"heather" poems
Over the heather the wet wind blows,
I've lice in my tunic and a cold in my nose.
The rain comes pattering out of the sky,
I'm a Wall soldier, I don't know why.
The mist creeps over the hard grey stone,
My girl's in Tungria; I sleep alone.
Aulus goes hanging around her place,
I don't like his manners, I don't like his face.
Piso's a Christian, he worships a fish;
There'd be no kissing if he had his wish.
She gave me a ring but I diced it away;
I want my girl and I want my pay.
When I'm a veteran with only one eye
I shall do nothing but look at the sky.
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You'll find me in the forest
Beneath the silver birch tree
With ribs in weaves of primrose
And stomach in knots of heather
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
Sadness touches the lines on her face.
A face that was once smooth with grace.
Age came visiting and left the trace,
Now she is searching to find her place.
Beauty did once belong to her,
She believed it would last forever.
But time has marked her like the weather,
She is now lost amongst the wild heather.
Once they used to call her the Celtic Queen.
For many her beauty was always seen,
Now faded like an actress on the silent screen.
She is wondering why life seems like a scene.
She sometime wishes that she could die,
Because for her faded beauty she will cry.
If to be beautiful again she would try,
Beauty has left her and she ponders why.
But if she opened her eyes to see,
That in my eyes she is always beauty.
Time come to us as it has to be.
My Celtic Queen always is beautiful to me.
Mar 25, 2010
Mar 25, 2010 at 11:29 PM UTC
How many times have I brought to the table
My Island flavors?
How many times have you read
my inner thoughts:
how many times will I share them again and again
It all began in 2004 from the moment I walked in
You wasn’t there and I didn’t really care
You ***** more than a female
you took on a huge responsibility
so you went out and brought the singular noun, pronouns
adjectives, plural verbs, preposition and the infinitives
For a New York minute you should have
brought Heather Taffet the grave digger for security measures
My poesy is my poesy
The sun always seems to be a symbol of life.
and life is worth living.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 6:06 AM UTC
As I flit from A to B - Candleford to Larkrise
Laurieston to Gatehouse of Fleet
I flit, spit from A to B
Calling all Bluebells
assist me in my move -11th May, '11
Let Fairy Fawn be fair and true
and pure with humility
For his Fairy Lu - La Fee Lu
could get so blue
if he is not on time
All praises Bluebells
He is here
T'was but a year since
I'd wished upon a
Castramond Bluebell
in April 2010
And now we sit in utter Bliss
Ensonced in historical Dunblane
Fairy Fawn paints on and on
And I just sit, dismiss
All negativity, anything dark
I know that light will disperse the unhelpful hearse
darkness, death and dour ways
Disolve in the sun this late spring morn
Let Bees Browse among the Heather Blooms
Like love now maturing from twenty-eight days to a year and day
4th of the 4th 2012
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 6:17 AM UTC
awakening with the gradual rise
of the subdued heather hued sun
a palpable spectral silence permeated the air
the anticipation of celebration intercepted
by an enveloping phantom black malaise
hiding in obscure shadows
the terror of the twin towers final doom
elucidated quivers of melancholic nuances
rippling through the greying vicinity
my birthday september 11th a tuesday
my night to sing at abravanel hall
with the utah symphony
unable to serenade death
our voices remained indubitably silenced
in hushed wistful reverence
ensuing 9/11s channel somber sentiments
cloaked with annihilation while
dark visions occupy smudged iphone screens
this anniversary i will dissipate despair
transmuting dark despondency
splashing all with lucent petals of delight
i’ll live this day with passionate intensity
and those subsequent with equal ardor
ferociously painting back the light
i will raise my voice with effervescence
and sing in wild abandon
for my precious brothers that were lost
demonstrating devotion through a refusal
to be silenced by fear bestowing honor
with a conspicuous message that love wins
©2016janetaylor
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 6:22 PM UTC
If there are infinite worlds,
there must be one where umbrellas never close-
hinges locked open like stubborn jaws,
gape-mouthed against walls in patient herds.
