THE SEA by Shirley Fudge

THE  SEA   by  Shirley Fudge Gentle lulling of the sea, Once again you beckon me. Caressing waves upon the shore Transporting me to years of yore. As a child, your charm I sought, Protecting me from battles fought. Upon your craggy cliff I sat To gaze in awe and wonder at The magic of your shimmering tide That restored ease and peace inside.

PAINTINGS by the Artist Gerhard Nesvadba

AN ENTRAPMENT by Anthony Kolos

AN ENTRAPMENT  by  Anthony Kolos  My love, I have tried with all my being to grasp a form comparable to thine own, but nothing seems worthy; I know now why Shakespeare could not compare his love to a summer�s day. It would be a crime to denounce the beauty of such a creature as thee, to simply cast away the precision God had placed in forging you. Each facet of your being whether it physical or spiritual is an ensnarement from which there is no release. But I do not wish release. I wish to stay entrapped forever. With you for all eternity. Our hearts, always as one.

SUMMER - by Umi Age :10 School: Ilam School New Zeeland

SUMMER The birds are chirping sweet songs,butterflies are flying in the clear air,the grass is green freshly mowed,chicks grow their sweet soft feathers,hearing the sounds make me joyful,strawberries are out yummy,in the park.by Name Umi Age :10 School: Ilam SchoolNew Zeeland

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A SUMMER AFTERNOON James Whitcomb Riley

A SUMMER AFTERNOON  James Whitcomb Riley  A languid atmosphere, a lazy breeze,With labored respiration, moves the wheatFrom distant reaches, till the golden seasBreak in crisp whispers at my feet. My book, neglected of an idle mind,Hides for a moment from the eyes of men;Or lightly opened by a critic wind,Affrightedly reviews itself again. Off through the haze that dances in the shineThe warm sun showers in the open glade,The forest lies, a silhouette designDimmed through and through with shade. A dreamy day; and tranquilly I lieAt anchor from all storms of mental strain;With absent vision, gazing at the sky,"Like one that hears it rain." The Katydid, so boisterous last night,Clinging, inverted, in uneasy poise,Beneath a wheat-blade, has forgotten quiteIf "Katy DID or DIDN'T" make a noise. The twitter, sometimes, of a wayward birdThat checks the song abruptly at the sound,And mildly, chiding echoes that have stirred,Sink into silence, all the more profound. And drowsily I hear the plaintive strainOf some poor dove . . . Why, I can scarcely keepMy heavy eyelids--there it is again--"Coo-coo !" - I mustn't - "Coo-coo !" - fall asleep !

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SUMMER SUN Robert Louis Stevenson

SUMMER  SUN  Robert Louis Stevenson  Great is the sun, and wide he goesThrough empty heaven with repose;And in the blue and glowing daysMore thick than rain he showers his rays. Though closer still the blinds we pullTo keep the shady parlour cool,Yet he will find a chink or twoTo slip his golden fingers through. The dusty attic spider-cladHe, through the keyhole, maketh glad;And through the broken edge of tilesInto the laddered hay-loft smiles. Meantime his golden face aroundHe bares to all the garden ground,And sheds a warm and glittering lookAmong the ivy's inmost nook. Above the hills, along the blue,Round the bright air with footing true,To please the child, to paint the rose,The gardener of the World, he goes.

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THE RED AND WHITE STRIPED LIGHTHOUSE - by � Ebvor

THE RED AND WHITE STRIPED LIGHTHOUSE  by � Ebvor The red and white striped lighthouse,Standing by the sea,As quiet as a mouse,Telling boats where it be. Against the rocks a wave crashes.The lighthouse just stares on.Suddenly some lightning flashes,But he's gonna stare till dawn. The red and white striped lighthouse,Standing by the sea,As quiet as a mouse,Telling boats where it be. He shines his light through the thick fog,As rain darkens the sands.He shines his light through all the smog.On the rocks he proudly stands. The red and white striped lighthouse,Standing by the sea,As quiet as a mouse,Telling boats where it be. The rising sun makes the ocean glisten bright.A couple comes out to see the astonishing sight.There is no need to shine, for it's no longer night,And the lighthouse slowly fades out its light.

