Sweet Afton - Robert Burns (1759–1796)

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild Ev'ning leaps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides,
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flowrets she stems thy clear wave.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream

Robert Burns

Image : Pixabay - DuncanNelson

Silver Blue Eyes - Tony Gardner

Silver blue  skies
And  stars    diamond  bright 
Bring  nothing  but  coldness
And  frost  ghostly  white
Just  as  behind  beauty
A  cold  heart might  live
Selfish  with  no  warmth
Or   sweet  love   to  give
And  I  found  excuses
For  your  coldness  and  lies
But  the  truth  always  showed
In  your  silver blue  eyes.
 
Tony Gardner  


Image : Pixabay - cocoparisienne

If I Were An Artist - Ian Duquemin

If I were an artist 
And you were my muse
I'd not find your vibrant colours to use
The rainbow in you, I could never compare 
Your aura… The sunshine that flows through your hair
No artist could paint such a beautiful view
Your universe eyes are the highlight of you 
So I'll try as a poet. And write what I see
To capture the beauty inspiring me

Ian Duquemin

Image: Jacek Malczewski (1854-1929)

Land’s End - Diane Scantlebury

Never to tire of a view
That wouldn’t my eyes offend,
Where green grass meets sky blue
At land and journey’s end,

The trees’ branches half clothed in leaf
Stir in the wind and bend,
Some storm cracked and broken
That nature couldn’t mend,
Here birds alight, rest and call
And to their mate shrill messages send,

How could I tire of a view that changes?
As each season descends,
Where grey granite rock meets green sea
At land and journey’s end.

Diane Scantlebury

Earth Spirit - Trudie Shannon

I let the water fall
Through sunshine and onto cloud.
I let the water fall
Through rainbow and into sound.
I am the rhythm.
I am the soul.
My dreams cascade
My vital waters flow
Into harvests,
Into ground.
I am straight and lithe in growing wheat
I am the life in each bird's wing as it takes flight.
I let the water fall
Let glistening pearls rest
Upon leaf and twig, flesh and fur.
I let the wind call through the grasses
Crossing meadows, traversing forests,
Rippling waters, rivers and seas.
I await, for my seasons fruit to fall
Enriching all,
The soil, the earth, my Self.
I let the water fall
Through sunshine and onto cloud

Trudie Shannon

Skin - Dermot O’Logy

Skin covers us from head to foot
It starts out smooth, without a flaw,
then wrinkles like a well-worn boot.
It’s sad, but that is Nature’s law.

Some think that law can be defied:
they hanker for a surgeon’s knife
then end up smooth but slitty-eyed,
so they are stuck like that for life.

An unread book has pages, smooth.
A book, well loved, looks less than new.
There’s no point hankering for youth
when youth has gone. It’s surely true

that you are wedded to your skin
and your skin is attached to you,
so treat it well, stay off the gin,
the cigarettes and vindaloo.

One movie star from Hollywood
had lifts and tucks and tweaks, it’s said,
until her navel reached her chin
and nipples sprouted from her head.

So treat your epidermis well
as though it were designer stuff.
It may be saggy, what the Hell,
it covers you when things get tough.

Dermot O’Logy

Perfectly Fake - Diane Scantlebury

She’s not happy
So she’ll change her look,
Choose a perfect new image
From a glossy magazine or book,
Endure the pain of
Being pummelled and plucked,
To have a bottom like J-Lo’s
And her thighs lipo sucked,

Still not content to leave it at that,
She’ll have her lids and brows lifted
Till she has eyes like a cat,
With lips like a duck
She can hardly speak,
Her face is expressionless and wax like,
Her nose resembles a beak,

Not yet satisfied
Her attention turns to her chest,
And the puppy dog ears that hang
And fail the pencil test,
Encouraged by the tabloids
She feels every woman should want,
A huge pair of bosoms
On sunny holiday beach to flaunt,

Add a dazzling white smile,
Plus a few random tattoos
All that’s left for her is on a sun bed to bake,
She’s now nip, tucked and orange,
The desired effect is complete,
She’s perfectly fake.

Diane Scantlebury

Where Beauty Sleeps - Diane Scantlebury

Where beauty lies
Beauty sleeps,
So beauty will
Her secret keep,
Where ugliness lies
Then ugliness knows,
The darkest place
Where ugliness grows,
So let beauty wake
And in your heart shine,
Don’t let ugliness creep
And your heart entwine,
If beauty’s secret
You wish to keep,
Don’t let ugliness know
Where beauty sleeps.

Diane Scantlebury

Islands Of Cloud - Fred Williamson

On the horizon,
As far as the eye can see,
Cotton wool clouds above the sea,
Grey and white float in the breeze,
A forest of cotton wool trees.

Once in a while do hide the sun,
Against a backdrop of blue.
Above the skyline islands of cloud,
Look down on the sea,
And a land of green.

Where the sunset sinks,
The trees of cloud,
Are fringed with gold.
Shining, a single silver star,
Final sunset red.

Fred Williamson

Red Sun Falling - Fred Williamson

A twilight dawning, brings a red sunrise,
Before my eyes,
Becomes so bright,
A white golden light.

An evening sunset west,
Shining across the river Mekong,
A red sunbeam, looking its best,

Red sun falling,
Behind the cloud sinking fast,
Like a deflating red balloon,
Darkness comes so soon,
Showing in the sky, an orange moon.

Fred Williamson

Unmistakably Quink - Susan Jones

An Angel sat in a sunset,
and wrote in cerise pink ink:
there’s more love, tenderness
and compassion in the world,
than whatever you may think.

The phonetic shorthand flowed,
in a frantic fluttering line:
there’s more laughter,
fun and kindness in the world-
had from friendships merry kind.

The raspberry ripple stripe
inscribed, decipherable and distinct:
there’s more gentleness.
trust and softness to be found
if you could just adjust,

rethink
reply to a stranger’s smile
a would be friend’s handclasp

it takes an open mind,
to establish a connection
solid and steadfast.

Beneath lowering clouds
of whipped egg white
colours leached from the dusk night sky

the Angel’s quill stuttered still
as the delicate link of hot pink quink
dissolved with the day’s demise

I was supremely privileged
to see such beauty,
hear words to appraise, and transcribe

indeed
there’s more spiritual richness
more opportunities
for a jaded spirit to revive,

than in one precarious lifetime I could ever chance by.

Susan Jones

To Beauty, A Prayer - Kathy Figueroa

I’m going to listen to Pachelbel
And marvel at the Canon he wrote.
I’ll revel in each clear, ringing chord
And in the precision of each note.

When I sit down at the piano,
I play this with reverence and care,
For his great and glorious music
Is as though, to Beauty, a prayer.

Kathy Figueroa