Best Martins Poems
In the quiet night, I adore your face
So lovely. even when breathing with grace.
I yearn to kiss you, so tender and true,
Whispering my sweet nothings as I knew.
Dawn begins to expand as we embrace.
I kiss her luscious lips, I yearn, hearts race.
We feel the tender flame, our tangled vines,
Stars twinkle softly, fade, and the sun shines.
The multicoloured martins fly in song,
Outside buyers are busy. prices strong.
I go down and order morning good food.
But for our taste coffee is freshly brewed.
The balmy breeze entices us to swim.
I yearn, admiring her figure so slim.
Alas, our honeymoon is over soon,
We go home. In love, we yearn for the moon.
Bend your eyes and ears around
the sights and sounds of a
world at peace.
A squadron of oak trees on
a hill, laughing and playing acorns
with unsuspecting travelers below.
A phalanx of bison, wind whipping
tired eyes, conquer prairie after
prairie, victory assured.
Dozens of purple martins, dive
bombing this way and that,
enjoy a dinner flight.
A herd of underwater manatees,
precisely pinging echo-location,
submarine in unison, towards
their night grove.
Shooting stars, without targets,
celebrate our celestial
hope,
Our
Celestial
Hope
07/18/13
© All Rights Reserved
Clap your hands, sing with joy for warm spring is here.
Swallows are the first to arrive now the sky is clear,
Purple Martins perform aerial acrobatics
To snap up flying insects as is their tactics.
Chickadee small and pretty songbirds enthral
But the goldfinch is the most beautiful of all.
Below a dazzling garden so well designed,
Each patch adorned with fragrant flowers all lined
With special flowers of every marvellous pansies,
And in each patch, you'll find flowers which one fancies,
Impatiens, begonias, petunias, delightful in the breeze,
While all around work is began by pollination by the bees.
28 April 2022
Spring Rhyme - 8-12 Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Placed 2
I'd have loved to see the bluebirds fly
above the white chalk-cliffs of Dover--
and as they were blithely soaring over,
immersed in thought I'd lie
in calm repose upon that beach,
admiring their swooping forms,
evanescent, in fleeting storms,
like ballet ... far beyond my reach.
Frisking, fragile, carefree birds,
symbolic through intrinsic meaning --
like sterling hope and freedom's words
light English springs, forever greening:
while England fought the bitter fight
to hold at bay the 'fall of night.'
Author notes
November 20, 2004 - approx 112 words
What makes Britain great? The entire world would be speaking German and Japanese right now if not for British courage in the face of overwhelming adversity.
Setting, approximately June, 1941, Dover Beach, immediately following the Battle of Britain.
This is a published poem, copyrighted, and it takes you to a specific place as well as a specific time, when the world was at war and the fate of all mankind hung in the balance. It is relevant because we are fast approaching another such time. Bluebirds are not found in the British Isles, but I wrote the poem before I became aware of the fact. The curator at the Dover Museum said I should just leave it that way, as bluebirds, since the song, The White Cliffs of Dover, specifically named bluebirds.
Update: BLUEBIRD is an old country name for swallows and house martins, which have a blue sheen to their plumage. These migrants arrive from the continent in spring and leave in autumn, crossing the English Channel. So these bluebirds appear at least twice a year over the white cliffs and no doubt many spend the entire summer in the vicinity of Dover. As portents of improving weather, swallows and martins are traditionally believed to bring good fortune.
The poem, a quasi-Petrarchean sonnet, is being archived with other writings about Dover and The Second World War by the Dover Museum, in Dover, England.
This sonnet was published in Sonneto Poesia, Volume 3, Number 1, Winter,
2003-2004
Written July 20th, 2003
Down by the river a willow tree grows;
osiers sway gently as autumn breeze blows;
under its branches in peaceful repose,
lying on blanket with my sweetest Rose.
Watching the Martins soar high in the sky;
puffy white clouds that are drifting on by;
living the easy life nothing awry,
passing the day on a natural high.
Afternoon breeze gently blows through her hair;
green are her eyes and her cheeks soft and fair.
Whispers of love with each other we share;
tempting our passions this autumn affair.
Kisses that graciously dance ‘cross her lips;
pondering passions as our hearts eclipse.
Hands reaching gently encircle my hips;
pulling me closer, we’re losing our grips.
Hearts beating quickly too rapid to speak;
coming together as our passions peak;
lying on blanket so spent and so weak
‘neath the old willow tree down by the creek.
September 8, 2018
THE RIVER OF NO RETURN
The Rue St. Germain is alone and still
though cool is the night with a summer chill
the fog from the Seine comes right up the hill
and street lamps dance the whole night through.
Their halos aglow in the night time air
gendarmes will provide that the peace stays there
you reach out for love, and she takes the dare
and then she is staying for you.
So why is she here? You question it not.
She has everything, but you have naught.
at Chez Martins where you first met her eyes
she made it plain, her world is bought.
....
