiny blue ones
which gave different shades of colour
as they were struck
by glancing sunbeams
There were little four-winged ones
which puzzled me
why did they have four wings
while the others only had two?
I was catching butterflies
a thing called progress
tore up the yellow flowers
on the green grass
at the roadside
and there are no more butterflies
and still I do not know
why some butterflies had four wings
while the others only had two
It's raining today - dreary it may be
The imagery of the raindrops in my view
Dripping ! In my brain I visualize
The dark clouds surrounding me
Thus I see - will there be sunlight
I look, I ponder! I watch and I surmise
the sun may peak in these predominant skies
Mesmerized - sun rays gleam in my eyes
Those beautiful hues - and yet the spectrum
The iris - that beautiful rainbow
It feeds my soul - I look at beauty
And thus blooms the flower - I know
It rained today and thus I say
The gardens grew - if you only knew
I woke - I had beautiful thoughts
Raindrops danced on my life this day
And yes! I saw a bud flourish petals
It's spring - and the rain doth bring
With a little help from the sun , my flower
Blooming in my head I visualize
Look what I saw when I looked at the skies
Imagery in my head, I thought
Imagine it - and the bird it may sing
Music to my ears - I listen - I see
That spring - it's really blessing me
Enlightened I saw the dead rose then grow
And I sit, I still ponder , it's roots I know
And the rose once posed- still life - of art
Prominent are the skies to make you wonder
The rain might start!!!!!
Again & again
Beauteous Be Poesy is my book of poetry available on googles, amazon. com and Barnes & Noble published by Trafford Publishing. wrtten by Miss Stacey Law
A Bluto is not that Disney dog
It was when a mewling
that I would scream
Should they wet my body
And then apply cream
Ablutophobia – fear of bathing, washing, or cleaning
Achluo the demon that lurks
In darkened corners
The long toothed life suckers realm
I am scared as the sun dims
It seems to bare my soul
Achluophobia – fear of darkness
Acro what did they do
They called me acrobat
This will not do
I get giddy standing on a matchbox
Please get a net to see me through
Acrophobia – fear of heights
Agora just shut that door
I am staying here forever more
Bring me food put it on the floor
The letter box is just for you
Don’t, Don’t, try to get through
Agoraphobia, Fear of open spaces or of being in public places. Fear of leaving a safe place
Agrap stole my feelings
He caught me unaware
I am now afraid of sex
don’t ask me anymore
It frightens me that’s for sure
Agraphobia – fear of sexual abuse
Agrizoo an angry gorilla I knew
Wild as hell was kept in a cell
As all his kind, even a timid Hind
They scare the crap out of me
Please let them run free
Agrizoophobia – fear of wild animals
A gyro is just what I need
I will fit it to my trusty stead
He will fly straight across that band
A tarmac nasty throughout the land
I cannot face the walk you see
Agyrophobia –fear of crossing the road
Aichmohe got in a hell of a fight
They killed him with a pointed knife
It will come for me just you see
I cannot even mend his cloth
Won’t touch a needle at any cost
Aichmophobia – fear of sharp or pointed objects (such as a needle or knife)
Ailuro he lived next door
The bastard sits on the fence
To me he snarls not a purr
A Persian he is supposed to be
Frightens the *****out of me
Ailurophobia – fear of cats
Algo, Away, I am pain free
This morphine is the best
First day of pain free rest
Been told that it will return
Got some gas, peace I yearn
Algophobia - fear of pain
Andro I’d rather be (android)
I am metal and plastic you see
Electric person not man or woman
That would be so sad
If just a man I would go mad
Androphobia – fear of men
Antho the pologist got the plan
He put concrete throughout the land.
Not one shrub or flower seen
Not one blade of grass green
A flower would make me scream
Anthophobia – fear of flowers
Anthropo was a lonely man
Wouldn’t mix with others so
He lived in a cave, well just a hole
You would see his eyes peeping out
A shaking frame if people were about
Anthropophobia – fear of people or the company of people, a form of social phobia.
Aqua marine or even the wet stuff
Is enough to drive me mad
I stay in when there is rain
Just wait for the sun to shine again
A damp tissue that’s quite enough
Aquaphobia – fear of water. Distinct from Hydrophobia, a scientific property that makes chemicals averse to interaction with water, as well as an archaic name for rabies
Arach no, and know the score
Those creepy creatures on the wall
Send shivers up and down my spine
Six legs and venom to drive you mad
I am running already it is sad.
