Spring

May 2009

#004

Spring

The sun shines like fire burning coals.
The Horses dancing in a field of bladed grass.
Flowers blooming in colours of jewels of gold.
The trees spreading their trunks
touching the sky.
Leaves colours and shades of nature.
Bees racing from flower to flower
collecting pollen.
Ants scurrying making their home.
Cows grazing in the meadows.
Clouds drifting across the sky
like bunches of cotton wool.

The Springing Of Spring

Spring is sprung
Life bursts forth
New insects appear
For birds
Incubating eggs
To seize
And swallow

Ground nesting birds
Lay eggs
For starving snakes to
Ingest whole
So they may bring forth
Their own offspring

New-hatched chicks
In treetop nests
Are prey for birds
Of prey
Taken to
Make meals
For their own young

Timid baby rabbits
Venturing from burrows
Offer food for
Foxes and
For falcons

New-born antelope
Make meals
For lactating lions
And cheetahs
Seal pups provide
Prime pickings
For polar bears

This season of
Newborn life
Is also
The season of
Short-term life
And
Newborn death

Spring Fling

I only remember it was spring,
not too hot, and not too cold
to walk to the cinema.
He was the pest from the back of the bus,
kept throwing balled-up gum wrappers
to get my attention.
The couple on the screen were giants,
at least they seemed to be
to my impressionable eye.
I thought the camera was taking me
up his nostrils
and down her throat.
Her ruby lips parted,
he leaned into her,
breathing heavily.
Drat! What is that?
Something keeps bumping my knee...
...his knee.
I turned my head, slightly,
but pointedly...so the glare
would not be lost. Alas!
The dim lighting
cloaked my annoyance
and he leaned, ever closer,
nostrils beckoning,
lips, parted--more peach than ruby, though.
Suddenly! Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh, Yes!
Breath, close, warm,
permeating with that unmistakable,
tantalizing, irrestible...
...Juicy Fruit? May I
have a stick?
Hey! Where ya goin'?
Hmm, what'd I say?

Spring

A riot of colour
Stampedes through the shattered earth
Unbridled, untamed.
Wildness clutches at the heart
As a new-born daughter
Grips her mother's finger
Drawing nourishment from her body
And comfort from her warmth

The wind catches my breath
And holds it gently between the leaves
My veins, rivulets of life
Carrying both good and bad
Surrendering to the journey
Trusting in the final destination

Silent Storm

Wind like storm cold through my bones
Hammered its way through the leaves
No sun about
No sunglasses needed today

Sounds through hearing aids
Rattle like drums
Leading its way through canals
The trees they shake
Leaving stars in my eyes
Headache like when fire alarms shout

The wind is silent now
The trees they still sway
The sky up above is like grey mist paint
Paving its picture for all and sundry

I wondered quietly this waking day
Cold, before seeing the wind swept trees
I drank my coffee on this next day
Breathed my sigh - and started the day

Spring

Waking early in the morning
I heard the weather forecast bleak
"The wind from the west -
Will do it's best
And they may be a snow warning-"

But strolling through the garden
Sweetly the birds were singing
Myriads of daffodils were glowing
Golden in the strengthening sun

There was a feeling in the air
Of waking; stirring; warming,
I glanced into the pool and there
Shiny frogs-spawn massing

Catkins silver Grey in the trees
Green shoots everywhere
Natures' forecast seems to say
"The wind from the west, will do it's best
To bring sweet summer on a breeze."

Cynthia Price 24/03/2009
Stevenage Survivors

Spring

I have just returned from a country where
The summer dwells all year
The sun so strong I hid from its glare
Watching humming birds in the flowers near
And dancing fireflies at night
But in England's cold, crisp spring dawn.
There is nothing quite like the sight
In the greening lawn
Of snowdrops white and new
Turning to crocus and daffodil gold
Then forget-me-nots misty blue
And bluebells in the woods so old
While the trees dress in palest green
To welcome the warming sun that brings
Buds on the rose and more - I dream
Of the magical warmth of an English Spring

Cynthia Price 17/05/2009
Stevenage Survivors Poetry

A Poet's Meanderings;
A woodland garden in springtime.

Perfumed, crumpled tissues, caught, passing on the breeze, hang in profusion from the spring flowering Azalea.
On the smooth bark of the Magnolia, red waxed candles flame in the afternoon sunlight.
A flood of buttercups, creep unchecked across the unmade bed.
Little Princess's crowned in white, jealously guarded by the stiff, upright leaves so reminiscent of Lily of the Valley.
Cherry blossom falls from the laden tree like a shower of raindrops on the newly mowed lawn.
Bluebells, seeds carried on the wing, bow their heads, like souls in prayer, contemplative in the serenity of worship.

To be continued, (hopefully!)

Jan Hedger
GROW

After Winter

A warmer sun breaks through
The light changes
like sheets billowing on the line.

The nourished earth enriched with buds
rises with the sap.

Among grassy slopes the sight
of delicate snowdrops.
In the shade a spreading purple stain
of wild violets; fragrant smells of hyacinths.

Branches of tender shoots
Fresh growths of vegetables and fruit
Usher in the piquancy of Spring.

