Long Cowslips Poems
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Upon a whim arising on this sunny springtime morn
hearing birds perform their songs at the crack of dawn
my knapsack packed already with a tasty picnic lunch
bread with cheese and wine
oh such a scrumptious tasty brunch
so full of joie de vivre am I for the day ahead
a slow ascent upon the bus as we reach *Beachy Head
then on to Belle Tout lighthouse where I alight instead
for on this glorious sunny day
in springtime sunshine I’ll make hay
Catching the light in stripes red and white
warning all mariners of dangers at night
a beacon of hope in a cobalt blue sea
her beam shining out majestically
Meandering gently nature's gifts I espy
a host of golden cowslips as if sprinkled from the sky
perchance if Wordsworth had beheld such beauty as have I
his host of golden daffs would have a rival for to vie
wafting gently in the breeze their lemon coloured blooms
a more stunning sight is seldom seen on sunny afternoons
I wander through the woodlands approaching Birling Gap
uneven ground negotiated, avoiding a mishap
then I espy the smallest orchid I have ever seen
with purple blooms and spotty leaves
exquisite flowers I could gaze for hours
secreted for her own protection
her subliminal message for all…
‘Please do not disturb me as
you stand here to observe me
for my beauty - my shape - my hue
and please leave me in situ, for all who pass just like you
as they pause awhile admiring the view’
Written April 2019
Contest Strand any form any theme
Sponsor Brian Strand
1st PLACE
*At 152 metres Beachy Head is the highest of Britain’s chalk sea cliffs, attracting nearly half a million visitors each year. The name ‘Beachy Head’ is believed to be a corruption of the original French, meaning ‘beautiful headland’. Some of the flora and fauna to be found at Beachy Head are purple and bee orchids, bluebells, primroses, cowslips, oxslips and hedgerows crowned in white - baby lambs and wild seas and so much more - just stunning!
We strolled along deserted lanes
lined by straggly rubble walls,
adorned by yellow cowslips,
perfumed with early wild narcissus,
and music, a fine harmony,
performed by finches of all colours
Whilst blue **** and sparrow fly from tree to tree.
I lingered there, hoping I could get away
from the fathomless worries of the weary world,
or perhaps find rest in an eternal quietude.
We walked hand in hand, listening to the rill
Its clear waters zigzagging downwards.
She stared at the rivulet with wonderment.
I admired her composure, her interest
In all around her, a stoic tranquillity.
I invited her to sit besides me on a wooden bench.
Enjoy the vast silent panorama of the countryside.
No other human could be seen in the vicinity
Except far off, a farmer tilled his field.
She put her head against my shoulder.
We uttered not one word. It was pure bliss.
I realized love can be silent,
For utter silence is true love.
SUMMER DAYS
Watch a swallow swoop
and pass above an old meadow,
lush with grass. Speckled starlings
sing with delight over flying ants
in nuptial flight. Buckthorn in a dense
hedge screen. Ceanothus ,shaded green
Jasmine,Honeysuckle,Bittersweet
scents to mingle in summer heat
Clouds of teasels spiral tall
'midst dancing grasses against a wall
wandering wasps picnicing un-checked
onto perfumed petals,paperwhite
first intoxicate,then delight,
high above Cauliflower clouds,nimbus
topped weep a shower of warm tear-drops.
PASTURES GONE
buttercup yellow
kissing cowslips
dandelion,poppy and daisy,
corn marigold
cow parsley and clover,
a willow that weeps
and meadow-sweet,
deep in a forgotten pasture.
Listen to me read these poems on youtube under name ichthyschiro
Written: December 23, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
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Castle Ravenloft looms—
a janiform crown of storm-light and stone.
Its spires protrude as if imploring
a cold, unanswering nimbus.
Below, Barovia lies—
a shabby village where cowslips squirm,
and daybreak, under mists,
offers only a brief farewell.
This land’s spirit is sacred suffering.
Hope and death entwine in chiaroscuro.
Symbiosis curdles into a curse,
and the living move with shadows
as though born to them.
Ubiquitous, gelid mists
embed xenogenesis in every breath,
Their jagged deceit conning the brave and mulish.
Dark, shriveled streets of Barovia—
laden with pale wisteria—
echo with inane, forgotten glee,
an odor of treacle, revulsion, and lost joy.
On the edge between night and terror,
a winsome child may hum a chorus—
a fleeting overlap of sorrow and mercy.
But the mists return, hostile and persistent;
after tasting music, street, and soul,
only the castle remains—
a riddle whispered against
a cloudscape that refuses to rise.
I observe the naked light un-folding' waking a day so bright, near broad seas
Rolling! In power rippling curling,
then dissapating, a breeze
arises carressing senses exciting.. The hills above show head and shouldered looming, i see lichen green on
Wayside bouldered, Burgundy
roses around a cottage porch, such beauty all
Naked there is no garb needed; naught."as is the
Moonlight; when it arrives, shall be un-impeded, I see cowslips yellow, the irisis
Blue, the sky in its splendour, and un-matched hues, of all this the very same
Is true.' In their naked states that God created, does anything decribed need enhancing? I say if any so think? Well they
Need berrating, what am i recieving
of deeper truths? Is God giving me
insight naming world delete's who
clothe war in piety, and sell greed..? As
blest? who are of those, who would
destroy not deliver, and Gods Spirit test"
Killers of all that is so great
and good! The naked gift
of ithe nnocent child' how deep lies your
Depravity? You by now; thrice damned imbiciles.!!!