Arachnophobia – fear of spiders
Astra my name you would think of the stars
My gaze goes up but not that far
To the first cloud there in the sky
If it’s the shape of an anvil I will fly
Fear grips me and I don’t know why
Astraphobia – fear of thunder and lightning
Atychi that was about the size of me
The others would just make fun
I was no good to anyone
A failure of the first degree
Nothing my goal, was all I could see
Atychiphobia – fear of failure
Auto matic I will seek people out
To touch to play as long as they are near
Don’t leave me in this place alone
A singularity is my biggest fear
I will hold anyone you see I care
Autophobia – fear of being alone or isolated
Automat o no it’s not true how could you
An advert that’s telling just lies
Don’t all the others realize
What you say is not true, put it right
It will drive me crazy I’ll keep out of sight
Automatonophobia – fear of anything that falsely represents a sentient being
Aviat o if you think I am going in that
No I am not a scared ***** cat
If we were meant to go fly
Wings we would have from him on high
Fold your machine and put it just so.
Aviophobia, Aviatophobia – fear of flying
Chaeto he was a Greek of old
Bald as a badger so the story is told
But why you say is there no cure
For him to grow some lovely hair
For him it would give such a scare
Chaetophobia – fear of hair
Chemo therapy keep away from me
Chemicals scare me I know they are free
But to have them coursing through my veins
No matter how good they are, and that jar
The fear of everything for what they are
Chemophobia – fear of chemicals
Chirop to or not too so I am told
They stick in your hair best to be bald
Now I find that my nails are made of hair
Chirop is what I fear not chiropodist is that clear!!
Just shave my head and cut my nails dear
Chiroptophobia – fear of bats
Chromo shines bright in my eyes
The fear of all colours I realise
Now I am safe from a troubled day
Into my dark room, I have found my way
Knock when that sun has met its demise
Chromophobia - fear of bright colors
The wind crept up - the skies ever so dark
Black, slick, clouds and calamity enters thy soul
Dreary! It chatters and limbs they fly
No sun upon thy face - beaming with hue
Those clouds they swarm in darkness
Rain - it pours - flooding the earth
Bewildered I look up at this blustering sky
The trees are dead, It's spring - yes death
Roses in the ground with the trickling raindrops
The April showers - You haven't a clue
True grit! The soil now nurtured
The roots - feeding on this phenomena
And yet when the sun shines soon
Day after day - trees will come to life
And roses in bloom- life after winter death
In awe I see this beautiful imagery
In my brain, as I see the pouring rain
My mind - I visualize - the beauty
Thus, why does it expose calamity?
Beauteous be the wonder in my eyes
And how I love those dark dreary skies
A rosebud in my teeth - I see
Is extraordinary and so is the tree
Let there be rain as it nurtures the soil
And with the chatter of the wind, let there be turmoil
Again in my brain, I can truly love this day
I see life in the rain that is pouring today.
Written July 29, 2013
The wind blows the rainbows down
Turns your frown upside down
Then spins it back around
The sun hides the moon
Underneath its coat in bloom
The flowers came late this June
The rain in a teardrop
Falls like dew from a leaf
When she looks at me
See that look upon her face
Used to take her to the stars
Now she's headed back from Mars
Now that Venus loves her more
Wouldn't throw her to the floor
Deep in the desert
Where the sun shines
Bright and hard
Lived a little flower
Pale as the sand
It stood bravely
The sun beat on it
The wind blew in it
The heat almost
Took the life out of it
But there it stood
In the clear night
Beneath the canopy
Of thousand of stars
Morning brought a traveler
From some place afar
He stopped by the plant
To wash himself
Few drops spilled over
To the pale flower beneath
A shiver went thru’ her
And tremblingly she unfolded
A few more drops
And the petals
As if some force
Pushing them out
Of her dream of death
Eternity, holds her breath
The pretty petals
What a sight to behold
Seemed to be overwhelmed
By unstoppable madness
A little place
Of sensual joy
Thus life reentered
What a moment ago
Had been dead
Entered it visibly
In all its glory
Looked down with a start
As if surprised
To see such beauty
In the barren desert
And plucked the flower
And put it against his heart
And there she can
Be seen now
Happily riding away.
