Best Leas Poems
I shall go to those places
Made holy by people,
People in common, divine from a place,
Back to community.
Back to commemorate
God in a face.
Then when I see
Why we worshipped together,
I shall go seeking assemblies of trees.
I shall go free then
Where freshets are murmuring
God in the leas.
The Great Meadow
Beyond the high hedge the great meadow extends to the sky
Its fallow grasses fanned into waves by a breeze.
While down the slope the bearded barley and rye
Make a downy golden fabric that clothes the leas
The largest field in England, so it's opined
Though a child beside an endless Kansas prairie
Beneath heavens that can be reached by heart and mind
No distant scene but a piece of homeland friendly
As I walked its hidden life became revealed
A pheasant ran with ungainly comic indignity
A startled cat leapt from a nest concealed
And a sky lark rose to sing an unfettered symphony
Across the counties were such prospects planned
From days when mighty shires hauled their wains
And still the fields and hedgerows shape the land
So let it ever green and pleasant remain
I feed upon nature
and it feeds upon me
I drink from its waterfalls
and swim in its seas
I pluck some of its apples
and find shade under its trees
I rest upon its rocks
and run across its leas
I bathe under its sun
and dance beyond its breeze
For it is I who have found nature
or has it found me?
Written on some rocks
beside Al Aawaj Springs
in Syria
Ode to Morning
Yon morning, spellbound mistress of the skies
How gently all your feathers move apart
How lightly thrill your soft, eternal sighs
And feed with hope and mirth my swollen heart
How softly sway your tresses of pure gold
And glut with wealth the barren, night-sprent glade
And plump the crisp, brown hazel shells with beams
And cast a light strewn with a cooling shade
Athwart the gentle ebbs of oozing streams
Once quiet, still unravished yet. How bold
Your bubbling swells all cast their glinting charms
Across the earth’s soft cheek and softer breast
Yon morning, wrap the world within your arms
And light each mead with gloried noonday zest
And twine with passioned rays the Heaven’s steep
And cups of all the gem-encrusted buds
And feed the bowers with a web of light
And all the clouds with Lord Apollo’s rods
Of nascent shine to veer away the night
And all the evil spells of its black sleep
Return to us, gold morn with aching pride,
And wake the spirits of the sleeping clouds,
And stir the bees which in the foxgloves hide,
And let the bashful roses pry their shrouds
To feel upon their breasts the cooling breeze
Unfold from out the mountain’s stony rim
The rainbows, looming arches, sundry hued
Gold morn, when midnight’s sleepy glow shall dim
And leas no more shall be by stars bedewed
Then glow, until the lark sings with full ease!
© 2014 Gleb Zavlanov
Fair Spring, a lady, palely loitering,
Whose brow is decked with flowers and with dew,
Whose bosom births youth’s essence which does bring
Unto the barren glades, a glory, new,
Where have you been for every heart had pinéd without you?
Where have you been, when winter with its shroud
Had wrapped the world with thorns of frost and snow,
And when the strength of Cheimon’s hoary cloud
Had swallowed worlds and bound from head to toe
Each aging tree, and froze the rivers which once, swift, did flow?
Fair spring, I’ve grieved and skulked in mortal grief,
And wept for endless days. I craved your breath
To make once lively every faded leaf,
And save the sprightly buds from early death,
And blossom effervescent flowers from the earth, beneath.
And birth sweet fruits, ripe with rich, temp’rate blood,
And kiss the earth’s wan cheek and ever store
With ripeness every stalk and shoot and bud
And with pure sweetness every apple’s core,
And turn to foaming bubbles and bright verdure, winter’s hoar.
The spirits of the worms all beam with pride,
And all the swift-heeled elk run round the leas,
And mid the blossoms, nightingales hide,
And sing a tune that gently, long the breeze,
Wafts through and through: an ode to you, your beauty, ne’er to cease.
Oh, spring, at last, I bear a mighty beam
For seeing your first budded rays, which bring
Upon the glades, gold wealth and honeyed dream.
At last, the winter fled upon his wing
In fright of all your powers, for you came, at last, fair spring!
