‘In Springtime’ by Rudyard Kipling

Poetry in Surrey Libraries

‘In Springtime’DSCF4821-001

by Rudyard Kipling

My garden blazes brightly with the rose-bush and the peach,
And the koil sings above it, in the siris by the well,
From the creeper-covered trellis comes the squirrel’s chattering speech,
And the blue jay screams and flutters where the cheery sat-bhai dwell.
But the rose has lost its fragrance, and the koil’s note is strange;
I am sick of endless sunshine, sick of blossom-burdened bough.
Give me back the leafless woodlands where the winds of Springtime range —
Give me back one day in England, for it’s Spring in England now!

Through the pines the gusts are booming, o’er the brown fields blowing chill,
From the furrow of the ploughshare streams the fragrance of the loam,
And the hawk nests on the cliffside and the jackdaw in the hill,
And my heart is back in England ‘mid the sights and sounds of Home.
But the…

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Psalms of the Organic source #quote #refuges

Wuji Seshat

Screen Shot 04-15-15 at 02.04 AMScreen Shot 04-15-15 at 02.03 AM

Psalm of Souls

The spirit is a beacon
And the righteous run to it and are safe
Among those whose faith is pure
How fine their company
Trusting in what is sure

The universe becomes a world of understanding
Our path becomes straight
The world strengths and helps us
And our righteousness is reflected
Back unto us, for good deeds multiply

Do not let your hearts be troubled
For in giving peace, peace may you receive
But take heart, even unkind men
Have a glimmer of hope
And nations in strife crave the faith

Benevolent acts are our refuge and our warmth
In giving we become free of our own troubles
Therefore focus on the on high
To make thy will pure with ease
Look upon the mountains and the skies

We were not given a timid spirit
But a spirit captured by the power of love
And the heart…

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Psalms of the Organic source #quote #refuges

Wuji Seshat

Screen Shot 04-15-15 at 02.04 AMScreen Shot 04-15-15 at 02.03 AM

Psalm of Souls

The spirit is a beacon
And the righteous run to it and are safe
Among those whose faith is pure
How fine their company
Trusting in what is sure

The universe becomes a world of understanding
Our path becomes straight
The world strengths and helps us
And our righteousness is reflected
Back unto us, for good deeds multiply

Do not let your hearts be troubled
For in giving peace, peace may you receive
But take heart, even unkind men
Have a glimmer of hope
And nations in strife crave the faith

Benevolent acts are our refuge and our warmth
In giving we become free of our own troubles
Therefore focus on the on high
To make thy will pure with ease
Look upon the mountains and the skies

We were not given a timid spirit
But a spirit captured by the power of love
And the heart…

View original post 128 more words

Freewill Written in Verse #Wordsmatter #Quote

Wuji Seshat

Screen Shot 04-15-15 at 02.49 AM 001Screen Shot 04-15-15 at 02.49 AM

Freewill in Poems

Our poems were mirrors
To inner states of freedom
They celebrated solitude
A loving solitude that extends

To nature and all unity and uniformity
Our sweetest songs told
The most shared thoughts
It was bliss to share the pain

A poet is a nightingale
Who sits in darkness to sing cheer
Like crickets, dawn, the spring
As if it’s expected

To wait for inner light
Gloom has a way of breaking free
Sadness hopes to realize its infinity
Change is certain, love is decreed

If you have drunk deep joy
It stays with you for a lifetime
Soul meets soul in your memory
Lovers’ lips tonight, gone tomorrow

Our poems were mirrors
Of our study in ignorance
To lift the veil from the
Hidden beauty of the world

Everything became a familiar sign
Of nature’s design and genius
And even familiar acts
Because beautiful through love

Experience…

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Roll in the hay

poems and short stories

IMG_1890

Young with no cares

Monumental moments

Strung together

Glued by hormonal upheaval

 life is crazed

Wanting everything now

Experience is key,

It is all about me.

Beer tailgating

Laughing till you cry

Running, steal a kiss

Birds flutter out of the barn

As we run in seeking

Each other’s bodies

Sweet smell of hay

Still arouses me

One day’s pleasure

Life time of responsibility

Not all have happy endings

Still adore my daughter

Hoping to protect her

From making my mistake,

Yet hormonal pleasures

Deafens adolescence

Mistakes are made

In the heat of the moment,

Another roll in the hay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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NaPoWriMo #15: Reckoning

Jane Dougherty Writes

Painting by Ismael Nery.

