RHS Wisley . . . Springtime

[ Photo Gallery  # 102 ]

The Royal Horticultural Society’s garden at Wisley in the English county of Surrey, south of London, is one of four gardens run by the Society.  It may be unseasonal, but my Photo Gallery today takes me back to a visit there in Springtime ten years ago.  I accept that these are formal arrangements, but it is still a delight to view the brilliant colours of both daffodils and tulips – a delightful reminder of what Spring brings every year.

Wisley-Apr07 027Wisley-Apr07 001Wisley-Apr07 003Wisley-Apr07 008Wisley-Apr07 009

Wisley-Apr07 015Wisley-Apr07 016

Wisley-Apr07 021Wisley-Apr07 024

 

sline6

 

Sometimes

EnglishDawn1991

‘Dawn’ … Pen & Wash – WHB  ©

 

SOMETIMES

Sometimes
at first tread of dawn
I sense the dampness of the dew
as it cossets the grass to refresh my world

Sometimes
in the morning’s glow
I feel the sun’s insistence
on bringing me joy for another day

Sometimes
amidst the midday murmur
I hear the singing of my garden’s flowers
intent on making their presence known to me

Sometimes
in the heat of the afternoon
I feel the bee’s ardent resolve
its need to garner the fragrant lavender’s love

Sometimes
in the evening’s stillness
I am aware of the blackbird’s impulse
to trill its sugared song to thrill my enfeebled soul

Sometimes
in the dead of night
I am awoken by the moon’s resolve
to lighten my darkness with its lambent glow

And sometimes
When life’s burdens are upon me
I respond to Nature’s showcased beauty
With renewed resolve to remain a beneficiary of such grace

 

bar-curl4

Lament to Portholme

Kieran O’Lenahan

Until he died in 1996, Kieran, who was born in Ireland, lived and worked in Huntingdon.  He cared passionately for the environment and made sure his voice was heard on local issues.  One such issue resulted in the following poem submitted  in 1974 to his local Council by Kieran in his representation against proposed local development  . . .portholmeissue

 portholme

 Lament to Portholme

Sweet meadow
where one could walk
entranced in solitude, alone.
Lost in an immensity of open spaces;
disturbed only by the Skylark’s song.
Skylarks soaring, singing,
as the day was long.
Walking amidst wild flowers
and the flowers were many,
knee deep in a blossoming throng,meadow
alas!
Sweet birds, sweet flowers,sweet solitude,
all, all, are gone.
No profit in solitude
of a Skylark’s song.
Where man’s soul soars
among the Skylarks
knee deep in blossoming flowers
bulldoze it,
rape beauty!skylark
Progress, profit
greed alone,
but not alone in beauty
man destroys
when greed reigns supreme,
there is no beauty
no love
no feeling
no peace all sacrificed
all must cease,
when Mammon reigns
and man’s soul sleeps,
there is no other end
no futurebulldozer
Death
Destruction
Desecration
There is money in it!
Skylarks
flowers lost
entrancing meadows
perished
for ignoble ends.pleasley

 *     *     *

 

Submitted by … Richard Lee.
I am indebted to him and to Kieran’s family
for permission to reproduce this poem.

 

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