No one in their twenties owns one,
their hamster-cage apartments
too small for such luxuries.
They ask for rain jackets on birthdays.
Mary Poppins still drifts down Cherry Tree Lane,
her umbrella never folding,
only floating.
Children carry slips home
for violating umbrella laws,
forging signatures in loopy ink.
The Morton Salt girl wears a slicker,
yellow as a warning flare before the flood.
My mother walking me to kindergarten in rain,
transparent vinyl dome above our heads-
I, the opposite of a fish in its tank.
Her hair plastered to her forehead
by the time we reached the door.
Everyone looks most beautiful
with rainwater running down their face.
In the open-umbrella reality,
time can walk backward-
you can unwater a plant,
unpeel a clementine,
un-kiss someone.
Endings lift again,
fabric billowing, as if the story
had been left open in the wind.
Heather and Mike find the road out.
Rosemary tips the bassinet.
There, perhaps, neither of us was born.
What lay between us
stays open too long,
collecting rain until it sags,
slow and certain, like sugar
in the first storm.
Aug 12, 2025
Aug 12, 2025 at 8:06 PM UTC
'you've felt it, haven't you? those feelings that seem to get so big in your chest, like something is so beautiful it aches.' - Heather Anastasiu
'you have a place in my heart no one else ever could have.' - F. Scott Fitzgerald
'i knew he didn't love me, but i adored him anyway.' - Patti Smith
'i like people with depth, i like people with emotion, i like people with a strong mind, an interesting mind, a twisted mind, and also people that can make me smile.' - Abbey Lee Kershaw
'most days i wish i never met you because then i could sleep at night and i wouldn't have to walk around with the knowledge there was someone like you out there.' - Good Will Hunting
'i have a million things to talk to you about. all i want in this world is you. i want to see you and talk. i want the two of us to begin everything from the beginning.' -Haruki Murakami
'i love you in that crazy, stupid, i want to rip your throat out and kiss you at the same time love.
that love where it's so overwhelming i hate you for making me feel so vulnerable.
that love that takes over your mind and i end up thinking about you so much i drive myself into complete and utter insanity.
that love which where i put my heart on my sleeve, took everything you could throw at me and still loved you with the little pieces you left.
the love that i'll tell my kids about, the 'what if' kind of love, the one i'll never forget.
the love of my life.
that's the way i love you.' - Chippylou
'i am holding your name
underneath my tongue
in case you ask me
to make my favorite
sound.' - Stolenwine
'i need to rip your
name off my tongue;
it no longer taste
sweet. - a.w.k.jones
'i keep thinking you already know. i keep thinking i've sent you letters that were only ever written in my mind.' - Iain Thomas
'i guess what scares me the most is knowing that at any moment, you could rip my heart out of my chest, tear it into pieces, throw it on the ground and stomp all over it. and that i'd just pick it up and hand it back to you.'
'i romanticized you
to the point where
the knives you pressed
into my skin
began to look
like cupid's arrows.'
'i'll never be busy enough to not miss you.' - m.k
'i never really liked
my name
much
until i found out
what it tastes like
when you sigh it
into my
mouth'.
'i have tried to let you go and i cannot. i cannot stop thinking of you. i cannot stop dreaming about you.' - Erin Morgenstern, The Night Circus
'your heart and my heart are very, very old friends.' - Hafiz, Persian poet, "Your Mother and My Mother"
'she hated that she was still so desperate for a glimpse of him, but it had been this way for years.' - Julia Quinn
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 3:47 AM UTC
Family is the best treasure
And its a great pleasure
Life is almost as light feather
I have a friend named heather
Now you know my treasure
And that is my favorite
And great pleasures
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC
Hot chestnuts warming in their skin
Wild cherries for the brandy and sloes for the gin
Bramley apples and blackberries stewing together
Halls decked with bouquets of dried heather.
Deep dark red petals from the English rose
Pineapple mint food where the rosemary grows.