Twittering sounds reverberate
An abundance of birds boldly appear
Willow-warbler, blue-tits, chiff-chaffs
On walls and greenery - build nests
spread wings.

Waves of surprising sunshine suffuse the day
Chime with rain and a swathe of cold winds
like laughter through tears
The elusive shape of Spring.

Vera Kryshek Feb 08
London SurvivorsSpring 2009

Today, I heard the song thrush singing
so loud, so full
of Spring, new life, new love.

The early morning chorus beckoned me
to walk among the hedgerows
watch the catkins swaying, golden
in the breeze.

The stream tumbled gently onwards
searching for the heavenly flash
of kingfisher and the way to the distant sea.

My heart reflected Spring, lightened
by the busy hustle of nature's experience
Freshly - dug molehills all in a row
Two sparrow - hawks soaring
in the freedom of the sky
Tiny buds of blackthorn
just waiting.
And snowdrops, their white petals
gently heralding the passing of Winter.

Spring is in the air.

Lucia Birch
Stevenage Survivors

An Early Spring

One day, a long time ago
When I rode on buses
and joined with the flow,
A glorious sight came into view
a field of daffodils covered in dew.

It was early morning I travelled this way
I still remember the thrill of that day,
When over the field in clusters of gold
Daffodils waved, a sight to behold

(c) Sally Flood

Captured
(By Springtime in South Gower)

Can you capture a place in words?
The tug of an emotional pull
And a promise to return
To where you felt complete

Towering cliffs joining sea to sky
Aflame with scented gorse and,
Carpeted with sweet springy turf with,
Nodding wildflowers and dancing butterflies
A myriad of colours in fine grandeur
A place to capture an artist's eye

Flit flitting and trilling of the pipits
Warblers accompanying the birdsong melody
Gulls soaring, kittiwakes calling kitti-week,
Kitti-week, sailing the sky over the sea
The rolling surf a soothing lullaby
Can a symphony capture a place?

A rocky climb, take heed, take care
The scree loose shifts beneath ones feet
Just one more stride, and there
Stretches a view so breathtaking, in awe,
You reach for the camera, to try,
And capture the place in a picture

Down into a valley of secrets held,
In quiet solitude, a well worn path
Leading to a treasure chest of golden sands
Warmed by the sun and fringed by the sea
Pulling you to stay, hypnotic in its beauty
It is the place that has captured you

I've tried to share with you, in words,
That cannot compare, to the splendour,
That cannot be captured, on the walk
From Port Eynon to Rhossilli

In A Lazy Meadow

Oh butterfly, butterfly
Flutter by flutter by
When did you wake
From your pupae state
Was it this morning
When the sun was high
In the bright blue sky
Did you spread your wings
In it's heat to dry
Oh flutter by flutter by
My pretty little butterfly
Parade your wondrous colours
So that all can see
The rich tapestry
Of Mother Natures artistry
Vivid, bold, a delicate hue
Red; yellow and cornflower blue
Paper wings as soft as a whisper
Flitting floating in the gentle breeze
Fluttering by fluttering by
My pretty little butterfly
Can you feel the buzz of the busy bees
As they go about their work
Collecting nectar from the flowers
Freshly scented by summertime showers
Can you hear the sound of the lark above
Or the soft coo cooing of the turtle dove
Do you see the beauty all around
As you flutter by flutter by
My pretty little butterfly
Where do you sleep
When the day grows cold
And night falls upon the land
Come my innocent friend
Come rest on my hand
To talk awhile, before,
You flutter by flutter by
My pretty little butterfly

Old Manor Gardens - Bexhill

Within the walled garden, the manor house stands
Square leaded windows, a testament to its past
Ordered rose beds sit amidst the close cut lawn,
Awaiting bloom, they appear severe and stark.
In neatly cropped borders of symmetrical design,
The rich black earth casts a shadow upon itself.
At the foot of the far wall, in rank and file
Flowers grow in graduated height of colour.
High upon a tree, outside of its boundaries
A blackbird praises the lengthening evening.
Whilst the walled garden remains hushed,
In quiet contemplation of its memories.

Nature In Rhyme

A garden of roses,
Sweetly reposes
Scent pervading
Bumblebees raiding,
The nectar sweet
All replete
As old as time
Nature in rhyme.

Wildflowers in profusion,
Seem an illusion
Scents reeling
Butterflies stealing,
The nectar sweet
All replete
As old as time
Nature in rhyme.

Soft gentle breezes,
Tickles and teases
Seeds dispersing
Buds emerging,
Into the light
Pure delight!
As old as time
Nature in rhyme.

(C) Jan Hedger
GROW

Nature's Library

Mother Nature surrounds us in all her glory
No author could write such a wondrous story
A Mills and Boon romance
Swans' necks entwined on a shimmering lake
A mystical tale
Of snakes swaying, hypnotically staring
A mystery thriller
Whose footprints break the virgin snow?
A comedy of errors
Of skittish lambs, leaping and bleating
A children's fantasy
Of eagles, of mountains and far off lands
The story of life evolving
Is ever growing, ever revolving
The book unfolds
Leaves ever turning
New chapters beginning
Nature is an endless story

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Spring

May 2009