Azaleas with their vibrant jewelled colours mingle with
Begonias to bring beauty to my garden borders.
Calendula or Marigolds in glorious gold dazzle me like spring sunshine.
Daffodils dance delightfully on a zephyr breeze whilst
Exochorda macrantha is like a spring bride dressed in white pearls.
Forsythia with bright yellow blossom is such a sunny spring shrub
Gentiana is the queen of the alpines with its blue star like blooms.
Hyacinths with their heady scent are stunning when placed with
Irises in lovely lilac shades and grown in the same container.
Jonquil blooms are beautiful with many flowers on one stem.
Koreanspice viburnum provides colour and scent with their fragrant flowers.
Lily of the valley is sweetly scented but be wary as it is poisonous.
Magnolia’s magnificent flowers remind me of pink stars in the daytime.
Nemisia gives out superb scent and a splash of colour.
Oxlips look like large cowslips but with yellow primula flowers
Pansies remind me of smiling faces and brighten my pots
Quince trees produce pretty pink flowers in late spring
Rhododendrons provide a riot of springtime colour
Scillia or bluebells are abundant in April and May
Trillium thrive in a shady spot in your garden
Ulex or gorse gives a golden glow in the hedgerows
Violets have tiny flowers that can be sugared for pretty decorations.
Wallflowers grow anywhere in our gardens … not just by walls!!!
Xeranthemum or immortal flowers are related to sunflowers.
Yarrow has a lovely scent and can be used for medicinal purposes.
Zephyranthes robusta or rain lilies thrive in spring showers.
Spring Abecadarian Contest Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton
04~19~16
Written: January 14, 2026, for contest sponsored by Karen Jones
************
In this tristful age of waning meaning,
acrid winds rise from the world’s declivity,
We listen for a softer timbre,
a tone like cowslips glowing gold in dusk’s blue hush—
and still, peace hums beneath the din
The air grows redolent with rancor,
with hostile murmurs and contentious tongues,
Yet somewhere a winsome, limpid whisper
threads through the static like warm violet light—
and still, peace hums beneath the din
We wander through conundrum and quixotry,
our thoughts a woolgathering drift of smoke,
our hearts a chatoyant flicker
caught between shadow and ember—
and still, peace hums beneath the din
Two stanzas mirror each other now:
one for the mind, one for the marrow—
mind seeking cogent clarity,
marrow craving gentler gravity—
and still, peace hums beneath the din
We meet in the middle,
where synchronicity feels like scent-turned-sound,
like a golden chord glowing on the tongue,
like touch that tastes of morning rain—
and still, peace hums beneath the din
Peace is no barbaric banquet,
no officious promise wrapped in parody;
It is an evanescent shimmer yonder,
a quiet halcyon pulse beneath our stolid fear—
and still, peace hums beneath the din
And when the night grows thick as ink,
when even hope feels fake and thin,
peace rises—slow, buttery, bright—
a lantern of molten saffron
held in the trembling hands of dawn.
And still, peace hums beneath the din.
eveything glows
is reflectve
nothing happens
garlands of blossom
the wonder of it all
cowslips in flower
buttercups bloom
colour
shines golden
in the heart of nature
visible
vulnerable
tender warm&
true
that
something special
look
more closely
at
beautiful shapes
unsophiticated
draw close
to the looking glass
of nature
splashed
with love
brings out tenderness
entirely possessed
by
the rhythm of the day
watching
we marvel
in patience &hope
each morning
a happening
to feel
as day
succeeds day
the invisible
hidden from sight
as summer
grows within
Glowing candles flicker an imminent grief,
Undulant meadows sink then moments brief,
A recluse in silence deep, torment lies only if
Truth recoups when heavy gravels lift,
An answer wayward a curse or a gift.
Cowslips they unfold of features like Jen,
Savages abscond when clock strikes ten,
Perverse acts send hungry crowds lighten,
Hubris hold invariably the psyche taken,
Perils unforeseen pulses of men quicken.
Children's lax inexpiable chides mother,
Intrinsic in nature mud ponds splatter,
Bare foots they wrestle, would spectators rather?
Such complacency splits its odd feather,
A pervasive yet reprehensible matter.
Pictures in frames of tumultuous memories,
Mutinous rogues, malevolent the eye that sees,
To confer one's wish in return good ceases,
Tentative strokes across sheets her will flees,
Exacerbates her desires tenfold with ease.
Listen carefully: those are bells ringing.
To whom are they calling?
From where come the peals?
Here in the wild countryside
the pale-yellow cowslips
dance a lonely jig
to the tune of the wayward breeze,
dispersing their melliferous fragrance,
gracing us with their herbal remedies.
And still the bells peal!
Do they toll for me?
Reminding me of my needs?
Shall I gather the cowslips?
What shall I do with weeds?
There see them grow in the vale
or along the riverbanks
where waters rush headlong,
zigzagging through the silvery alleys,
making their way to the far off sea.
And the bells still peal!
The cowslips sway in the breeze.
I stand still devoid of fantasy,
empty of coherent dreams.
What will I gain from cowslips?
except distil it in my cellar
and enjoy its narcotic sips?
Still do the bells toll?
Why? What for?
My heart knows, of course.
I find a shade, I kneel, I pray.
Let the bells toll.
I've heard as cowslips bend their heads.