Oranges and lemons added for extra taste
Walnuts for the cake and almonds for the paste.
October’s pumpkins glowing bright
Apples dripping with toffee for bonfire night.
But waiting for the polished conkers to fall
Makes autumn the best season of them all.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 5:09 AM UTC
Hunting has a noble heritage, for sure
Bringing us together, it forged a species
Keen-eyed, communicative, feared by the fierce
So who am I to begrudge you your sport?
I, too, love wide open skies, tramping over bog and fen,
I even quite like dogs!
I imagine nature might reveal herself to you
In signs jealously guarded from the armchair carnivore.
I can almost reconcile your harsh percussion
With the croak of the raven, the sloshing tide
And the chewing and mooing of cattle.
But the pheasant! For the love of God, the pheasant?
It can hardly be a battle of wits!
I've seen him as he sits, a big, red bullseye
On fences and *****
Startled by every day he survives.
How stirring can it be,
Picking off the ones the cars and lorries never got?
When you carry him home,
Better off dead,
Hang him in your garage for a week
Feeling like Henry VIII,
Cut him down, slit him open and find the crop
Stuffed not with heather shoots and beetles
But with half a pound of store-bought grain
(Generously laced with antibiotics) -
I hope the realisation creeps up
That you may as well have asserted yourself
In the hen coop,
Blasting away at befuddled poultry
And saving yourself a walk.
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 1:33 AM UTC
The purple haze
of heather had
dwindled in the sunshine.
Bluebells were breaking too,
their florets a flutter.
Smoggy incense rolls in
off the horizon smoking
over the crumbled mountaintops,
their peaks unable to break the surf.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC
Taken, whisked, picked from the plug,
grass grows inside crack walled shrugs,
built by hand by a northern named man.
His dog lays still in the heather,
in the fog,
on the hill,
by the river;
resting in the bleak hill town, morning weather.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 4:56 PM UTC
The morning finds the young lasses milking
And the young lads in the fields cutting
Rams, ewes, and lambs eat and grow fat.
The hens lay eggs while the roosters are strutting.
The sun rises up for his daily walk,
Drawing the day across the sky.
He takes his daylight with him to another place
Because the moon's time is nigh.
Evening falls across the heather
And the stars come out to dance.
The faerie folk come to life
And fill the night with their lyrical chants.
The mists on the moors swirl and caper about,
Taking rock and tree to embrace.
The faerie folk make merry and dance about
'Neath the silver of the moon's face.
They dance to music as old as time,
Melodies and rhythms from long ago.
Verses sung in ages long past,
Songs only faerie folk know.
They sing and dance under the moon and stars,
As long as the night covers them about.
But the moon and the faerie folk must go their ways
For 'tis time for the sun to come out.
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 3:48 PM UTC
Wake up ,
Go to school ,
Study ,
Repeat.
Heather has a party this weekend ,
"Did you get invited?"
-"What?"
"Oh nevermind"
Repeat.
Late nights
Thinking
Where did I go wrong?
Repeat.
Endless tears and
I don't cares,
But it hurts
Repeat.
The 'go to'
But never the
Broken
Repeat.
Carelessly ,
The last choice ,
That "friend"
Repeat.
Like a boy ?
He's to good for you,
Atleast
Repeat.
Good at a sport ?
I don't think so ,
Try again
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
REPEAT.
Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 3:04 PM UTC
An Open Letter to Really Important People
The Old Dime Box, Texas Statement
A Manifesto Made Manifest in Manifesting Manifestingness
We post this serious looking document
Bloated with long vocabulary words
Sodden with weak dependent clauses
Marshaled in numbered ranks, down, down they go
To the GossipNet all serious like
And everyone has to pay attention to us
Because it’s AN OPEN LETTER, y’know -
You may sign it if you’ve got letters behind your name
Signatories:
Apostle-Disciple Magic Dawn, DD., Non-Binary, Author of Green Polar Bears I Am, Co-Equal-Director of the Anti-Oppressionist Theatre Against the Occupation, Agent of the Revolution, Auteur, Guest on The Wheel of Fortune and Parent of Two AMAZING children of indeterminate Gender with Their AWESOME and AMAZING Life-Partner Sven-Marie.
