Best Rhododendrons Poems
I dream of the old house, five thousand miles
away, across the sea, high on the hill,
the garden where the rhododendrons shade
the black and white tiled steps up to the door.
I enter, walk from room to room, and see
my mother on the balcony; she sits
beneath the tumbling vines and reads her book.
My dad is in his study playing chess.
The house smells like it always did. Each thing
still lives in its accustomed place. This is
a journey back in time: I am a child,
was gone a little while and now am home.
The light falls through the windows differently.
The trees have grown, obscure the view, and hide
The house from outside glance. Mom’s hair is white,
And father walks the stairs with halting steps.
I hope there will still be a few more years
For me to make this journey. Far away
Are home and childhood, and the church bells toll
The hours relentlessly.
7/11/2017
Where black-necked cranes come to chat with me
In the company of wine and deep brown honey
Flowing from apple twigs in the heavenly valley
Of Bumthang , carved into the sublime Himalayas
By glacial melt and monsoon rains in collaboration
Giving rise to lovely landscapes offering relaxation
In Buddha’s silence, there lies my dream destination
To fill some vacuum in a week of my next vacation
In the north east of the Indian subcontinent where
Beautiful girls and Buddhist monks are very sincere
(Bum refers to girls and thang a flat piece of land)
Everywhere you will see Buddha’s lifted hand
In consonance with the land an ever demure voice
Of Buddhism says: go to the mystic blue and rejoice
Along the murmur of icy rivers and lakes everywhere
Pink rhododendrons exude fragrance in the fresh air
Flowers red, yellow, pink, white, lilac, green and blue
For our sore minds and thirsty psyche all these hues
In the shades of Pine and Oak monasteries as a nest
The imposing peaks descend here to take a little rest
Four charming valleys, Tang, Ura, Choekhor, Chumey
Will greet us in a smile on our trip to Bumthang valley
Morning is wakened here by blue-capped rock thrush
Beside the flapping flags the gurgling streamlets gush
Where Gross National Happiness instead of GDP
Determines economic progress of the society
Come, dear friend, to join me in the amazing journey
From the chains of self to a deep sense of infinity
_________________________________________________
February 13, 2016
The winter snow and freeze killed everything
I planted in the spring,
Rhododendrons, roses, Hawaii hibiscus
And the bougainvillea orange king.
Parsley, sage and thyme are gone,
Peony and pansies too,
The daisies died and I still sigh
For the loss of primrose blue.
No more azaleas or alyssum,
Passionflower or peppermint,
The coleus did not last nor sassafras,
And goodbye to rosemary’s scent.
And all the leaves on the lemon tree
Look more like a weeping willow,
Sagging sadly as if begging madly
To finally let her go.
But Spring is looming ‘round the bend
And new seeds await good earth,
To come alive in sun-filled skies
And signify life’s worth.
As all things come, and all must go
In a whisp of place and time,
Like flowers and plants in a cosmic dance,
The seasons of life are Sublime.
© Terrell Martin, 01/27/2025
October blows a symphony of sighs
with blustry gusts that presage winter's bleak
arrival as I shuffle through the park,
kaleidoscope of leaves a welcome prize.
Swings unswung on, roundabouts without
the rush of children stutter to a halt.
October blood suffuses to the hilt
my heavy heart, and calms a soul in doubt.
Images, bright images that have no
need of language, the pictures tell the tale,
a gang of schoolboys, picnic-packed, hale
and hearty, hoping for a hint of snow,
their teacher, raven-black, with no command.
Oaks stand guard, ramrod-straight like sentries,
rhododendrons, strong and sprawling bushes,
a place to smoke illicit contraband!
The dial at sunlight's pleasure points to time,
the weather vane makes plain the wind's direction,
no need of clock or any vain contraption
to guage the day, its reason or its rhyme.
The stillness of the morning and the day-glow,
and meadow grasses blessing me with softness,
the rippled waters thrilling me with sweetness,
what other measures do I need to know?
October blows a symphony of sighs,
of spells and incantations for the wise,
who, weather-worn and beaten, seek the skies
or haunt the woodlands for a siren's eyes;
for nature is the most compelling teacher,
companion to my father and my mother,
she cavils, then is kind, just like a brother,
and binds our earthly tapestry together.
...inspired by 'Especially When The October Wind' by Dylan Thomas
October blows a symphony of sighs
with blustry gusts that presage winter's bleak
arrival as I shuffle through the park,
kaleidoscope of leaves a welcome prize.
Swings unswung on, roundabouts without
the rush of children stutter to a halt.
October blood suffuses to the hilt
my heavy heart, and calms a soul in doubt.
