Dandelion

My science teacher said
there are no monographs
on the dandelion.
Unlike the Venus fly-trap
or Calopogon pulchellus,
it is not a plant worthy of scrutiny.
It goes on television
between the poison squirt bottles,
during commercial breakaways from Ricki Lake.
But that's how life
parachutes
to my home.
Home,
where they make you do
what you don't want to do.
Moms with Uzis of reproach,
dads with their silencers.
(My parents watch me closely because I am their jewel.)
So no one knows how strong
a dandelion is inside,
how its parts stick together,
bract, involucre, pappus,
how it clings to its fragile self.
There are 188 florets in a bloom,
which might seem a peculiar number,
but there are 188,000 square feet
in the perfectly proportioned Wal-Mart,
which allows for circulation
without getting lost.
I wish I could grow like a dandelion,
from gold to thin white hair,
and be carried on a breeze
to the next yard.

By: Julie Lechevsky

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

- Robert Frost (1874-1963)

Delicious Autumn!

"Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns."

- George Eliot

Make LOVE

I found someone has put this on a dustbin, adverticing Love instead of War, like John Lennon used to do. Here is a poem suited for it:

Let's Make LOVE!
by Fauzia Khan

Make love to me tonight
Till the wee hours of morning light
Cling to me in ecstacy
Be my sweet memory...

Memories are magical treasures
A secrect never to be told
Charming you all through your life
A special place they hold

Hold me close to your heart
For then I can enter your soul
Hold me tight, Never let me go
Never felt so strong love before

Love me tender, Love me soft
Love me in the heat of the night
Show me the mysteries, Show me the scars
Shower all the affection you have got

Let me see your passion, my plight
Honey` Let's make love...

Let me enchant thy soul with memories
Whisper into each others ears
Welcome the Dawn of love
Live the way our souls want us to be
So Let's make love...

Autumn is Here

Then summer fades and passes and October comes. We'll smell smoke then, and feel an unexpected sharpness, a thrill of nervousness, swift elation, a sense of sadness and departure.

- Thomas Wolfe

The Summer has Done

As sunlight creeps through branches to the earth,
And leaves begin to clothe the ground in gold,
Where seedlings hide until their springtime birth,
A new beginning from a tree that's old.

Around each twisted pathway through the glen,
The mushroom heads are visible in morning light,
And there the fairies dance in leaves again,
As morning dew appears like jewels - bright.

As cobwebs hang on fallen leaves that scatter,
And glisten hung in dew like morning glory,
The nature of the spectacle will matter,
To those who seek to share in nature's story.

Gold upon red, and autumn colors wonder,
We bask in color, now the summer's done,
And cast our cares and dreams and hopes asunder,
When a golden leaf is caught by autumn sun

by Rachelle de Bretagne

Cozy Entrance

This stately home is located in Gausel, I like it a lot.

This is part of a poem by Robert Greene (1560-1592)

The homely house that harbours quiet rest;

The cottage that affords no pride nor care;

The mean that 'grees with country music best;

The sweet consort of mirth and music's fare;

Obscured life sets down a type of bliss:

A mind content both crown and kingdom is.

The Presence of Trees

I have always felt the living presence
of trees

the forest that calls to me as deeply
as I breathe,

as though the woods were marrow of my bone
as though

I myself were tree, a breathing, reaching
arc of the larger canopy

beside a brook bubbling to foam
like the one

deep in these woods,
that calls

that whispers home

~ Michael S. Glaser ~

Lighthouse in Emmaus

Lighthouse

A cool spring night.
A gentle breeze blowing off the water.
I hear the breaking waves.
On the shore, the evergreen trees are standing lofty and proud,
their tops almost seem to touch the sky.
The lighthouse is in the distance tall and regal,
with a light shining, a beacon in the dark night.
The moon is just rising.
I hear the sounds of the ships calling to
each other in the silvery, yet black night.
The lighthouse is guiding them home,
through the dark spring sea.

J.Remmert