Massive Ferguson, M.Ed., Poet, Rector of Admissions, The University of Where the Old Circuit City Use to Be
Poncy Tworbst, M.A., PUBLISHED Author, Seeker, Inspirational Singer-Songwriter, PUBLISHED
Heather-Mistee La’ Thwitte-Tworbst, Ph.D., Director of Library Resources at Saint Margaret ****** Homeschool Resource Authority Collective, Inc., Certified Ordained Consecrated Priest in The Worldwide Church of Me-ness and Pastor of the World-Famous Weddings ‘R’ Us Chapel of Rainbow Dreams in Magdalena, New Mexico
Lawrence Hall, HSG, Thinker of Thinky-Ness and, Like, Stuff, Endowed Chair he found at Goodwill, His Mark: X
(Sean Ian Johann Johnson, MBA, J.D., Chief Photocopier Operator at Donald Trump University and Fashion Editor at Gun, God, and Guts Magazine, was not able to sign today; he is sharing a cell with other White House staff and patiently awaiting The Day of Greatness.)
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC
The old order changeth, yielding place to new
-Tennyson, Idylls of the King
Like dinosaurs our institutions gasp
In spasms of existential death; they pass
At first unnoticed by the casual unobserver
Who trips over a covenant that isn’t there
If you vote they give you a sticker
The ephemeral Constitution changed
Like sweaty skivvies by each president
Law libraries catalogued for pulp
By obedient functionaries in tees
If you vote they give you a sticker
The faithful escorted out of the cathedral
By a bored security guard on overtime
The altar linens for sale at Goodwill
And the sanctuary repurposed on T.V.
If you vote they give you a sticker
Some of The Just Plain Folks cheer for the Reds
And the others cheer only for the Blues
As the reincarnation of Jack Chick
Blesses their four-wheelers and plastic caps
If you vote they give you a sticker
Election placards on abandoned buildings
Promise again prosperity for all
The **** lab cooks behind The Kute Kidz
Private Academy of the Dance and Math
If you vote they give you a sticker
An outreach of the Bright Light Free Will
Missionary Temple of the Lord Jesus Christ
Of the Lamb Sanctified 501C The Reverend Doctor Master Bishop Billy-Bob Hairdo PhD, DD a-brangin’ Messages and His Esteemed Lady Apostle Heather
If you vote they give you a sticker
And blessed be the Holy AR-15
God gave to His People to defend themselves
Here in the freest country in the world
Which you can find behind the barbed-wire fence
If you vote they give you a sticker
While fleets of luxury presidential jets
Arc high over our public housing projects
Reminding us of our prosperity
Here in the richest country in the world
If you vote they give you a sticker
And them Jews for Jesus I guess they’re all right
But them other Jews they just ain’t no good
Nor them Cath’lics nor them Mormons neither
And don’t you get me started on them Baptists
(We seem to have been otherwise engaged)
“The old order changeth, yielding place to new” –
(But neither cares at all for me or you)
But if you vote they give you a sticker
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 7:30 AM UTC
the bottle twists
glass falls in drifts
and air parts like flesh
there’s a terror beneath this city
trucks enter from out of town and shake the power lines
passing without pause
sometimes birds gather for days
chirps grow exponentially
before tailing into silence;
heather and brimstone
little bodies roll to the edges
and burst on the streets in red regalia
a somnolence keeps the city forgetful
time flows in fits
a streetlamp; a raven; ten gravestones
it all runs without moving
vessels dilate
hands hold themselves
there’s nothing to breathe with
an empty chalice, turned on the hour grants
heaving clenching writhing
an ocean of rust
bulb shatters, blood spills out her
mouth cave head turn faith
the world remakes itself
**********
the colour of sunflowers
bicycle chains
thirst
colonialism
wet paint
emptiness over emptiness
act without agent
lack lack lack lack lack lack lack lack lack lack lack
peel the flesh and find flesh
always more flesh
don’t stop they know better
chirp chirp chirp
turn
exit
substance
purpose
nothing
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 12:51 AM UTC
Once we lied,
On wooden floors,
Shy as sun in the rains,
Blue as the skies to come,
After the soak and cleanse,
For we were so young, so alive,
Happy pursing sweetest nothings,
Laughs and smiles, tickles, noses
Together on the pines of the floors,
I felt weightless under you as I lost
Myself in the rushes of your night hair,
Dark and strange, musk and heather,
And the depths of your eyes. I bore
No name, my lit flesh was all for you,
My lips never so hungry, my breathing,
Never so short, my eyes never so held.