There's liars and lovers who'll wink at you
as they, hand in hand, do what lovers do
you walk to the Seine and it's all brand new
because she's standing close to you.
And her eyes her eyes reach out for you
you feel her eyes reach out for you
And then you die
in love you die.
You stroll by the Seine in a magic night
and know in your heart it's a love not right
from off of the Seine is a burst of light
that's given from a summer moon
a concertina plays it's echoeing
with all of the still that a love can bring
and little you care of a morning sting
that she will leave you much too soon.
You've seen on the silver screen before
her eyes but tonight they show you more
of little girls lost, and here looking for
what's never beneath the moon.
And her eyes her eyes reach out for you
you feel her eyes reach out for you
and you promise her, one night will do
and never to tell how it's been for you.
and then you die.
In love you die.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
In my home, waiting arms hold me,
Sweet smiles make me welcome,
Tails wag no matter what the time,
Eyes light up at the sight of me.
In my yard, trees shade me from heat
And protect me from rain,
Flowers pop up and flourish,
Giving me fragrance and beauty.
In my garden, life unfolds in many ways.
I have the privilege to watch baby
Plants being born. I help nourish them,
They trust me.
My garden snake watches me,
“Lucy” the yellow and black spider
Helps me catch bugs,
And Cardinals humor my attempt to converse.
Purple Martins show their trust
By coming back to nest,
Giving the pleasure of watching
Those babies grow and take flight.
At night, everlasting Diamonds
Sparkle over my house,
And that big, shining globe spreads
Silver beams on my walks.
My sky is endless,
My oceans ever mysterious,
My mountains are ageless,
And my roads lead into eternity.
Elsie Marley was a playful, middle child, with five sparkling siblings,
Living on emerald, Willow Brook Farm, underneath skies very citron.
Everyone in the family lent a hand, at skillfully managing their farm.
At twelve years old, Elsie joined in, like golden bees, flower charmed.
Every fleeting day was the same as the last, yet magically different;
Like when a rainbow touches jade grass, and blazing sun is imminent.
Fantastic friends made school days fun, in the flitting, youthful hours;
With life as fresh and fabulous as spring, or as rainfall scented flowers.
Farmers sowed in fine, fragrant furrows, when cherry blossoms rained;
And family came calling, in flurries of petals, where red robin reigned.
Elsie lived in the house of doorways, of children going and coming in;
In a tumult of joyous colors; like pink moon nights, of purple martins.
Lyric larks were ever listened to, along jade, foliate, Strawberry Lane;
Located at Willow Brook's lauded south border, like love that remains.
Elsie's favorite neighbors were Naomi and Nadia, very near to her age;
Who playfully imitated being princesses, like red roses at center stage.
Careless bugleweeds were blowing, in deep, violet shades of summer;
When candytuft plants gave sweet thrills, like the flash of blue thunder.
Cupid's dart blooms went right to the heart, to the beat of raven wings;
And dame's rocket launched nighttime scents, to hear nightingale sing.
Elsie grew negligent of her mundane chores, as princesses did not work;
And her dismayed siblings picked up the slack, like dawn's redbird chirp.
But Elsie waked one day, to words that shamed her, spoken by her sister;
Like an onyx shadow, retreating hastily, once mellow sun has kissed her!
Nan told Sue, 'Elsie Marley is grown so fine, She won't get up to feed the swine,
But lies in bed till eight or nine. Lazy Elsie Marley.' Truth can be unkind!
Elsie resumed the role of dutiful sister and daughter, to her family's relief,
Coming to see all girls are princesses, like a vast garden's colorful motif.
warmth floods over me
when blue flowers are climbing
sage red rose timing
sitting on the stairs
in sweet caress of warm winds
gold noon never ends
sitting among scents
under lemon chiffon clouds
in butterfly crowds
soaking saffron sun
as purple martins sing soft
wealths of rich gold caught
Swallows and Martins,
Passerine birds so graceful;
Aerial by wing.
A gold sunrise, where morning glory grows,
Creatures are stirring, a lilac rambling rose,
Noonday sunshine beams, bright marigolds,
Returning a blazing bliss, as the day unfolds.
A creamy lotus pond, beneath chiffon clouds,
And swans are swimming, an elegant crowd,
Honeybees are buzzing, along erratic routes,
Purple martins warble, before heading south.
The forget-me-not path, beneath bluest skies,
Painted daisies along picket fence, butterflies.
A beauty sun is going down in scarlet demise,
Exotic bleeding heart vine, nature's surprise!
