Nature Poems

THE RIVER

 I must go down to the riverside, the bank where daffodils grow,

Where cowslips grow on the green banks, and the rushing waters flow,

Where the tall trees are standing guard, with their branches sweeping

The surface of the river – all the willows, weeping.

 

The river mirrors the sunlit sky, and the birdsong heralds the dawn,

The sound of birds that are calling, and are waiting for the morn,

While each sits on his own perch, in the soft light bringing

A new note, for a new day, and his own song singing.

 

The river has come to the end, at last, where it will not run any more,

But rolls, then falls without warning, and the mighty waters pour,

And cascade down, with a loud crash, and their force creating

A deep trough, and a whirlpool, with the waves gyrating.

(With apologies to John Masefield)

PEACE AND TRANQUILLITY

 

The trees in the distance all standing with pride

The great open spaces so far and so wide,

The trickling stream that is running beside

The fields of waving corn.

 

Seeds sown in the furrows, but that’s in the past,

Next stalks green and supple, but ripening fast,

All cover the ground and are growing at last

Into fields of waving corn.

 

A long line of ramblers go on their way,

But with miles to go still, they cannot delay,

Reluctant to leave, and yet wanting to stay,

And watch fields of waving corn.

 

The planes in the air, and who knows where they fly?

The  clouds that are floating there, ever so high,

Beyond them is only the blue of the sky,

Above fields of waving corn.

 

No growl of a lorry, no hoot from a car,

No noise from an engine that ever can mar,

Just the peace and  the calm, so much better by far,

With the fields of waving corn.

 

 The wind in the trees and the birds on the wing,

The sight of the deer, and the joy that they bring

The flowers in hedgerows that blossom in the spring,

By the fields of waving corn.

 

The feeling that nothing can ever go wrong,

The echoing woodland is bursting with song,

And riders, their horses all trotting along,

Past the fields of waving corn.

 

Now the hour for evensong’s come and it spells,

The end of the day –  that’s the tale it tells;

With away in the distance the sound of the bells,

Across fields of waving corn.

THE VILLAGE WELL

 

The years have passed, the days have flown,

Now fast cars hurtle round the bend;

The well, unnoticed, stands alone,

Its usefulness come to an end.

 

It was used once, and folks would come

 To fetch their water, then with care

They would return, though there were some

 Spilt water, they could just not spare.

 

But still, it was a meeting-place,

Where all could come, exchange their news,

Give their opinions, in case

The others verified their views.

 

So they would gather everyday –

For everyone came to the well –

They’d all say what they had to say,

Tell stories that they had to tell.

 

And all they said would be passed round,

With rumours flying everywhere –

Now all that life has gone to ground,

The only sign – the well stands there.

 

The village is a through-road now,

The well, forgotten, by the side;

For all that was is lost somehow –

That happy atmosphere has died.

 

The wagging tongues, the tales told,

As by the well the people stood,

Those times now called the days of old,

Those golden days, when life was good!

THE OPEN SKY

 

That vast great vaulting, way up high,

The ceiling of the earth below;

A mystery – the wide blue sky.

 

And people sometimes wonder why

It’s blue, then brown, with sunset’s glow;

That vast great vaulting, way up high.

 

And different clouds come floating by,

Portending rain, or sun, or snow;

A mystery – the wide blue sky.

 

To guess its height? Some like to try;

And others like to say they know;

That vast great vaulting, way up high.

 

But frequently the clouds will lie

Far up, yet how high can they go?

A mystery – the wide blue sky.

 

Across this huge expanse birds fly,

Where thermals, hot air currents flow.

That vast great vaulting, way up high,

A mystery – the wide blue sky.

NO NEED FOR NOISE

 

Clamour comes from expensive things,

Planes, loud as can be,

Blaring sirens, or a phone that rings;

Silence is free.

 

Dew falling unseen on the grass,

The quiet of night,

Soundless shadows of the ones who pass

By in the light.

 

Candles that flicker in the breeze,

Without a sound,

Leaves falling, circling down from the trees

Onto the ground.

 

And in the darkness, the moon’s soft light

Leaves a gentle glow;

As it shines down, through the cold night,

On falling snow.

 

Small voices are heard above the stillness,

Starting to gush;

A quieter voice beckons to them,

Whispering “Hush!”

Snow in the sun

 

 

 

As fields of snow reflect the sun,

 

They all become a pinky-white.

 

The twilight falls, and day is done.

 

 

 

The hours of the day have run,

 

And with dusk, have taken flight,

 

As fields of snow reflect the sun.

 

 

 

Those skies of blue – now there are none,

 

The rising moon foreshows the night.

 

The twilight falls, and day is done.

 

 

 

The cottage windows have begun

 

To glint, seen in the evening light

 

As fields of snow reflect the sun.

 

 

 

Of evening’s wonders, there is one:

 

The orange glow, a splendid sight,

 

The twilight falls, and day is done

 

 

 

The day has lost, the evening won,

 

Or so it seems, and well it might;

 

As fields of snow reflect the sun,

 

The twilight falls, and day is done.

Rain

 

I  gaze at endless drops of rain

That pour out of the darkened sky,

All running down the window pane.

 

No sun today, that much is plain,

What can I do?  Stay in the dry.

I gaze at endless drops of rain.

 

And moisture that the clouds disdain,

Blown by the wind that whistles by,

All running down the window pane.

 

The weather forecast was in vain,

And all my plans have gone awry

I gaze at endless drops of rain.

 

It seems like an unbroken chain

Of watery onslaughts from on high,

All running down the window pane.

 

How many water drops remain?

But who could count them all, and why?

I gaze at endless drops of rain,

All running down the window pane.

The Open Air

 

The times that I long for, the sun in the sky,

The lambs in the fields, the birds on the wing,

The path that meanders through valley and wood,

The flowers that bloom and the signs of the spring,

 

The fast flowing stream as it trickles and turns,

Running over the rocks that it finds in is way,

The rush of the water, the wind in the trees,

The  sunset that signals the end of the day,

 

The quiet, the stillness, the hoot of the owl,

The sound of the silence, the stars in the night

The hours of darkness, the coming of dawn,

Creation, revealed at last, in the light!

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