Ismael_Nery_-_Namorados


Your eyes in mine,
I wonder how many others
I might have loved
Had you not held me fast
In those sea green depths,
How many hands
I might have held,
In the darkness and in the sunlight,
Had I never found yours,
And how many murmured tokens
I could have stored
In the treasure trove of my heart,
Had I never heard your sweet voice.
But here, now
Caught in that green gaze
And the net of murmurings,
Comforting as the humming of bees,
Sweet and suave as the scent of roses,
The tally fades like mist,
Falling through my fingers like water,
Leaving only your face beneath my touch,
And the only light in the world
The glitter of sea and sky,
Reflected in your eyes.

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The Boatman Considers a Scone by Ron Hayes

Three Drops from a Cauldron

The Boatman Considers a Scone

Centuries upon centuries of oaring
ingrates across this boring river
and finally I’m bored too. Used to be
I’d never notice what they’d wear
or who they showed up with, but now
I’m fascinated with every one.

Yesterday a woman from Hibernia
arrived at my dock holding no coins
but what looked to be a stone. “No,” she said,
“scone,” and immediately I was lost.
What’s a scone? “You eat it,”
she said, and I laughed out loud.

“Might just as well be a stone,” I said
in helping her aboard. Her eyes went
blank as she sat, rigid as an oar,
brought the scone to her lips.
“Scone,” she said, but not to me,
and, coinless, I pushed away from shore.

Ron Hayes is a poet and fiction writer from Erie, PA. He holds a Master of Fine Arts from Queens University of Charlotte…

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The BeZine, April, Volume 1, Issue 6, Table of Contents with links, Celebrating interNational Poetry Month

THE POET BY DAY

OUR THEME THIS MONTH:
POETRY in honor of
interNATIONAL POETRY MONTH

Mid-wife

A poem is as new as beginnings,
as fresh as the first day at school.

A poem is as bright as our admiration
for courage, our respect for freedom.

A poem is as early as the first leaf,
as white as the most swan-white cloud.

A poem is a drop of rain, a little
convex mirror with the prime of day in it.

A poem is so raw, so young that it has grown
no first, second or third skin.

Dilys Wood, All rights reserved

April 15, 2015

Poetry is that particular way of organizing our thoughts and imagination into music, emotion, image and story. Through poetry we live hugely, with more beauty, and we seek to break the limitations of our minds, to understand the powers that are living us (to borrow from Auden) and…

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Mine – 15

Morrighan's Muse

his kisses blaze a trailfromher lips
to the base of her neckwhere her pulse throbs,
hard with longingfor so much more,
his hands exploring,moving lower than it did
before

do you want me to stop?he asksjust when she thinks
she can’t takeany more.
do you want meto keep going
till you’ve reached thelimits
of passion’s shores?

where your edgesshall be smoothened,
and the raging of the wavescalmed?
do you want meto keep on going,
my dove,and leave no stones
unturned?

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“M is for… Meeting Minutes” (poem)

A Certain Point of View

Meeting time. Back again.
Position jostle. Click pen.
Introductions. Round we go.
Agenda thin. Lie low.
Soft voices. Gentle tones.
Strategic talk. Silence phone.
“Road map.” Going where?
Chap from Comms slumped in prayer.

Look around. Head in hands.
Ramrod straight. “Robust plans.”
Puffed-up windbag sloganeering.
Tummy rumble. Lunch is nearing.
No one looking – explore nose.
Stretch legs. Wiggle toes.
Fidget, furtle, arch back.
“Vision statement.” Knuckles crack.

‘tache twirling. Deep sigh.
Buzzing round, black fly.
Director talks. People listen.
Manager talks. People stiffen.
Occasional nodding. Nodding off.
Hide face. Smother cough.
Coloured pens, making notes.
Flappy hands. Lofty quotes.

Secret smile. Scratch nose.
Furrowed brow. Agree/ oppose.
Shoulders shrugging. Arms folded.
Limited deeds, sugar coated.
Key partners. Locked in.
Checking BlackBerry. Stroking chin.
Pen poised. Leaning back.
“Synergy.” Defend/ attack.

“Buy-in.” Breathe out.
What’s she going on about?
Mask slips. Straighten face.
Boy, I’ve got to leave this…

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