When I went back home for longer vacation
Surprised to see our backyard turning out to be a mini-zoo
My younger brother had adopted lots of pets
Winged, furry, reptiles… I couldn’t name the rest
I was spurred to tour around , it was so fun
I saw seven cows, five goats, grazing in our farm
Geese, ducks, turkeys and various breeds of chicken
My mother was there, happily feeding them
There was even a big brown snake in an iron cage
I trembled, I didn’t even glance or gaze
I liked the yellow and black birds, Kiaos and Martines
They were learning to talk, one partly warbled, Fur Elise
Among his pets, furry ones got my full attention
Dino, the monkey was tending cows with our four dogs
Holding cow’s ropes, they came to me in wagging tails
Then afar, I saw Panny Bat, our bird’s fruit supplier
Dino, Doggies Pandak, Poom, Pashang and Pampu
Were amazing caretaker- pets in our farm’s mini-zoo
Farm heroes, we named them including Panny
Who went out at night then returned to her cage the next day
I’ve tamed and befriended with these farm heroes
I rewarded Dino some lollipops, our four dogs with foods
Panny Bat, 'though untouchable was so cute
Her face absolutely resembled with our four dogs
When I’ve heard the loss of the three farm heroes last year
Died of ailments were Doggy Pandak, Poom and Dino Gear
And after a month, Panny Bat suddenly disappeared
Members of our family, including myself grieved
March 6, 2016 10.20pm
-This poem was also written for my younger brother who, until now have these pets at home. His small fishpond was not included in the poem. The Kiaos and Martins (look like mynahs) were 5-7 I think. My mom taught them to sing Fur Elise, Do A Deer etc…
Fourth Place
Contest: Furry Friend
Judged: 5/6/2016
Sponsor: Poet Royal
Darkened skies
That cloaks the night, slowly fade away
And the melodic songs of birds, are heard
Heralding a bright new day
As the earth begins to feel the warmth
Of a sultry, soft sun’s heat
Morning mists envelop the ground
Like a pure white silken sheet
From beneath the shroud, rustling is heard
As small creatures leave their lairs
Scurrying around, on their hunt for food
That will be their winter fayre
Berries, nuts and soft ripe fruit
Abundant on bushes and trees
Will be harvested and stored away
To sustain through winter’s freeze
Dawn’s crisp frost begins to melt
And a tapestry of colour is seen
Of lustrous reds, orange, yellows and gold
As nature changes from summer’s green
There’s a nip in the air,
A chill in the breeze, rustling through the trees
Creating a kaleidoscope snowstorm
Of gently falling leaves
Treading majestically through the leaves
Is a magnificent, male, red deer
His melancholy, soulful, mating call
Tells that rutting time is here
It echoes to the river, where a hint of a splash
Forms rings, as the salmon rise
And from their homes in the bank, sand martins dart
To feast on insects and flies
While across in the meadow, profuse with blooms
Rabbits and field mice run free
As butterflies dance from flower to flower
To the drone of bumble bees
And in a patchwork landscape of fertile fields
Both sheep and cattle laze
Sleepy, from having eaten their fill
Of the lush, fecund, grass they graze
As I take a stroll through these idyllic scenes
It leaves me breathless, with no words to say
On how anything can ever, be compared
To the beauty of an autumn day.
How beautiful the sounds, sights of nature
In the distance alarm call of a cuckoo,
beautiful sound of summer Tanager
Blackbirds hopping around getting in a stew,
Acrobatics of swallows, swifts, Martins,
Crows of the carrion, rooks, jackdaws, Raven
Cooing of turtle doves and wood pigeons,
Chittering robin, eyes closed what heaven,
Finches so sweet, green, bull, haw, gold and more
Speedy blue, great, coal, willow and marsh ****,
nature is such a pleasure never a chore ,
Seeing these wonderful birds thrills two bits
Serenity while watching our game bird
Pheasant, partridge, grouse, geese and mallard duck
Graceful swans glide, sights and sounds must be heard
Wading birds sifting for food through silt and muck,
birds of prey, kestrel, sparrow hawk, Peregrine
Eagles, buzzards, goshawk, ospreys skilful hunters
Larks hovering, lap wings, owls, magpies so pristine,
Sea birds, waders, hunters, lovely colours,
These moments of relaxation, undisturbed
listening, watching our beautiful wild birds.
Seductively symetrical in form and presence
She calls it Eve, I call it sepia political
Aroused motherhood of nation, a glamorous sense
Of identity, modern and yet mystical
Naked as a morning, smooth as silk dreams
She looks back, not histantly, nor curiously
Profiled the hidden breast, in streams
Of provocativeness, the right hand assertively
Shouldered on the fallen curtain of hair
Lefting hand coming down where the stare
Of vulgar eyes would fall, stripped of history
But not of dignity, the umbilical memory
Cradlles a lascivious eye against the dark skin
Woman bounteous with beginnings, sister, kin.
Edna Manley
Eve (Ceremonial Dance)
Edna Manley (1900 – 1987) studied art at Central St. Martins School of Art in London
alongside fellow sculptors Henry Moore and Barbara Hepworth. Her artistic career began by
sculpting clay models of animals but she made her reputation as a wood carver. During her
life she became known as the Mother of Jamaican Art, and claimed that it was in Jamaica
where she found both her subjects and materials. The sculpture 'Eve' (1929) was presented
to the Graves Art Gallery in Sheffield by the artist herself in 1937. .