Images, bright images that have no
need of language, the pictures tell the tale,
a gang of schoolboys, picnic-packed, hale
and hearty, hoping for a hint of snow,
their teacher, raven-black, with no command.
Oaks stand guard, ramrod-straight like sentries,
rhododendrons, strong and sprawling bushes,
a place to smoke illicit contraband!
The dial at sunlight's pleasure points to time,
the weather vane makes plain the wind's direction,
no need of clock or any vain contraption
to guage the day, its reason or its rhyme.
The stillness of the morning and the day-glow,
and meadow grasses blessing me with softness,
the rippled waters thrilling me with sweetness,
what other measures do I need to know?
October blows a symphony of sighs,
of spells and incantations for the wise,
who, weather-worn and beaten, seek the skies
or haunt the woodlands for a siren's eyes;
for nature is the most compelling teacher,
companion to my father and my mother,
she cavils, then is kind, just like a brother,
and binds our earthly tapestry together.
Forsythia my friend, I still cannot not discern,
does a fiddlehead unravel into a lacy fern?
Lilly pads, flowered floating seats for fortunate frogs.
Monet’s favorite plant at his Giverny bog.
Orchid. This word becomes a lyric in a beautiful song.
A flower that is elegant, tranquil, and calm.
Wisteria emanates from little pea shaped blooms,
giving us a lavender, lovely perfume.
Echinacea, “Gazuntite”
A cousin to the daisy, whose name sounds like a sneeze.
Lovely on a table with a crumpet and some tea.
Rhododendrons, so large, pink and scarlet.
A shrub so thick and quite exotic.
Snapdragons are not dangerous at all, they often bloom right into fall.
Those ruffly, curly, open leaves, beg " Come in for lunch, honey bees"
I am both a brown and an ash horse
As ash I limp a little and tilt too
In the blue field
As brown I keep words in your jar
Till they are butterfly to disappear
In the multicolored air
I wanted them for my hair
Time did not care
I want to put my white rings
In your embroidered oval box
Awesome nothings that are everything
Come out as rhododendrons
As we draw the crayons
Some of them in the wings of a heron
Gold and orange splashing lyrics
Linger please
A little
As the lamplight chats with the keen leaves
Of the money plant beside my bed
I pant for words of poetry
Fireflies laugh with green glee
Last night some stars fell there
I look for them now near my pillow
The ash laughs
Red and green up and down
In the cardiograph
Billows are all gone
While putting on the gown
Eyes reach at the mirror
The brown wears a crown
November 21, 2017
October blows a symphony of sighs
with blustry gusts that presage winter's bleak
arrival as I shuffle through the park,
kaleidoscope of leaves a welcome prize.
Swings unswung on, roundabouts without
the rush of children stutter to a halt.
October blood suffuses to the hilt
my heavy heart, and calms a soul in doubt.
Images, bright images that have no
need of language, the pictures tell the tale,
a gang of schoolboys, picnic-packed, hale
and hearty, hoping for a hint of snow,
their teacher, raven-black, with no command.
Oaks stand guard, ramrod-straight like sentries,
rhododendrons, strong and sprawling bushes,
a place to smoke illicit contraband.
The dial at sunlight's pleasure points to time,
the weather vane makes plain the wind's direction,
no need of clock or any vain contraption
to gauge the day, its reason or its rhyme.
The stillness of the morning and the day-glow,
and meadow grasses blessing me with softness,
the rippled waters thrilling me with sweetness,
what other measures do I need to know?
October blows a symphony of sighs,
of spells and incantations for the wise,
who, weather-worn and beaten, seek the skies
or haunt the woodlands for a siren's eyes,
for nature is the most compelling teacher,
companion to my father and my mother,
she cavils, then is kind, just like a brother,
and binds our earthly tapestry together.
seagulls surf the wind
my escorts home
across the waves
streamlined gannets
sacred isle in view
saffron tints
ocean flower breezes
with scents of heather mingled
island essence
rites of spring
frolicking hares
scattering morning dew
eagles flying high
above the pagodas
sharing with angels
spectral in shadows
castle walls in moonlight
white stag foraging
eloquent landscape
shrouded in mists of time
stones with stories
ears pricked on full alert
deer transfixed in morning mist
ice cracks the silence
snow on distant hills
wind in ancient rowans
new stars twinkling
melting ice
slips down stippled bark
weeping cherry
beyond the twisted gate
flag irises bedeck the shore
beloved playground
fragile and fleeting
foxgloves in summertime
granite enfolded
exotic rhododendrons
sumptuous and alluring
bumblebees besotted
by the waterfall
dippers watching
trickle or torrent?
rhythmic shoreline
ageless slumbering hills
touching paradise
music for the soul
the lilting of the seasons
an Arran symphony
home again, my soul refreshed,
pilgrimage complete.
with Arran heath beneath my feet,
content- and feeling blessed.