© 2014 Gleb Zavlanov
The Derbyshire flag has a cross of green
with a background of pale blue
green for the verdant leas and peaks
blue Derwent running through.
At the crux of the cross, a Tudor rose
fierce history it carries
Henry the seventh beat Richard the third
Lancaster and York houses married.
Combined, their roses red and white
for the house of Tudor of old
Derbyshire's rose, recently born,
resplendent in it's gold.
Consider yourself edified
in this poetic manner
for this may be the last time that
I write about a banner.
Viv Wigley
12th July
For contest 'tell us about your county state city flag', sponsored by Judy Konos
Rise and shine
The world outside is awaiting us two
Across leas of the sun
Just Me and you
We shall glide like water droplets
On petal hues
Then evaporate into the air
Like wet morning dew
Swaying like a summer breeze
Would gracefully do
Melting like strawberry ice cream
Under a sunlight, imbued
Like skates on smooth ice
Slithering our way through
Across the rivers of Evermore
We shall serenely canoe
Painting all mountains red
Like a dawn anew
Rise and shine,
If only you knew
Me, I'm a lover simply just for what they are
A species so pretty graciously fluttering by
Colours so beautiful in patterned bizarre
As they're carried on the breeze, wow, I sigh
Just imagine if our life was as short as theirs
What would we pack in, what would we achieve
Colours so beautiful it's high time we cared
It's not just us whose here, it's time to believe
Yellow, red, blue: rainbow butterflies kiss the sun
The happy emerald earth watch and mildly sings
Colours so beautiful-- they glow, lure and stun!
Golden wings , soulful wanderers, they rise in spring.
To closing our eyes whilst walking through leas
Such creatures so lovely with us they so are
Colours so beautiful my eyes caressed pleased
Me, I'm a lover of these fluttering stars
Spring is on the distant horizon, another month has gone, now just a memory
Seasons flow seamlessly, path's of time seem faster, now in my golden years
The month of March is vigorous and piping, the month of new life in nature,
The coldness of our winter very gently fades, birds sing high in the trees,
But beware of gales as they rush through our woods, over meadows and glades.
The wild wrath of winter eases, March winds are fast, chasing the cold away,
Branches bend and groan, dead wood falls, ruining thatches and old buildings,
The wind bites but wild flowers spring from black soil in meadows and glades,
Measure the difference of the solemn fitfulness's of autumn, and March winds
As People gingerly look out on mild days time to begin work in their gardens.
The last days of February sees the frost less severe, the slushy snow melting,
All in keeping with ancient character the month is wet from thaw and dampness,
A time for floods as snows melt, rain and sleet pours, this is our wet season,
There is movement in the woods, leas and the forests nature starts to wake up,
Now as sap is stirring in trees, buds begin to show green on bushes and boughs.
Brecon Beacons for pony-treks,Cumbrian fells and bubbling becks;Dartmoor
with rocks rain scarred ,Lake District views beloved of bards.Northumbria, above
on moor and hill,where Roman echoes linger still.Stone-bridged hamlets in the
Dales with enclosed leas along its vales.Snowdonia ,one thousand yards high
reached by slow trains up to the sky.Pembroke with its distant trail so
long,heritages for us to protect and prolong.National treasures to preserve and
enjoy by rich,the famous and hoi poloi.
I make haste to the earth
And anoint its rebirth
When my mother, the cloud, is above,
And then mildly caress
The irradiant dress
Of the hills with immaculate love.
I descend upon leas
And respond to their pleas
When they pine for my kiss in their thirst;
Then I nourish with ease,
As they flow to the seas,
All the rivers whose growth I have nursed.
I protect, as I fly,
Bashful lovers who lie
Undisturbed in their secretive nests,
While the world is at bay
And far out of their way
On its tiresome, oblivious quests.
When the spring air is dry,
I breathe out with a sigh
And the flowers all bloom at my will
And, when autumn is near,
I shed many a tear
O’er the moors while the granaries fill.
Inconsolable birds
Voice their songs without words
In their fond expectation of me,
And then play in the sun
Once their hearts I have won
With the gift of how warm I can be.
