"snowdrops" poems
Do you know what I was, how I lived? You know
what despair is; then
winter should have meaning for you.
I did not expect to survive,
earth suppressing me. I didn't expect
to waken again, to feel
in damp earth my body
able to respond again, remembering
after so long how to open again
in the cold light
of earliest spring--
afraid, yes, but among you again
crying yes risk joy
in the raw wind of the new world.
112k
~-English-~
The Beauty Of Flowers (Multiple Tankas I)
A field of tulips
Is where I laid down to sleep
And dream a sweet dream
Dew sparkled on the tulips
And fell upon my fair cheeks
In the shady woods
Ladyslipper Orchids grow
Near a babbling brook.
Yellows and Pinks standing tall
With ferns spreading all around.
Beside the ocean
The hibiscus are blooming
Such a sweet perfume
Lingers on the salty breeze
Such beautiful rainbow hues
Snowdrops are the first
To appear blooming in frost
Pure white heads nodding.
Cold hardy and full of life,
They offer a hope of Spring.
Beside the farmhouse
Gardenias are blooming
White satin blossoms
Their perfume is breathtaking
Rain-washed petals of fragrance
~Timothy & Marian~
~-French-~
La beauté des fleurs (plusieurs Tankas je)
Un champ de tulipes
Est où j'ai prévue de dormir
Et un doux rêve
Rosée brillait sur les tulipes
Et tomba sur mes joues justes
Dans les bois ombragés
Ladyslipper orchidées poussent
Près d'un petit ruisseau.
Jaunes et roses debout
Avec fougères répand tout autour.
À côté de l'océan
L'hibiscus sont en fleurs
Tel un doux parfum
S'attarde sur la brise salée
Ces teintes belle arc-en-ciel
Perce-neige est les premiers
À comparaître fleurissant en gel
Têtes blanches pures hochant la tête.
Résistantes au froid et pleine de vie,
Ils offrent un espoir de printemps.
À côté de la ferme
Gardénias sont en fleurs
Fleurs de satin blancs
Leur parfum est à couper le souffle
Pétales restés du parfum
~ Timothy et Marian ~
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
~~~~English~~~~
Such beauty takes away my breath
As the sunrays shine across the peaceful path
The trees of this forest sway and nod in the dancing breeze
Which caresses my cheeks
Pastel clouds in the watercolor sky
Makes the forest with its path beautiful
And birds sing and warble in the tall treetops
God alone creates this beauty
The bluebells bordering the path
Are kissed by sparkling dewdrops
And snowdrops have long come out of
Their veil of snow
Lacy green leaves from the blowing trees
Provide shade in the sweet summer
And the breezes provide coolness on a hot day
At this lovely place of beauty
~~~~French~~~~
Une telle beauté enlève mon souffle
Comme les rayons du soleil brille à travers la voie pacifique
Les arbres de cette forêt se balancent et hocher la tête dans la brise dansante
Qui caresse mes joues
Pastels nuages dans le ciel aquarelle
Rend la forêt avec son chemin belle
Et les oiseaux chantent et modulées dans les hautes cimes
Dieu seul crée cette beauté
Les jacinthes qui bordent le chemin
Sont caressées par les gouttes de rosée mousseux
Perce-neige viennent depuis longtemps de
Leur voile de neige
Dentelles feuilles vertes des arbres de soufflage
Fournir de l'ombre en été douce
Et les brises offrent fraîcheur par une chaude journée
À ce bel endroit d'une beauté
~Hilda~
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
With a heavy sigh, I go to bed at night, laying down to finally rest,
Just to awake in my personal heaven, a realm of sweetness and bliss,
Flowers of all kinds, trees with angel trumpets bound to golden chain,
As the lilies are touched by a soft breeze, giving off their nice scent,
I spirit away to purely engage and sympathize with other but pure fury or the sadness which has been sealed within my heart since then,
Snowdrops and buttercups form a way to a single jasmine near a river of the purest water, which is alike a shining star, majesticly sparkling,
The sky is starlit, each in their orbit whilst the golden light of the sun still reaches through, warming my cold skin comfortingly, delicately,
Taking a seat I glance at what the table has presented before my eyes,
Sweets, with sour yet aromatised orange juice anda large cheesecake,
Then, suddenly, a single seagull draws near, weeping for affection,
Together with bunnies and bumblebees buzzing around the flowers,
Even now all the hummingbirds harmonise in a soft orchestra,
And no frightened creature cries, they draw together in happiness,
Yet I feel the absence of something which I hold very dear to me,
Because you my dear lover, remain as my sweetest dream
~ Umi
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC
JANUARY
Delightful display
Snowdrops bowing pure white heads
To the sun’s glory.
