was never a weed
common lesser celandine
meadow buttercup
How many times have I written of her glows!
Yet, the yearning to write more and more grows.
Forgotten feelings soon get a vent.
When I see the sprouts, in shyness, they are bent.
Ra.. ra.. ra.. ra.. la..la..la..la.. The scented breeze hums
Aromas of my favourite buds, blooms, and blossoms
Of tulips, hyacinths, lilacs, violas, and balsams
Creep and climb jasmines, sweet peas, and clematis.
Entwining them as though a long-lost kinship bliss
From far-off trees, jealously peep the envy-red plums.
Fruit flies, sand flies, blue bottle flies, and dragon flies
Commune, with multi-hued butterflies fluttering in the skies
Queen of the Night, Bird of Paradise, and Celandine Poppies
When secretly providing nectar to the worker bees
Where-from, to chill and thrill them, come these ice crumbs?
Enchanted Wood
When I went walking on that sultry day
Where the ancient sessile oak trees stood
And the rippling river ran by the way,
Where shifting sun-cast patterned shadows lay
And paths led me through that enchanted wood
When I went walking on that sultry day.
The warming season showed its rich display,
Drawing me deeper into that wild wood
And the rippling river ran by the way.
Entranced, along cool shaded paths I’d stray
By pale celandine and purple monkshood
When I went walking on that sultry day.
“Linger a while,” leafy whispers seemed to say,
And so I rested longer than I should
And the rippling river ran by the way.
In that warm enchanted place I’d stay
Beguiled by the paths of that magic wood,
When I went walking on that sultry day
And the rippling river ran by the way.
Barry Stebbings
Apr 2021
YELLOW IS THE SUN IN THE SKYLINE after Midnight- -
Once upon a midnight flat;
It was matte, imagined that!
'It's that even,' I muttered;
Yellow as sun and butter;
…..a rainbow of mystic skies;
Beautiful site between the eyes;
Passions liken a blonde celandine;
Bright byzantine, lupine, and benign!
Solar capsicum minds the incline;
~Yellow sun shines the skyline;~
3/30/19
10 Lines, 5 Words:
Rhyme III Cash Prize Poetry Contest
Rhyme poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Lu Loo
In distant dreams my love would 'oft appear,
In awe she wanders Springtime's vibrant hills,
As wild bird songs exalt with merry cheer,
'Mid lesser celandine and daffodils.
In this majestic slumber I am lost,
Her beauty fair to woo my smitten eye,
From sprouting buds 'till blooms bedecked with frost,
Her lips afar, I wish our kiss be nigh.
My minds eye sees her prance lush meadows green,
While cirrus sky beholds her countenance,
On Nature's throne, she reigns as Noble Queen,
I yearn to tread those fields in fiery dance.
If I held all my dreams since life begun,
I'd hap'ly fling them all away... but one !
Azalea of new
Bring the cornflower New
Evening Sun absorbed by the Glory of the snow
Calling upon the peach blossom slow
Ever the Lilacs are mixed fair
Dote on the Gerberas over there
Abridge and count petals of a Greater Celandine
Round about the Croas shines
Irises smile
At the Spoonwood for a mile
Nearing the sweet pea as Axalea of New.
April 2016
I lie back in the weather-proofed green chair
To gaze up at the flowering maple tree.
Now, touched by sun,lungs full of scented air
I embrace with joy the beauty I now see.
Old celandine show brightly by my feet
Neglected currant bushes straggle round the path
There is no birdsong yet a silence sweet
Soothes my heart and quietens my wrath.
For my heart's sore and anguished is my mind
Yet in this little wood I feel deep calm.
My eyes are shadowed and my face is lined.
May this green spring bring me a gentle balm.
For even in depression and deep grief,
The mind makes healing medicine of a leaf.
Abandoned house isolated with cracked walls
Aberration emerging forth from the natural terrain
Red and black roofs of the village nearby almost seeming a beacon of civilisation
The wood boarded lower rotting windows and barred doors
Faded moth eaten curtains a cynical beauty of zephyred gossamer
The time long years doing their gentle but remorseless work
Inside the house light denied world now given to insects and rodents
Left to do nothing but eat and all gone now consume just themselves
Wintertime wind whistles and rain seeps in through gaps
Kept once a garden dissembling now in its own fertility
Nature kindly putting forth hated nettles burrs and docks
By lack of care a garden that is there now seeming to wildness
What now is there left of a man what was there ever
But everything unnatural now reduced to its former glory
Outside the lovely wild garden flowers
The reds of Foxglove Ragged Robin and sweet Herb-Robert
Bright suns yellow the Lesser Celandine and Creeping Buttercup
Butterflies alighting on blue Willow Gentian and Large Venus Looking Glass
Lea, lush cordial waits
dawn, a promise of dew,
yet couldn’t stop the moment
stealing the moorside view.
The turn of Alf’s cart wheel
broke the silence of the night,
the beat of a lone heartache
stole the dark from the light.
“Picturesque Turner Lane”
The wind aloof did hone,
the old grey stone “Bar House”
Stood there, cold bare alone.
Out of the earth the village
rose, where the lake settles deep,
“Parson’s Lane” An expressway
to stone mason, layman, sheep.
New age enfolds the bridle
path, in the meanness of June,
wading amongst celandine
to a “Fats Domino” Tune.
Bare face against the window
precious eyes, craving stance,
a candle waits for someone
to touch in warm romance.
For youth is a learning curve
an implant, of worldly ways,
maturity dismantles
the lust of innocent days!
© Harry J Horsman 2010
Golden yellow buttercups growing in the ground.
Dainty little female child, eyes with wonder round.
“Beautiful,’’ the child beamed. Face alight with joy.
“Weeds,’’ retorted Nanny Grey. Foot poised to destroy.
Trembling tears that filled her eyes caught the golden glow.
Mirrored in the child's heart, truth we need to know.
Some see beauty in this world, others may not heed.
Common Lesser Celandine, never was a weed.
The Old Painter
sublime my paintings, memory be
lost in time, I now must see
where once the gale winds trembled chill
wrapped in blankets, remember still
a touch, a kiss, the summer sun
from deep within, must now be spun
I frolic to and fro in time
my brush, alas..... can only mime
I still can hear cicadas' whine
but yearn for yellow celandine
tho memories fade, my spirit thrives
aflush! my paintings will survive!
Catkins
and cowslips,
primroses too-
celandine stars..yellow
my view
Sticthchwort,speedwell,celandine
Sprinkled in the dew
Jostle in the rain,with feverfew-
Cowslips ,delicate as lace
Evidence God's grace
A
lesser
celandine-
January
joy
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