Ah, the rhododendrons, dear and bright,
Look at them for a moment, three seconds,
Seek them in the streets, in silence,
Explore the small multicolored gardens,
They are pink, purple, white, shiny, red.
Ah dear rhododendrons, they are crazy,
They drove the Macedonian soldiers mad,
Admire them, they are righteous warriors,
Thracians, Saxons, blue Spartans
They make you forget the enemies, emus,
Ah, the rhododendrons, dear and bright,
Love is no longer enough to believe in God,
Look at the rhododendrons, admire them,
Pink, White, Red, Mauve , Purple, Shiny,
They heal the ills, give back to courage.
NB it should be known that in antiquity, rhododendron alcohol was given to soldiers to make them crazy while fighting ( from memory)
My garden is unfolding before my startled eyes.
Each blossom as it opens is a welcome, glad surprise.
The daffodils are blooming and spread sunshiny cheer,
While the tulips are struggling to hold up their heads this year.
The plum trees are in blossom, their branches snowy white,
Others playing possum keep their new buds closed up tight.
Rhododendrons showing color, camellias in full bloom,
The scene is ever changing in my outdoor living room.
Crocuses and small snowdrops are already past their prime.
Anemones and pansies are expected anytime.
A bunny in my garden is looking for a deal.
And eagle in my birch tree, eyes the bunny for a meal.
Oh my garden in the springtime is an optical delight,
While predators of every kind are looking for a bite.
I must find a way to thwart them without poisoning the land..
I will share with the less greedy, slugs and aphids must be banned.
The forest is cool, inviting. I look for small wildflowers in lush grasses growing beneath the trees. Sunlight streams in shafts
and there is birdsong, birdsong and delicate ferns on gentle banks.
Soon, I see a pathway that winds beside a clear stream. The roots
from the trees reach toward the water etching deep ruts .
Large rocks decorate the edges -mark the curves that beckon
beckon me to follow on.
A large puddle appears, blocking the path. I take off my shoes and paddle through enjoying the squishy mud.
Suddenly, a bear - I STOP,
watch it foraging for berries. With caution,
I back, silently away to let it follow the terrain
onward to its cave and hibernation.
Something sparkles on the ground - I stoop- pick it up.
It is a long key with a open circled end. I put it in my pocket
thinking it will make an interesting ornament.
At the end of the path, I find a rustic cottage with
high garden gates, banks of rhododendrons.
A secluded hideaway.
There is neatness, order to the whole scene.
smoke rises from a chimney
into clouds overhead.
I pull out the key. It sparkles temptingly.
azalea’s pink splash
shade loving garden dweller
my rhododendrons
For days cold wind has blown from the channel
but it has calmed to milder breeze today.
I feel a soft spring breath upon my cheek
and hope the gentleness is here to stay.
The strong gale stripped the apple tree of blossoms.
She's now content to show her advanced age
and steps aside in modest resignation
to let the sweet lilac take center stage.
Rhododendrons and azaleas are contenders
for lilac's glory when she starts to fade.
My garden beauties all demand attention,
sun lovers and the ones that thrive in shade.
While I was trapped indoors, the weeds kept growing,
taking my garden as their own domain.
Nature is a strong and stern taskmaster,
just waiting for a chance to grab the rein.
So Mistress Dandelion, I give you warning;
I'm coming with my spade and rake and hoe.
You are invading space reserved for others;
so pack your bags it's time for you to go.
Tell your friends I have eviction orders;
the elegant Miss Rose will be here soon.
She'd be offended by your wanton ways
at her big welcome party come this June.
On Top Of A Mountain
2
stroll down the forest trail
to the edge and inhale
at the sight overlooking perfect nature
held together and prevail
stand by the site of trees and bushes
with lichen hanging over their branches
surrounding the ledge with
ferns, rhododendrons, and tall grass
marvel at a sea of fog covering all
the pine trees that spear outward standing tall
providing natures home
as the mountain walls tower overall
sky exhibit splendor
clouds of different shapes that stir
sun is trying to sneak a peek through
nature waiting anxious for it to enter
a beautiful site standing
viewing off the mountain looking
down for the fog to roll back to view
the world and embrace the living
3/25/2015 Rubaiyat Form
On Top Of A Mountain
Lichen hanging from dried branches
Ferns found everywhere
A sea of fog covers all
Pine trees spears outward standing tall
Mountain walls tower over all
Sky of splendor, clouds of different shapes
Sun is trying to sneak through
A beautiful sight on top of a mountain looking down
12/06/2014 Light Poetry Form