Though the midnight summer rains
as we sit together under the geraniums,
hanging low and at full bloom,
we hold hands and talk of old times;
times that were kind to us and our youth.
As summer storms light up the night skies
We kiss the storm away, as it rolls through the grey skies
and the lighting cracks the clouds in half,
riping a hole in the universe, as we kiss the night away.
We sit throughtout nightlong summer dreams
and talk, and we hear the storms roll into the golden hills
of summer meadows filled with roses and a field full of daisies.
Love rests in time to see us grow old together,
and love strengthens its walls and pulls us closer together.
We shall go now, as day turns to night,
into our chamber of love and sleep the night away, together.
Hold us close to each other, as I rest my head on you sweet bossom,
and you nurture me to life of talks of love and beauty.
Nature whispers and sings us songs,
as we kiss and go for walks through the countryside
looking at the golden hills soaked in the rolling storms
that summer offers every year, upon a silver platter.
Sooth me, my love as I tell you of the sorrow I have witnessed.
Embrace me with your curiousity and tell me of the beauty in
the secrets of life and its hidden messangers
that hold secret letters from Devils that send temptations
to destroy something that we share, that is so beautiful and true.
Tell me that life will be okay, and my love is still true and with you.
Tell me my sweet and beautiful love, tell me if everything will be alright.
Love has seen us come and go, through the narrowed and sprinkled streets,
as we move through life fused at hands and eyes blind, not noticing the possiblities of death at any moment stalking us with knives jabbing at our backsides.
We are blind, for we see each other and only each other.
As we live life eyes a blazed looking at the sun, we do not notice the obvious between us.
Caring from me, at my time of need I never noticed the betrayal of our love.
My heart sees, but I deny the obvious and see what I hear.
As I see the knife drive deep in my heart,
you with a suitcase in hand,
I stand on my front steps and I watch the summer storms
come back over the golden hills to say, "hello"
Love is the same everytime, like a summer storm;
beautiful to watch, but when it leaves, it is depressing to say, "goodbye"
Now I sit, as the geraniums dry up and die
and the wrinkles at my eyes make me blind,
I see love walk past my house and mock me with lone kisses.
May the snows stop
and the rain cease…
May the winds take shelter
and let the sun birds sing.
Let out the spring!
Let out the spring!
I want the flowers to bloom
and the sun to shine
Let out the light!
I want tulips and roses
lily’s and daisy’s
Let out the birds and the bee’s
the monarchs and the daisy’s
I want the snows and the rains
the long winds and dark days
To finally end.
Let out the light!
Let out the spring!
...and through the morning clouds
rays of sunshine show,
flashing off the tulips,
setting their colours aglow.
Daffodils point their faces
toward the sunlight beams
on this tranquil morning
as dew on petal gleams.
Welcome is the Spring,
now that Winter's passed,
for this season of rebirth
flies away so fast.
My garden, newly planted,
in colours radiant and true,
is Nature's blessed therapy
as I enjoy the view.
On a trip to Grandmother's,
we'd hear Mother say,
"Your next botany lesson
will soon be on its way."
A visit invariably meant
an immediate tour of her garden,
while the roast in the oven
began to shrivel and harden.
Our stomachs would growl,
our patience would wane,
as she spoke each plant's
history and worth again.
A friend questions
my knowledge of flowers.
Stomachache returns briefly,
recalling all those hours.
Slowly, awareness dawns
of my grandmother's legacy;
a love for earth's harvest
stems from the gift she gave.
Her words wash over me,
the scene before me transposes,
as her voice again expounds
the virtue and fragrance of
A visit to Grandmother's house meant a tour
of her flower garden even before the food was
served. Her garden sported many varieties from
friends, neighbors or relatives. These walkabouts
were highlighted by her explanations of the history
and performance of each plant. My awareness of,
and growing love for, the miracle of earth's harvest
stems from those lazy strolls around the perimeter
of her yard while our stomachs growled, the roast
shriveled in the oven, and her words washed over
us in the heat of the mid-afternoon sun. My favorite
photo of Grandmother, she's offering a blossom to
my sister from one of her many rose bushes and her
voice lulls me anew as my memory board replays
the feel of clean air and sunshine and brings back
the fragrance of honeysuckle and roses.