FEBRUARY
Fresh green buds appear
Indicating spring will soon
Energise us all.
MARCH
Lambs gambol in fields
Frisky with the joys of life
Bleating happily.
APRIL
Bluebells stand so proud
Beneath trees now sparsely dressed
Fresh green leaves unfold.
MAY
Much awaited sound
Echoes heard amid dense trees
Cuckoo has arrived.
JUNE
Parks and gardens burst
With sounds and vibrant colours
Perfect harmony.
JULY
Beaches become full
Of families having fun
In sand and big waves.
AUGUST
Ripe golden harvest
Burning sun in azure skies
Labours rewarded.
SEPTEMBER
Swallows congregate
On telephone wires ready
To migrate down south.
OCTOBER
Red and gold leaves fall,
Crunchy as cornflakes beneath
Feet on a crisp morn.
NOVEMBER
Frosty webs sparkle
In the early morning sun
Brightly bejewelled.
DECEMBER
First few flakes of snow
Dust gardens like icing on
A chocolate cake.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 12:44 PM UTC
*The cold wind greeted
the hoarfrost that
evening as white
butterflies started to
fall from the dark sky.
Soon the pearly blanket
was spread across
the whole land.
It sparkled on the milky
moonlight, giving the old
willow tree a wooly gown.
Covering all the roofs,
the fields of corn and wheat,
the tall grass on the meadow.
But then she appeared,
sending fairies to dance on the
frozen lake thus melting the ice.
And with every step that she took,
snowdrops began to bloom.*
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC
I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o'clock our neighbors drove me home.
In the porch I met my father crying--
He had always taken funerals in his stride--
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.
The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand
And tell me they were "sorry for my trouble,"
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand
In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.
Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,
Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,
He lay in the four foot box as in his cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.
A four foot box, a foot for every year.
12k
Snowdrops are like little white warriors
They just march up front fearlessly
straight through the snow
To see the sun
once more
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
There's a Russian fairytale of snowdrops in January
a girl meeting the twelve seasons in human form
who lead her in the middle of winter to where snowdrops grow
I never thought once that I'd live in a land where snowdrops grow in February rather than in April
& where the snowy winter has become a memory
& where in my childhood we weren't able to buy sauerkraut & pickled gherkins done the way we liked
yet which now has become more international
& where people smile & say ' sorry' to you politely
if you tread on their feet
as if their feet were the problem
& where time is measured by the Big Ben & Greenwich
instead of by the Kremlin
& it always rains in summer but there are rarely any thunderstorms
& people holiday in places like Majorca & Benidorm
if they're working class
& France, if they're middle class
& where I went to a public ( private) girls' school
& wore a red uniform
& sang the hymn ' Jerusalem'
believing in this green & pleasant land
with all my heart
until I left & came back again,
this time, an adult, a European
living through the British recession
& shocked at the newly hostile attitude to migrants
yet even now when I see those snowdrops
in February
my heart soars & I'm back living a fairytale
a child in wonder
just as before
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
A lone tree stands out
Against the stormy sky
On the far side of
The lawn in our garden
Surrounded by snowdrops
Quite a pretty picture!
