Poems...
A POEM;
IN THE AWE OF MOTHER NATURE by Neil Longman
In the light of nature's ways, I see the sounds of water flowing.
Drinking Bees bless her flowers.
She brings the gifts of summer fruits.
In this vision I am at last awake.
In wonder I feel the living glow of her shadows, and now I know the fullness
in your hair.
Long and free she dances into my awareness, weaves her message into my
thoughts.
Open love's sensations, enfold us from her dreams within, bring our awareness
to life.
Here we are in her nature and we have awoken thoughts in visions of one
another.
We may now find love within our world of sensations.
Let us share her love and she will give us cascades of wild delight.
With perceptions free, we reach out and touch the light among her trees.
See how we run her fingers through our tresses.
Don't stop us, let the trees stay, touch them, feel her and then she may
open your eyes.
But think again, what of the others?
Let them have the chance to dream.
Let them find their ways within her reality.
Our world is theirs and life would give them the joy of her fruits, if
only we? They? Could?
LET
IT BE.
La Figlia Che Piange, by T.S. Eliot
Stand on the highest pavement of the stair
-
Lean on a garden urn -
Weave, weave, weave the sunlight in your hair -
Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise -
Fling them to the ground and turn
With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:
But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.
So I would have had him leave,
So I would have had her stand and grieve,
So he would have left
As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised,
As the mind deserts the body it has used.
Some way incomparably light and deft,
Some way we both should understand,
Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand.
She turned away, but with the autumn weather
Compelled my imagination many days -
Many days and many hours:
Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers -
And I wonder how they should have been together!
I should have lost a gesture and a pose.
Sometimes these cogitations still amaze
The troubled midnight and the noon's repose.
Rondel
- kissing her hair I sat against her feet.
Writen by Algernon Charles Swineburne (1905)
Kissing
her hair I sat against her feet,
Wove and unwove it, wound and found it sweet;
Made fast therewith her hands, drew down her eyes,
Deep as deep flowers and dreamy like dim skies;
With her own tresses bound and found her fair,
Kissing her hair.
Sleep were no sweeter than her face to me,
Sleep of cold sea-bloom under the cold sea;
What pain could get between my face and hers?
What new sweet thing would love not relish worse?
Unless, perhaps, white death had kissed me there,
Kissing her hair?
The Garland
- Francis Hopkinson (1919 - just before bob-cutting fever)
The pride of ev'ry grove I chose
The violet sweet and lily fair, The dappled pink and blushing rose,
To deck my charming Chloe's hair!
At morn the nymph vouchsaf'd to place
Upon her brow the various wreath,
The flow'rs less blooming than her face,
Their scent less fragrant than her hair!
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