September’s Promise: Two Haiku
September tells me
As its green leaves turn to gold
Spring will come again
The greens of Summer
Give way to Autumn’s bright golds
Promising the Spring
The greens of Summer
Give way to Autumn’s bright golds
Promising the Spring
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 Garden … WHB – Sunbury 2019 ©
Photo by Matthias Cooper on Pexels.com
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
© WHB: Previously submitted in response to the prompt’Summer Rain on ‘Go Dog Go Cafe’.
Photo by Dids on Pexels.com
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.
[ # 99 of My Favourite Short Poems ]
Tree Roots at Claremont Gardens, Surrey – WHB ©
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.
Photo by luizclas on Pexels.com
So well I remember,
Can I forget
Those long summer days
When you and I met?
The moors were in heather
And I was in haste;
My heart it was yearning
Your lips to taste.
But you were indifferent,
Your eyes were elsewhere,
Oblivious to me
And life wasn’t fair.
So I buried my pride,
Gave in to sorrow.
I’d learnt a hard lesson,
There was always tomorrow.
Now that day it has come
And we’ve met up again.
You express your regret
For the ache, for the pain.
But I can’t now rekindle
Those feelings I had.
Time has taken its toll,
Our story is sad.
Photo provided by Pexels
I was at fever pitch with fervour
Full of fire, desire and lust,
Expectant, hopeful and excited,
Self-contained, but only just.
Summer came, I was excited,
An end to rain and wind and snow;
Warmer weather does delight me,
I’m a sun-child, that I know.
But now the summer has arrived
I’m pleading that it will not last.
I’ve had enough of sweaty T-shirts,
Hoping it will soon have passed.
Hot and bothered by the weather,
Aching for a cooling breeze.
Can’t bear this heatwave any longer,
Send me wind and rain now please.
As regular readers of Roland’s Ragbag will know, from time to time, I attempt a poem in a form which I have not previously tried. Today I publish below my attempt at a NONET . . .
A NONET – has nine lines. The first line has nine syllables, the second line eight syllables, the third line seven syllables, etc … until line nine finishes with one syllable. It can be on any subject and rhyming is optional. Sometimes printed as a -right angled triangle , at other times as a Pyramid – as below.
See: Shadow Poetry on the Nonet.
[ N.B. Wikipedia gives the spelling as ‘Nonnet’. Both forms seem to be acceptable ]
Five months of the year have been and gone
More of my life has now passed on
Pinch punch the first of the month
And June is here with smiles
Time for summer styles
For life and love
Here on earth
Rebirth
Worth
( multum in parvo )
My hand thrust deep into the sand
held there to enjoy the warmth
then slowly
cupped fingers
rose to the surface
Captured universes
Stellar galaxies
emerging into the salty air
The slightest shift
in Creation’s framework
Reconfigured
to my design
And as I straightened
fingers
to a flat palm
And then gently spread
those same fingers
The sand
water-fell
to return to its kind
Just a residue
of grains
still adhering
to my warmth
But
however small
I had disturbed the Earth
Re-designed The natural world
Left my mark on creation
Forever in its debt
[ © WHB . . . With my grateful thanks to Canadian artist, Alma Kerr,
for the inspiration and the original photographs ]
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