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IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER by Christina Rossetti

IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER by Christina Rossetti In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, long ago. Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain; Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign. In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ. Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day, Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay; Enough for Him, whom angels fall before, The ox and ass and camel which adore. Angels and archangels may have gathered there, Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air; But His mother only, in her maiden bliss, Worshipped the beloved with a kiss. What can I give Him, poor as I am? If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb; If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part; Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

THE OCEAN - by � B Gosling

THE OCEAN  by � B Gosling The waves trickle along my toes. The soft ocean sprays across my nose. The sand was compliant under my feet, Exactly where the ocean and it decide to meet. The water rose and enveloped around my shin. The salt water numbing against the skin. A shell drifted, caught in the tide, A tiny crab adrift inside. The water drifted up to my hips, A million kisses from the ocean's lips. A gentle caress from the deep blue, Though it would've been better if it was from you... The water enveloped around my waist. A thousand tiny fingers around me laced. The horizon calls, it beckons me Out towards it, across the sea.

DEAR MARCH - COME IN - by Emily Dickinson

DEAR MARCH - COME IN  by Emily Dickinson, 1830 - 1886 Dear March - Come in - How glad I am - I hoped for you before - Put down your Hat - You must have walked - How out of Breath you are - Dear March, how are you, and the Rest - Did you leave Nature well - Oh March, Come right upstairs with me - I have so much to tell - I got your Letter, and the Birds - The Maples never knew that you were coming - I declare - how Red their Faces grew -          But March, forgive me - And all those Hills you left for me to Hue - There was no Purple suitable - You took it all with you -             Who knocks? That April - Lock the Door - I will not be pursued - He stayed away a Year to call When I am occupied -          But trifles look so trivial As soon as you have come That blame is just as dear as Praise And Praise as mere as Blame -

THESE I, SINGING IN SPRING - by Walt Whitman

 

THESE I, SINGING IN SPRING  by  Walt Whitman (from Leaves of Grass, first published in 1860 edition) These, I, singing in spring, collect for lovers, (For who but I should understand lovers, and all their sorrow and joy? And who but I should be the poet of comrades?) Collecting, I traverse the garden, the world�but soon I pass the gates, Now along the pond-side�now wading in a little, fearing not the wet, Now by the post-and-rail fences, where the old stones thrown there, pick�d from the fields, have accumulated, Wild-flowers and vines and weeds come up through the stones, and partly cover them� Beyond these I pass, Far, far in the forest, before I think where I go, Solitary, smelling the earthy smell, stopping now and then in the silence, Alone I had thought�yet soon a silent troop gathers around me, Some walk by my side, and some behind, and some embrace my arms or neck, They, the spirits of friends, dead or alive�thicker they come, a great crowd, and I in the middle, Collecting, dispensing, singing in spring, there I wander with them, Plucking something for tokens�tossing toward whoever is near me; Here! lilac, with a branch of pine, Here out of my pocket, some moss which I pull�d off a live-oak in Florida, as it hung trailing down, Here, some pinks and laurel leaves, and a handful of sage, And here what I now draw from the water, wading in the pond-side, (O here I last saw him that tenderly loves me�and returns again, never to separate from me, And this, O this shall henceforth be the token of comrades�this Calamus-root shall, Interchange it, youths, with each other! Let none render it back!) And twigs of maple, and a bunch of wild orange, and chestnut, And stems of currants, and plum-blows, and the aromatic cedar: These, I, compass�d around by a thick cloud of spirits, Wandering, point to, or touch as I pass, or throw them loosely from me, Indicating to each one what he shall have�giving something to each; But what I drew from the water by the pond-side, that I reserve, I will give of it�but only to them that love, as I myself am capable of loving.

Nata Vi

LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING - by William Wordsworth (1798)

LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING  William Wordsworth (1798) I heard a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And �tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopped and played, Their thoughts I cannot measure:- But the least motion which they made It seemed a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan, To catch the breezy air; And I must think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there. If this belief from heaven be sent, If such be Nature�s holy plan, Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man ?

THE FIRST BUDDING OF SPRING - by � Michael Lechner

THE  FIRST BUDDING  OF  SPRING  by  � Michael Lechner Rain pounds the pavement Gray on gray are all the colors I see I try not to despair the pall of Winter In time this monochrome pallet will fade away So here  I sit in quiet optimism Waiting for the first budding of Spring