Keith Wilson March 2017
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 5:29 AM UTC
No-one told the snowdrops
that the world is coming to an end
that there is no sense in trying anymore
that darkness has finally defeated the light
And ignorant of the truth
they push once more
through the mould and grit
raising their heads above ground
Stopping me in my tracks.
Oh yes! Things used to live here!
The wan Scottish sun used to warm us
and the endless pounding rain slaked thirst
and pumped like blood into new life and hope.
How did we forget?
And they change everything.
They change everything.
They return the world to the state they need it to be in,
they are nodding heralds of the coming supernova
which will happen
with us
or
without us.
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 3:13 AM UTC
We all look forward to the snowdrops
The harbinger of spring
In many shades of white
Offtimes tinged with green
Beautiful, oh so beautiful
Sweeping swathes of green tinged white
But they shrink into nothingness
Against the aconite
Aconite of deepest gold
Brighter than the sun
Aconite the first to show
Amid deep winters gloom
When the aconite first does show
Bluetits start to flit and sing
You see it's not the snowdrop
Who is the harbinger of spring
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 8:42 AM UTC
The ground bubbled neath, February's awakening
stoic crocuses stood water deep,
so that capriciousness was revealed
The fill ***** over flowed.
So certain the path walked
she wove aconites into her hair
to unghost the prevailing snowdrops.
The dogwood a resplendent beacon
vies to complete the cycle .
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 6:26 PM UTC
Birdsong melody
woven into morning mist.
Snowdrops, buzzard. Life.
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 12:31 AM UTC
I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,
If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,
If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun
And crocus fires are kindling one by one:
Sing, robin, sing;
I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.
I wonder if the springtide of this year
Will bring another Spring both lost and dear;
If heart and spirit will find out their Spring,
Or if the world alone will bud and sing:
Sing, hope, to me;
Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory.
The sap will surely quicken soon or late,
The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate;
So Spring must dawn again with warmth and
bloom,
Or in this world, or in the world to come:
Sing, voice of Spring,
Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing.
7.1k
I heard an owl cry
in the distance,
as the snowdrops nod
to the howling moon,
Wake up!
Fan that spark!
For under winters’ blanket
Spring is blushing
in the dark.
Feb 26, 2010
Feb 26, 2010 at 1:59 AM UTC
Snow. . . covering each and every branch of every tree
the ground now slumbers with blankets of snow on top of her
Winter now dances through the bitter cold air
with a crown of snowflakes in her hair
and with a robe of grey to match the dull sky
her fair white hands reach out to touch the dazzling snowflakes
which fly through the air
and land upon her hair
snowdrops hidden under their blanket of snow and ice
and all the world is sleeping
all except Mother Nature, the Snow Queen, and Winter
who stay awake to give some light to those who are still awake
dogwood blossoms haven't even opened their buds to greet the bitter air
and the bleeding hearts have never yet greeted Spring
for it is still Winter
and all the birds have flown south while Winter's birds
have flown north to greet the cold
while other birds stay here year round
without leaving whether it's hot or cold or just right
icey covered creeks are frozen cold from Winter's
cold blast
and everything is a white paradise
Wind is blowing every night
to signal it is cold
while I shiver and fall back to sleep under my own warm comforter
and the Moon's shadows dance into my room through my bedroom window
and Stars twinkle in Night's black gown streaked with midnight-blue
such picturesque beauty that only poets can pen
with their quills and feather pens dipped in black ink
stacks of papers describing millions of different themes. . .
God, Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn, Flowers, Night, Midnight,
and many other different themes which poets love
~Marian~
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
The stairs slipped away under my feet.
My slippers are soggy.
Hair is hanging like fly paper, instead of flies it's snaring run away raindrops.
Soon to be snowdrops, as is predicted.
Spring snowflakes, spring snowdrops.
