Summer Magic - Leslie Pinckney Hill (1880-1960)

So many cares to vex the day,
    So many fears to haunt the night,
My heart was all but weaned away
    From every lure of old delight.
Then summer came, announced by June,
    With beauty, miracle and mirth.
She hung aloft the rounding moon,
    She poured her sunshine on the earth,
She drove the sap and broke the bud,
    She set the crimson rose afire.
She stirred again my sullen blood,
    And waked in me a new desire.
Before my cottage door she spread
    The softest carpet nature weaves,
And deftly arched above my head
    A canopy of shady leaves.
Her nights were dreams of jeweled skies,
    Her days were bowers rife with song,
And many a scheme did she devise
    To heal the hurt and soothe the wrong.
For on the hill or in the dell,
    Or where the brook went leaping by
Or where the fields would surge and swell
    With golden wheat or bearded rye,
I felt her heart against my own,
    I breathed the sweetness of her breath,
Till all the cark of time had flown,
    And I was lord of life and death.

Leslie Pinckney Hill


Image : Pixabay - Fotorech

May Is Back - Richard Le Gallienne (1866 - 1947)

May is back, and You and I
Are at the stream again -
The leaves are out,
And all about
The building birds begin
To make a merry din:
May is back, and You and I
Are at the dream again.

May is back, and You and I
Lie in the grass again, -
The butterfly
Flits painted by,
The bee brings sudden fear,
Like people talking near;
May is back, and You and I
Are lad and lass again.

May is back, and You and I
Are heart to heart again, -
In God's green house
We make our vows
Of summer love that stays
Faithful through winter days;
May is back, and You and I
Shall never part again.

Richard Le Gallienne


Image : Pixabay - GuentherDillingen

The Leaf - Ian Duquemin

I caught a falling dying leaf
And in that moment felt its grief
The dancing spirits waited by
The breeze it hushed its lullaby
I whispered that I felt its pain
And heard returned the very same
Before it flew away from me
To wander far and free

Ian Duquemin

Image : Pixabay - pixel2013

Daddy Long Legs - Stephen A. Roberts

Hey there, Daddio 
clinging to the window  
craning in to see  
where to leave your progeny 
I admire the symmetry  
of your elegant fragility 
with the waning of the sun 
you know your summer’s done 
are our autumns just the same 
staring through the pane? 

Stephen A. Roberts

Image : Stephen A. Roberts

Dark Nectar - Tony Gardner

Through  soft  September's  early  morning  mists
I  sally  forth  in  sturdy  thorn-proof  clothes
To  face  the  prickly  blackthorn  which  resists
My quest  to  reap  her  lovely  blue-black  sloes.
Soon  I'm  homeward bound  with  hard  won  prize
The  sun  breaks  through,  a  bird  sings  merrily.
But  now  it's  time  for  work  and  methods  wise
To  tell  and  mix  the  ancient  recipe;
 
       "Pick  and  prick  the  purple  berries,
       add  the  sugar  and  the  gin.
       Then  the  almonds,  not  too  many,
       seal  it,  let  all  soak  in."
 
For  months  it's left  until  at  Christmas time 
With  carols  sung  and  turkey  eaten,  then
Before  the  fire,  our  glasses  we  all  prime
With  dark  old  nectar  sweet,  -  our  own  Sloe  Gin.

Tony Gardner

Image : Pixabay - LaMaLaMa55

Spring - Tony Gardner

Spring has sprung, now ain't that something
Buds are bursting, Hares are jumping
Swallows flying, cuckoos calling
And the caterpillars crawling
Tadpoles swimming, chicks are fledgin'
Nightingales are Spring's sweet legend
Early Butterflies are tumbling
Badger cubs will soon be stumbling
Through the woodlands shady glades
Where the fox cubs sniffed and played
How I love this time of year
Spring has sprung and Heaven's here

Tony Gardner

Image : Pixabay - MabelAmber

In Memory of Spring - Diane Scantlebury

Will the lure of indoor retail
Kill the daily outdoor family stroll?
Will our brief encounter with nature
Have taken its toll?
Too soon we’ll have forgotten
The visual beauty of spring,
Above the roar of traffic 
We can’t hear the song that birds sing,
From the comfort of the sofa
We can’t see the crocuses in the grass,
Or the colour pop of park daffodils
Their splendour will have passed,
Time for us can be as fleeting
As short, sharp April rain,
So will spring’s imprint on our memory
Blow through swiftly just the same? 

