Contentment suffuses the scene And peace lies softly on the land Life languishes in its grip Labour held in thrall to lassitude Neglectful now of endeavour.
In the calm Of the midday sun The farm sleeps on Parading its contentment Revealing its accord With its heritage By just being there Seemingly throughout time Amid the rolling fields Savouring The languor of a lazy day The serenity Of a sublime summer
The quiet joy of existence Tells more of peace Than a thousand pacts Life lived In alliance with nature Endowing us with serenity.
To be beside the sea That is our nation’s fashion; It’s obviously the place For promulgating passion.
But how do seaside shoppers Decide just what to buy? Are they tempted by advertisements? I often wonder why.
Well, once upon a summer, On a hot and sunny day, On holiday in Devon, On a stroll around the bay.
I came across this advert Along the promenade; I must admit initially I thought I’d have it barred.
A touch of seaside whimsy That’s OK and I’m all for it, But such immodest come-ons, Who’d have ever thought it!
‘KNICKERS FOR A NICKER; POUCHES FOR A POUND’, To titillate the tourists, Well, such ads are all around.
But on a seafront shop I didn’t think it right; I even thought that something Was wrong with my eyesight.
I don’t know why it was I was so overcome, With thoughts of indignation I really was struck dumb.
It was just a bit of fun, Why was I so upset? But when little George cried ‘Look Dad’ I broke out in a sweat.
“That’s what you and mum wore When I spied you yesterday. Can Sue and me have one each, Like you?”, I heard him say.
NOTE:
‘Nicker’ is Cockney Slang for One Pound. The OED says it’s origin is unknown, but suggests it could be originally horse racing slang. The term … has … London associations … and dates from the early 20th Century (it explains that terrible old joke: ‘Why can’t a one-legged woman change a pound note? Because she’s only got half a (k)nicker!’ and which nobody seems to know the origin of).
In the summer evening’s stillness under the calm of the the sickle moon Evensong is softly sung. The gentle breeze catching only the occasional sigh On the evening’s air. The hope of summer rests in the gently rolling hills, the golden sheaves of garnered corn and the lushness of the blackberries in the hedgerows. With solemn seriousness Nature sighs and as the evening cools the silence of the scene is pierced occasionally by God’s evening hymn.
Summer is not rain Nor is rain summer But each needs the other Cannot be without both being
Just as winter requires the sun to shine and display its splendour to reflect its ice particles into the crystal diamonds of exuberant life So the rain complements the summer sun dampening its ardour allowing it to refresh and renew
Both asserting the exuberance of a Natural heritage wherein all is related to all and all is as it should be
In the land that love forgot lit by the light of an autumn moon Memory stirred and held a thought of those once upon a time days When roses rich with red scented days with hope Wind-strewn days with fallen apple air fresh with suckled honey When once You and I loved
smitten immersed in this infinity enamoured Longing in those autumn days Regaining in their wistful hours what summer once had brought us All now lost in time’s story But always and forever written on memory’s scroll.
I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.
Notes: (From Wikipedia):
Joyce Kilmer (born as Alfred Joyce Kilmer; December 6, 1886 – July 30, 1918) was an American writer and poet mainly remembered for a short poem titled “Trees” (1913), which was published in the collection Trees and Other Poems in 1914. Though a prolific poet whose works celebrated the common beauty of the natural world as well as his Roman Catholic religious faith, Kilmer was also a journalist, literary critic, lecturer, and editor. While most of his works are largely unknown, a select few of his poems remain popular and are published frequently in anthologies. Several critics—including both Kilmer’s contemporaries and modern scholars—have disparaged Kilmer’s work as being too simple and overly sentimental, and suggested that his style was far too traditional, even archaic. Many writers, including notably Ogden Nash, have parodied Kilmer’s work and style—as attested by the many parodies of “Trees”.
At the time of his deployment to Europe during World War I, Kilmer was considered the leading American Roman Catholic poet and lecturer of his generation, whom critics often compared to British contemporaries G.K.Chesterton (1874–1936) and Hilaire Belloc (1870–1953). He enlisted in the New York National Guard and was deployed to France with the 69th Infantry regiment (the famous “Fighting 69th”) in 1917. He was killed by a sniper’s bullet at the Second Battle of the Marne in 1918 at the age of 31. He was married to Aline Murray, also an accomplished poet and author, with whom he had five children.
Notes: (From Wikipedia):
Roland's Ragbag 