Lying on that floor, in my simple room,
All the earth unfolded, all the world
Unraveled, and then we awoke.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 2:56 AM UTC
Lennon told me Paul was strawberry
George reminded me love trumps lord
Overboard overcome overwrought
Flower child fishtailed dovelike all aboard
Come together
Get yourself together
Soldered together
Like joint dance banners painted to promote teenage ******* to youth
Tied us into our best days ahead of us
Chained to our ***** we swung like gamers
Untied to our integrity
Wrecking wreaking havoc
Ballooned on hubris
Hemorrhaging ego unlocked spewing spite
I respect good works deeds above good intentions
Road paved with broken glass
Don’t respect me when I’m gone
Tell the folks it’s OK to sing along
Let’s spend the night together
Talk all night in the altogether
Rather gather in clover and heather
Happy Ringo’s nest a featherbed
Laying lady laid cunning linguist
‘xplain to me in chiefly straight talk
Who questions whom?
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
***She's an imp of a troublemaker fairy
they call her Heather Featherwand
she lives midst ancient ruins
'pon Saturn's ringlets
of ethereal ice & dust
you might get a peek at her
neath a summertide night's dream,
she wears lavender and tangerine
to blend in with the blazing cosmos,
her pale peachy butterfly wings
make sounds like katydids
singing in the treetops and
cicadas come to life at night
further adding to her mysterious flight,
she took off one day, they say
with the man in the moon
and they've been starstruck ever after***
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 6:05 PM UTC
WHAT'S riches to him
That has made a great peacock
With the pride of his eye?
The wind-beaten, stone-grey,
And desolate Three Rock
Would nourish his whim.
Live he or die
Amid wet rocks and heather,
His ghost will be gay
Adding feather to feather
For the pride of his eye.
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What's riches to him
That has made a great peacock
With the pride of his eye?
The wind-beaten, stone-grey,
And desolate Three Rock
Would nourish his whim.
Live he or die
Amid wet rocks and heather,
His ghost will be gay
Adding feather to feather
For the pride of his eye.
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Put the saddle on the mare,
For the wet winds blow;
There's winter in the air,
And autumn all below.
For the red leaves are flying
And the red bracken dying,
And the red fox lying
Where the oziers grow.
Put the bridle on the mare,
For my blood runs chill;
And my heart, it is there,
On the heather-tufted hill,
With the gray skies o'er us,
And the long-drawn chorus
Of a running pack before us
From the find to the ****
Then lead round the mare,
For it's time that we began,
And away with thought and care,
Save to live and be a man,
While the keen air is blowing,
And the huntsman holloing,
And the black mare going
As the black mare can.
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Where be ye going, you Devon maid?
And what have ye there i' the basket?
Ye tight little fairy, just fresh from the dairy,
Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?
I love your meads, and I love your flowers,
And I love your junkets mainly,
But 'hind the door, I love kissing more,
O look not so disdainly!
I love your hills, and I love your dales,
And I love your flocks a-bleating;
But O, on the heather to lie together,
With both our hearts a-beating!
I'll put your basket all safe in a nook,
Your shawl I'll hang up on this willow,
And we will sigh in the daisy's eye,
And kiss on a grass-green pillow.
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