Diane Scantlebury

Image : Pixabay - MichaelGaida

Haymaking - Tony Gardner

September, start of Autumn days
Lets in the busy harvest ways
And longer silver shadows cast
Our memories to harvests past

No combines, just the sibilant swish
Of blades when scythes and corn stalks kiss
And hay tossed high on horse drawn drays
And friendships forged in those warm days

And friendships sometimes grown to more
For Love in Summer seems so sure
It's sixty years ago today
We raked and tossed that new mown hay

It hasn't been a day too long
There's not a day I'd want to miss.
Our life's been like a Linnet's song
And started with a harvest kiss.

Haymaking - Tony Gardner

Seasons - Tony Bradley

So distant, now . . those hot, hazy days
when even the winds were warm
the Sun slept little, from it’s scarlet set
to another bright morning, a dazzling dawn.

Too soon, the Sun slumbers, slow to rise
as golden leaves glisten, glossed by night’s rain
and falling,twirling, they waltz to Autumn’s wind
and bristling, bare bushes face Winter again.

January breezes begin their frosty toil
crispening a crust on the slumbering soil.
Soon, plucky bulbs will peep, and on dark, stark trees
Spring’s faithful companions, little green leaves.

Tony Bradley

Another precious year - Tony Bradley

Those hot, hazy days seem so distant now
bright blue skies, even the winds were warm,
and the sun slept little from its scarlet set
to another bright morning, a dazzling dawn.

But the sun soon slumbered, slow to rise,
and golden leaves glistened, jewelled by night's rain,
falling, twirling, they waltzed to Autumn's wind
leaving bristling bushes to face Winter again.

Now, frosty breezes begin their toil,
crispening a crust to slumbering soil
soon, plucky bulbs will peep, and the dark, stark trees
will herald Spring, again, with little green leaves.

Tony Bradley

Our Bloney Winter Weather! - Jenny Hamon

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in January 2013.

We’re in the middle of winter
And nothing is able to grow
The ground is completely sodden
I’d much rather have some snow

The hedges and banks are collapsing
And roads have been closed by a flood
The poor farmers can’t access their crops
As the fields are too deep in mud.

We could do with a cold dry wind
To clear all of this water away
And then a crisp sharp frost
To keep all the bugs at bay.

But I see they’re forecasting sleet
In the next few days to come
And of course it will then turn to rain
Will we ever see the sun?

Jenny Hamon

Into The Storm - Andrew Barham

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in January 2013.

When bleak roses die, a thorny blight
Their petals falling in the soft afternoon light
From faded flowers turning brown
To make a sad carpet on the hardening ground
Then Summer is gone and Fall is soon to follow ...

The leaves and flowers have all died away
Resting deeper down on a darker day,
Turning to ashes beneath the snow;
Arctic winds that icy blow
Scatter us with snow, a fine mist of luminous white

In the midst of this snow mist, a girl is there;
I picture her with snowflakes in her dark brown hair
In the soft glow of a street-lamp's beam,
Tiny snow crystals in her long eyelashes gleam
As together, we drift with the snow, fading ...