I roam, wave upon wave,
When the mariners crave
The sweet taste of moist myrrh on their lips;
Then I plunge and dissolve,
Rise anew and evolve
Into fog which embraces their ships.
From high crests I oft wend
And with care do I tend
To the needs of all green’ry on earth,
Whom I raise from the ground
In a medley unbound
With tall giants of singular girth.
Over mountains I creep,
Upon castles I weep
As they slowly concede to decay;
Then I cover in moss
All that crumbles to loss
When men die and may not have their say.
Once my tears are all gone,
I give way to the sun
And my brilliant sprays overshine
All that flashes on high
And bewitches the eye
On a bow decked in splendor divine.
Though in change I am donned,
I’m the bridge and the bond
Between heaven and earth in their strife;
I am shy yet sublime,
Unaffected by time,
As refulgent in death as in life.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Ah, to spend a languid summer afternoon on the bank of a rippling stream,
Lying on my back watching vagabond clouds as I reminisce and dream!
I hear the soothing sound of the water's hymn as it plays its merry tune,
Blending its musical melody with that of a meadowlark and loon!
Did you begin thy sea-bound odyssey in yon mountains as melting snow,
To form a rushing mountain stream, later to grace these verdant leas below?
Or, were thy banks filled with tears from Heaven by some distant tempest?
Whate'er your source, with thy simple majesty I am truly, truly blest!
Look! Even the beautiful rainbow trout leap with joy in a placid pool!
There! A doe and her delicate fawn sip thy life-sustaining waters so cool!
You have provided this mere mortal with much needed peace and rest,
Flowing so gently past me as thence you pursue thy meandering quest!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 1 in Constance La France's "Write Me A Rippling Stream" Contest -
June 2011
I awaken with languid eyes gazing at the passing dawn.
Strange light rays hover over ancient graves
Jestering- tormenting souls
Where spindled wildweeds grow
And sway over a dull domain, and
Under clouds with nimble fingers accusing...
pointing down. They pause to sit-
Brittled, splintered, to take a breath
Waiting to sweep unbright fields
Of rye and corn.
Now standing, they float away
With the rays sighing in blustery winds,
Gusting like torrents from the north
Spilling thorns and stems
Around the livestock- propped and tall
Like sentries who do not know nor care.
Horns lowered to eat what's left
Grazing, tails swishing, numb to silverdrops
And firebolts, blazing in the background.
The old woman turns in her tomb,
Facing downward- blind to the squalor above.
A twitch of finger
A thumb
A toe
Stretching, as the worms rest in soft shells
Inside sallowed orbs. Then in a flick- a flash-
Tumbleweeds hurry to leas now stitched
In rusted cathedrals, wrestling with directions-
Scurrying to settle in barbed wire, leaving
Old bones in yellow dust.
Brecon Beacons for pony-treks,
Cumbrian fells and bubbling becks;
Lake District views beloved of bards
Stone-bridged hamlets in the
Dales with enclosed leas along its vales.
Snowdonia ,one thousand yards high
reached by slow trains up to the sky.
Pembroke with its distant trail so
long,
heritages for us to protect and prolong.
National treasures to preserve and
enjoy by rich,...the famous ...and hoi poloi.
Andy is a wheelchair racer from Stockport,
Born a 1993 kid on the 6th day of January,
Who has serious nerve damage to report,
Which affects him neurologically, physically.
He went to Brine Leas School in Nantwich,
Which sits in Cheshire in good old England,
He studied at S Cheshire College to hitch,
But took to athletes after the London hand.
In 2014 he competed in the IPC Grand Prix,
In Switzerland, sprint and middle distance,
But in Rio he secured a bronze very elegantly,
For the 100m, a PB in the short time of 17.96.
Along with two of his team mates and fellows,
Dan Bramall and Carly Tait, Andy received,
A grant to buy a new wheelchair - perfectos,
From the Manchester Airport fund, relieved.
Richard Hoskins, head coach in Andy’s club,
Said “The purchase of the racing wheelchair
enabled…members to train intensely [hub],
…in the lead up to various competitions,” [fare].