An unspoken token.
Perhaps a ring
Or some other sundry thing
Left behind
For a man to find
May cause his heart to sing,
Or ponder on why
Birds that fly
Leave a solitary feather
To remember them by.
Birds That Fly
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Tag Archives: nature
Joy In Melancholy
Excess of sadness
Leads on to madness.
Yet
Is it better to forget
Regret
In Hades river
Whither
We are all bound?
The place where the sound
Of weeping
Is never heard amongst the sleeping
Dead.
We are led
To seek happiness here
Yet, I fear
We hear
Not the joyess melancholy of the birds
Who’s song surpasses man’s paltry words.
Sadness and joy are our lot.
We have got
But a short space
To look upon nature’s beauteous face.
Let us live life to the full
For in Hades only the dull
River doth wait
To take
All we are away
From the sun’s bright day.
Of Butterflies and Men
Once butterflies
Would excite
And delight
The boy.
His heart would overflow with joy
At the sight of his new toy.
The boy’s passion grew.
He thought it true
That butterflies would stay.
To him they did flit
For a moment on a flower sit
Then pass away.
He came to disdaine
Butterflies for they caused him pain
Yet the boy knew well
He was under their spell
And could not refrain
From sorrow and pain.
Listening to the rain
Running down the drain
He thought on how life passes us by.
With the butterfly
We dally
Then die.
The Moralist and the Flower
A moralist gazed upon a flower soft
And with delicacy coughed.
“’Tis most unseemly” said he
“To see
The bee
Make free
With thee.
Thou has forsook
The holy book.
Think on hell
And mark it well
Lest in torment you dwell”.
The flower spake
“Oh moralist forsake
This obsession
With the repression
Of girl and lad.
Wouldst thou have the whole world sad?
Can not you be glad
At the joy
Of maid and boy?
The moralist shook his grey head
And said
“Thou should dread hell’s fire
For desire
Is sin.
Satan enters in
And God destroys
Those who wallow in lustful joys.
The flower said, “breathe in my scent
And relent
Of strictures severe.
Come you near
And touch my throbbing heart.
Let me teach you love’s art.
Give me your hands,
And we will travel to undiscovered lands”.
The moralist did relent
And partook of the flower’s scent.
The heavens where not rent
And the sky’s great tent
Failed to fall.
Only the nightingale’s call
Filled the spring air
Where the lovers dallied without a care.
Rhubarb the Red-Nosed Rabbit – book release by author Victoria (Tori) Zigler
Title: Rhubarb The Red-Nosed Rabbit
Author: Victoria Zigler
Genres: Children’s books – Animals – Rabbits & Children’s books – Holidays
Published: March 26, 2016
Synopsis:
“I’m sure you’ve heard all about the red-nosed reindeer that saved Christmas. But, have you ever heard the story of the red-nosed rabbit that saved Easter?
Everybunny has always teased Rhubarb because of his bright red nose, even though it’s not his fault he was born different. But when a misty night threatens to stop the Easter Bunny from making his yearly delivery of Easter eggs to the children of the world, Rhubarb’s red nose may be the only thing that can save Easter.”
Buy it from Smashwords
Buy it on iBooks
Buy it from Barnes & Noble
Buy it on Kobo
Paperback version coming soon!
Wolves
A lone wolf
At the edge of the pack
Feels no lack
Of comrades true
For through
The clouds his friend,the moon, breaks.
He howls and wwakes
The ancient fear
In those dwelling near.
The hunter his gun aims.
The wolf’s brains
Explode.
There is no need to reload.
Taking up the body of his friend
He glances at the clouds which portend
A storm.
The sky so dark and forlorn.
Alone
At home
He sits
And strips
The carcass bare.
The pack neither know nor care
About the hunter’s prey.
They will commune
With the moon
Another day.
As A Bee To The Summer Flower
As with the bee to the summer flower
Man dallies many an hour
Savouring the blossom’s power.
Petals delicate he feels
And reels
At the scent of the inviting rose.
In delirium he goes
and takes it to his nose.
His thirst to slake
And desire satiate.
The bee tires.
Desires
Cool, as summer draws to it’s close.
The red rose
Withers
And quivers
In the growing chill.
The rill
Dries up
And summer’s door is shut.
Sunday 30 January 2016
The soothing rain
Washes away pain.
My thought’s train
Quieted by the rain.
The wind blows
And my heart goes
High
Untoo the sky.
Would that I could travel with the breeze
And soar amongst the trees.
But I am to the ground tied
And must dwell amongst tears and sighs.
The fallen leaves are dead
Yet Overhead
Birds sing
Presaging spring.
The Sea
The sea roars
Flooding barren shores
Then slowly withdraws
Leaving the sand to dry
And gull’s to cry
In the darkening sky
The Flower Seller
She stood for hours
Selling her flowers
By Grim towers.
Their scent
Was long since spent.
Their bloom
Was gone to soon.
But still some bought.
Sometimes she thought
Of the bee that does take
And then forsake
The budding rose
Then goes
On to devour
Another flower.
Hour after hour
She saw the power
Of beautiful flowers.
The bees their sweet nectar took
And she was struck
By how the rose does decay
And the bee will have his way.
K Morris - Poet 