Andrew Barham

It's Winter - Kathy Figueroa

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in December 2012

It's winter, right now
In the Northern Hemisphere
There's much darkness
Cold weather and snow
So people try to spread good cheer
Festive outdoor lights are strung
To brighten up the gloom
Pretty decorations are hung
In the living room
People reconnect with
Friends and relatives they
Haven't seen for awhile
Folks go out of their way
To make others smile
At this time it's hoped
That everyone will feel like
They belong to one big family
Regardless of origin or creed
Everyone is welcome
Around the Christmas tree

Kathy Figueroa

Autumn (Nature's Artist) - Ian Duquemin

Soon the seasons change in colour
Blending into one another
Mosaic leaves shall paint the land
Enhanced by Mother Nature's hand
Reds and browns will cover all
As from the trees the colours fall
Spiralling before they lay
As autumn's own display

Ian Duquemin

Freezing - Tony Gardner

Fingers of coldness are creeping all over
Iciness eating the flesh off of me
A dog fox is barking outside in the darkness
Clouds are forbidding the Moon to break free
And all that I want is for Time to drop backwards
Back to the years when we tasted Life's wine
When all was a breathtaking, red-blooded exploit,
Not like this cold, bitter frost riven rime

Tony Gardner

Back to GMT - Jenny Hamon

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in October 2012

I hate it when the clocks go back
And the evenings are so dark
The hours of daylight go amiss
As we are all at work

BST to GMT
What a depressing thought
Why can’t we stay on Summer Time
(I know many people have fought.)

I think they call it SAD disease
As darkness makes me depressed
I feel I want to hibernate
All alone in the darkness

I know I just have to put up
With the dark and dismal days
And if I seem miserable
Just put up with my grumpy ways.

This SAD disease will pass
And happiness will return to me
I will be back to my happy self
When the clocks change to BST

Jenny Hamon

Autumn Colours - Yasmin Mariess

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in October 2012

Turned Red,
leaves dead.

All green,
now unseen.

Leaves brown,
floating down.

golden hues,
light defuse.

orange leaves,
summers thieves'

at last, my dear,
Autumn's here.

Yasmin Mariess

Winter - Julie Gallienne

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in October 2012

Winter's bleak message
of trouble to come
foretold in the skies
and dead leaves
on the run.
Blown around
on gusts of wind
dreams and desires
for us to chase.
Autumn's last ditch
at dressing the worl
in bejewelled attire
giving way to black
and grey.
A clear indication
of the direction we'll follw.
But as if by magic
the world is transformed
by the flutter of flakes
glistening like crystal
in a midnight sky
against a full moon.
Laying in peace.
Life takes on a calm
unhurried pace
showing a clean canvas.
Giving us time to reflect
on nature's wonders.
One minute our lives
in complete turmoil
are turned upside down
in a heavenly
serene scene.
Never extinguish
the flame of hope.

Julie Galiene

October - Julian Clarke

The dew soaked grass looks soft as silk
Shrouding the valley floats a ghostly mist,
Just for a breath the sun rests on tree tops
Rising slowly for a new autumn day.

Golden brown leaves fall on the ground
Dancing in a frenzy, swirling around,
Foreboding clouds sail on blustery winds
A watery sun hides behind one, it rains.

Leaning into a south westerly gale
Bodies bent double into a head wind,
People fighting with their umbrellas
Waiting for bus a huddled together.

Julian Clarke

October - Martyn Legg

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in October 2012

October, and the trees are stripped bare of all they wear, but do I care, do I care?
October, and the doors all close but no one knows for no one sees, but do I care?
The leaves are laughing as they fall to the ground, so slowly they drift, without a sound
So slowly I fall, or so it seems, I have all the reasons but none of the means, no infant cries, no tear filled eyes, but do I care?

I see the solution but can’t find a cure, the dreams are all faded, have lost their allure, time is the answer and life is a day, maturity comes in a cruel kind of way, but do I care, do I care?
I’ve asked all the questions and heard the replies so hollow with pity and acceptable lies, the autumn has bitten, the colours have gone, It seems in the end that I held the wrong one.

This thing that I’ve cherished completely in vain, a thing of such beauty has caused me such pain, but do I care, do I care?

October, and the trees are stripped bare, so beautiful were they, clothed in their innocence. But do I care?

Martyn Legg