A thing of beauty is a joy forever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness.
John Keats
Poetry
Where the Passion Flower Grows
By Charles M. Moore
Lay down on your pillow
and turn the lights down low
let me take you to the garden
where the passion flower grows
Close your eyes and enter dreams
as love’s emotion sets the scene
and flitters through the garden
where the passion flower grows
Touch the tender petals
of the flower as she grows
a tentative endeavour
as your feelings overflow
Let me draw you to the place
where ecstasy can be embraced
the beauty of the garden
where the passion flower grows
Feel your mind exploding
in the heavy scented air
experience the shiver
as you’re captured unaware
A little touch of heaven
where imagination flows
the valley in the garden
where the passion flower grows.
✿
I have many many favorite poems including the Yeats poem Krista posted as her example for this week’s challenge. I selected this one that I’ve posted before because recently the poem’s author left a comment with praise of this posting. So I’m honored and delighted that the poet found the photos worthy of this exceptional poem. Here’s an except from Charles M. Moore’s biography –
“Born in the backstreets of the Gorbals in Glasgow Scotland, Kept in hospital because of Tuberculosis untill I was five, released, and given the all clear when I was fifteen, have always worked for a living and suppose had a pretty hard upbringing, but I wouldn’t change it for the world, love life and my outlook of it, have always as far as I can remember written poetry and songs.”
“Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.”
Robert Frost
Ecco mormorar l’onde
— Torquato Tasso
Now the waves murmur
And the boughs and the shrubs tremble
in the morning breeze,
And on the green branches the pleasant birds
Sing softly
And the east smiles;
Now dawn already appears
And mirrors herself in the sea,
And makes the sky serene,
And the gentle frost impearls the fields
And gilds the high mountains:
O beautiful and gracious Aurora,
The breeze is your messenger, and you the breeze’s
Which revives each burnt-out heart.
Dreams Lost In Water
by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
(excerpts)
No distance ever separates
Dreams and desires
No mirror ever dissolves
Reflection and water
In one’s eye
~ ☢ ☢ ☢ ☢ ~
Who will look for
Flowers
In spring-fresh hands
Of tiny tots?
Who will see
Dreams
In eyes-yours and mine
In centuries to be?
No one is sure
Of things lost in water!
My Star
by Marina Gipps
My lucky star,
a gaseous crumb of Andromeda
online birthday purchase,
my star,
a little crumb
not worthy of
mythology
light years old,
my star,
out of momentum,
plotted wish
dissipating into gazing
history,
my star,
imploding path
on a dark sky,
wishing upwards
upon nothing
to the naked eye
nor soul, choreographing
a brighter vortex,
my star,
to shine alone
as stargazing
undertakers
hustle
into a crowded
planetarium
of lunacy
knowing no one
is far from
the planet of sleep.
Winter is now officially over as we cross the threshold into the new Spring. Today is also Ms. Gipps birthday and if you could be so generous and kind as to like her Facebook page I'm sure Marina would appreciate the birthday gift of your like. To "like" Marina's FB page click here. ƸӜƷ Thank you!
And Spring arose on the garden fair,
Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;
And each flower and herb on Earth’s dark breast
rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.
~Percy Bysshe Shelley
“I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.”
– William Wordsworth
By Nancy Russell
St. Patrick’s Day is coming
And you might think it’s a joke.
But I’d like to get my hands on
One of the little folk.
For they say in good old Ireland
If a Leprechaun you hold.
You’ll go to the end of the rainbow
To his treasure pot of gold.
It may be a lot of blarney
For tis written in Irish folklore.
The Isle is home to the fairies
To be sure, to be sure, to be sure.
The Dreams of My Heart
by Sara Teasdale
The dreams of my heart and my mind pass,
Nothing stays with me long,
But I have had from a child
The deep solace of song;
If that should ever leave me,
Let me find death and stay
With things whose tunes are played out and forgotten
Like the rain of yesterday
♦
A Walk
by Rainer Maria Rilke
My eyes already touch the sunny hill.
going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has inner light, even from a distance-
and charges us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it,
we already are; a gesture waves us on
answering our own wave…
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.
Maverick Mist 