Country stops, unprepared.
Nobody cared.
Perhaps they should.
Could be good.
Buckets of grit, let them be spread.
No more pretty pure white ****
Mushy, ***** slippery slush.
*C **************************************************************/
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(C) LIVVI
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 8:11 AM UTC
Dogwood shimmers in the late winter light.
Yellow red and in between.
Jenny likes the nearby willow.
The white buds draws her mind
to the later treat
a walk to the snowdrop trail
where upon Peter will renew his vow
one day set up home at Stevenage
so close to Benington Lodge
her favourite indulge
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 6:45 AM UTC
sprinkle your love over
me like cherry blossoms in
spring where everywhere
everywhere everywhere
are littered with pinks
but then summer came and
you forget about valencia like the sun forgets the
sky and I drop petal by petal flowers
by flowers and the streets are steeped in
longing
autumn came and left, breathing life into a
crocus and drawing it away just as quickly like how you
take each of my breath away from
me and each of my heart beat walks away
with your steps
the blurriness of winter borne the snowdrops
snowdrops, snow drops, the death of that love that
once bloomed in my heart.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
Pine trees sway in the bitter cold wind,
And Jack Frost has come to stay,
Always to the earth be kind;
Whether at night or day.
Snowdrops awaken from their sleep in a bed of snow,
And bluebells awake with jewels of sparkling dew,
And through the trees sweet breezes blow;
And daisies wake anew.
~Marian~
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
Nocturnal melodies of the Harp
Sing of Winter's Solstice
Pristine strings chime out
A harmony of sublime beauty
Song of snowdrops hidden in the snow
Song of dogwoods not yet in bloom
Song of snowflakes falling sweetly on my cheeks
Song of footprints in the blanket of snow
Song of firs and pines swaying in the Winter wind
Song of tears being shed at it's beauty
Sung from the sweetest of Harps
O, how I love the Harp
And it's angelic beauty
Which makes me cry
'Tis a song of
Winter Solstice
Played
Upon
The
Harp
Of
Beauty
~Marian~
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:07 PM UTC
new year here then soon the spring
mother natures wonderous thing
daffodils push up through ground
crocus snowdrops all around
birds are singing with delight
sun comes out shining bright
bluebells looking so petite
very cute and oh so sweet
this is springtime natures way
of making life so bright and gay
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 8:55 AM UTC
The child alone a poet is:
Spring and Fairyland are his.
Truth and Reason show but dim,
And all’s poetry with him.
Rhyme and music flow in plenty
For the lad of one-and-twenty,
But Spring for him is no more now
Than daisies to a munching cow;
Just a cheery pleasant season,
Daisy buds to live at ease on.
He’s forgotten how he smiled
And shrieked at snowdrops when a child,
Or wept one evening secretly
For April’s glorious misery.
Wisdom made him old and wary
Banishing the Lords of Faery.
Wisdom made a breach and battered
Babylon to bits: she scattered
To the hedges and ditches
All our nursery gnomes and witches.
Lob and Puck, poor frantic elves,
Drag their treasures from the shelves.
Jack the Giant-killer’s gone,
Mother Goose and Oberon,
Bluebeard and King Solomon.
Robin, and Red Riding Hood
Take together to the wood,
And Sir Galahad lies hid
In a cave with Captain Kidd.
None of all the magic hosts,
None remain but a few ghosts
Of timorous heart, to linger on
Weeping for lost Babylon.
4.8k
Whose women these are I think I know.
His housefly’s dead on the vignette though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his women pick snowdrops.
My little hornpipe is quite queer
He stops without a farce or sneer
Between the women with their frozen ‘la’s
The commonest everyman of the yawl.
He gives his harlot beldams his shaft
To assure they are his mistresses.
The only other soundtrack's the sweat
Of easy win from downing flagons.
The women are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promenades to keep,
And migraines to go before I sleep,
And migraines to go before I sleep.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC