Ft. Lauderdale, Fl USA
My thanks to all of the wonderful poets who donated their time and effort to make this collection such a success……….THANK YOU!!!
Poets……….in alphabetical order
So many thoughts come now to mind
-Reflections of the fondest kind
Fun happy days of childhood
Spent in my town - my neighborhood.
Familiar faces - some still here-
Some only dwell in yesteryear
Familiar spots, a sound, a scent
Can take me back to days since spent.
My town's one full of history-
Fair birthing place of liberty
Her patriots of ages past
Have built a land that's unsurpassed.
Miss Betsy Ross - who sewed so well
George Washington and William Tell
Ben Franklin, too and many more
Shall dwell here always - evermore.
My town's called Philadelphia
And though it's not Utopia
There's nowhere else I'd rather dwell
Than right here with that cracked old bell!
My country, a place called Australia
With its wonderful tales I’ll regale ya!
It’s the best place to be
With old Ned Kelly’s knee
And the place he got shot in the tail yeah
My home is the home of a cannery
That's nothing compared to the tannery
With the wind in the east
We get such a feast
Of scents that could make you unmannerly
There's a bridge that goes over the freeway
Built first so we get the toll's leeway
Where the science is worked
And the working is shirked
For we'd rather be seen on the tree way.
Ah the west is the place I am biding
In a suburb called Sunshine residing
I can say this to you
For you can't see this through
It's the place where I'm really in hiding
Snodland a dirty little town
Nothing amusing about it
Except its name
Not a land of Snods
Lumps of earth
Litter the ground
All scarred with sorrows
Of this dirty little town
Depressed mothers huddle
In groups around the
Two benches on the
Push screaming children
On swings despondently
Mostly they ignore the
Druggies who use
The same area
To shoot needles of death
Into their corded ulcerated arms
The shops even huddle
In one road they sit
Mainly junk shops
Two convenience stores
With a lone post office
Naught that is fine
It's a dirty little town
I live in the supposedly
Upwardly mobile area
That of course was when I
I wish I could
Wants to buy property
Not in this town
This place hovering
On the edges of
Green country and
Overshadowed by its
The Medway towns,
Which all have more to
Offer the potential buyer
Snodland? Stay away
It's a dirty little town
I'd rather live anywhere
Can't I move my house?
Just half a mile no more
I'd be in Ham Hill
Or east of me
Halling that's a nice place
Its full of flowers
The village in bloom
But I don't I live in
Located in Michigan's southwest quarter
named for the river's surging waters
halfway between Detroit and Chicago
on I-94, trucks carry cargo
south of Grand Rapids, North of South Bend
the highway, around our outskirts...wends
Lake Michigan, just forty miles from here
sailing, fishing, volleyball, beer
here on the western side of the state
the summer sun sets very late
in winter months, trees naked...stark
the schoolbus comes in early dark
hills, valleys, picturesque ravines
meadows, forests, lakes and streams
big Burr Oaks on lonely fields
where once the crops brought farmer's yields
entertainment, theatres, symphony
a fine college and big university
neighborhoods of friendly folks
homes surrounded with Maples and Oaks
downtown, at the Institute of Art
citizen volunteers do their part
a planetarium and a fine museum
to view the stars...we love to see um
Bronson Park, fests outdoors
the downtown mall, restaurants and stores
a new library with unique looks
stacks of shelves, filled with books
a midsize city, filled with pride
a Michigan gem, on it's western side
copyright 2001 Lyra Nesius
The Green Swamp
My Heart ~ My Home
Among the towering Cypress trees
greeting my morning stomp
Fowl and fauna of nature dwells
in the bayou of The Green Swamp
Headway waters of Florida's
underground aquifer abound
Sending moisturizing life to all
in clear, cool sips of water in surround
Cranes, Egrets and Foxes play
among the Elderberry on display
'Tis the place that I love to roam
this Green Swamp that I call home
Wild Blackberries on the bush
Oh, the sound of Crickets chirping
far into the night
Fragrance of Magnolia
Butterfly-laden Saw Grasses
trod softly 'neath my feet
Moonlight covers The Green Swamp
putting all to rest
Great Horned Owl nestles
little ones in the nest
I breathe in the beauty of
The Green Swamp in all her splendor
Thinking this is just the way
my forefathers did remember
I stand knee-deep in Cypress
where I still hear the ancient cry
of Chief Osceola of the Seminoles
coming through the rye
I do all I can
to keep the majesty pristine
Remembering the legendary spirits
walking through my dreams
If you have a chance
and happen to come my way
I'll share the wonders of The Green Swamp
on any given day
*Now with a new homesteaded heart,I am leaving this beautiful place.
Clermont, Florida has been my 'home' for over 14 years
And I need to thank Logan for suggesting to me that I take
a pouch of the soil to my new home ... (which really is my 'old' home)
for I'm returning to DeLand, Florida, where I grew up.
I shall dearly miss the poetic serenity of The Green Swamp~
The Postmaster chuckled when I asked him for Change Of Address cards
for all poetic thoughts to be forwarded to Zip Code 32720~
Though my muses and I are packed and ready ... we leave a piece of our hearts
here on Green Swamp Road~
April 30, 2002
My Town Maidstone
Maidstone it's a place of so much history
500 years the county town, why is a mystery
I'd have chosen Canterbury a historic town
It's loaded with sights look up or down
Canterbury has The Cathedral where it's said
The outspoken Thomas a Beckett lost his head
What does Maidstone have to compare?
The Arch Bishop's Palace a paltry affair
What else is there? Oh yes I know
Maidstone Prison where the worst men go
The Royal Engineer barracks close by
So close they can hear each other sigh
We've lost the livestock market
Exchanged it for a kind of cattle market
The heifers here wear very short skirts
While the bullocks enjoy these flighty flirts
Three railway stations, yes I did say three
Why you might ask? So go ahead ask me?
There's Maidstone East, for London trains
Then West for that place where prudery reigns
Tunbridge Wells that spa town of note
The place where 'Disgusted' of TW wrote
Then the barracks gets one of it's own
To ensure the soldiers actually get home
The River Medway what an inspiring sight
On a summer's day it's glittering bright
But oh how we all curse its very name
When the damm thing floods once again
Once in 500 years they say it rises too high
Every 500 hours more like just tell me why?
The River Festival we have it every year
Where revellers drink far too much beer
I live on the edge of town, almost country
People come with their dogs, let them run free
The dogs leave deposits in the lane near by
When I step in, that's it, in exasperation I sigh
There's the crown courts an imposing place
Where criminals go when they are in disgrace
Is it a pretty town? Well I suppose it can be
Certainly it is surrounded by much history
Battles between Cavaliers and Roundheads
Which left too many from both sides dead
A Tolpuddle martyr, Wat Tyler lived here
Stood up and declared he'd not live in fear
We have the biggest Papermakers near by
Paper is always made near a river, guess why?
Water is essential to make it don't you see
So we have the biggest and the best factory
There I've written my town, an odd place
Shown you its good and also ugly face
I've tried to let you peek at all the sight
Even let you see the county towns frights
I don't know if you liked what you saw
I could say but wait there's much more
But I don't want to drone forever on anyway
So ciao my friends I've now had my say
The patterned inland is quilted
in perfect symmetry
from above in muted gold and brown,
a beloved tapestry for harvesting
this wealth from soil rich labor.
Beside the mighty ocean
the cliffs fall in oceans curl
and the highway meanders in canyons wealth
with a picket fence and wild flower faces,
all the birds holding the wind
then nestle in the curve that lifts
them echoing the voice of sea
to rest on driftwood castles strewn.
The redwoods close into their wealth
with mighty green enfolding
and breathe so many moon-topped years
to hold the dear fern greenly splendid,
laying on this log beneath
is like seeing creations beginning.
The desert falls across the night
and turns the eye in vast display
of sky that shows such light
that children from the city cry
in awe that such a thing could be,
and perfume delights the air
that is freshened daily by the wind
across the brave and graceful land.
Each city sparkles with uniqueness.
Splaying rooftops red tile gleam
and cabins out of logs retreat
on mountains high with warm hearth nestle,
and there upon the ocean bluff
with windows captured view pacific
is my dream in splendor dangling.
Clenched within the valleys fold
families on cul de sacs watch from porches,
children ride on bikes with training wheels,
couples walk the dog
and crickets hum as evening falls
across the parks and lakes and streams
that whisper home.
I am laced with feelings
to the base of this green mountain San Gabriel,
where I have poured out my sorrow
and watched it bloom yearly
On the oak tree
that comforts the streets
are my babies names,
engraved with the date
when my heart stopped for a minute
and tried to capture them,
before the scampering of time
took them away.
I have loved in the grass
and sighed into the night of this neighborhood
until I am as familiar
as the mourning dove.
Duct tape holds my feelings in
and is wound tight to the curb
where number 614 is painted in white.
Each week Sunday drips in
or weaves the warm of sun across my backyard,
a delicious fabric of dappled light
curled around this slow village,
rendering colorful fabric
crossing to stone churches.
It paves a citrus grove
that still harbors
I can see the sheltering
in this oak of years
glistening crystal rain
long into the sun of time.
Blond and brittle,
coloring book of porch
and dark eyed treasure
trash heavy alley of time
seeps into this watching
for this is home.
Aardenburg, Zeeuwsch-Vlaanderen, The Netherlands
The town I used to live, was a Roman settlement, a village of ancient history.
My house, three centuries old, was heaven on earth. No water running when we came there,
No central heating, very cold in wintertime (the house doesn't like it, my husband used to say)
The ceilings were almost four meters high, with sculpture in the corners.
Two houses build as one, with arche roofed cellars, secret passing throughs, the hallway thirteen meters long, one could rollerscate quit easily.
A thousand year old big church in my backyard, so God was close if I needed Him.
A beautiful little town, very well preserved. We lived there for many, many years.
And then, still somewhat unexpectedly:
Dear old house, the saying goodbye.
The time has come,
I have to leave you, my old house with your beautiful wild garden.
We all loved you so very much and worked hard to keep your beauty,
your character and charisma.
In this little Middleaged town you suited so well.
In all those years we had to be careful not to cause you any harm,
and in doing so we were prepared to live in a somewhat primitive way.
We loved you and we were very happy,
although sometimes sorrow was knocking at our door,
as it does in everybody elses life,
but you, old house, you gave us the strenght in wanting to be happy
and picking up the thread again.
We handed over the task to take care of you to the new owners, they will love you too
and you, old house, will love them.
In my new home I'll make a special corner with sweet memories of you.
It is a heavy burden to say goodbye, but I have to, beautiful dear old house.
I'm no longer capable to take care of you, or your beautiful garden.
I can't find the words to describe you, you were paradise on earth for us,
standing in the shadow of the big St. Baafs Church.
You radiated such peace, one could come to ones senses in this stressful time.
My Middleaged village Aardenburg continued itself through you to the garden.
I hope you will shine again my sweet old house.
As long as we live you will be remembered as something precious,
that we cherished in our lives.
I wish you a lot of happiness old house,
with your romantic garden, where the old appletree still will remain.
Some years later.
Dear old house with your ancient garden.
I don't know if you're happy with your new owners.
I often pass by, the 'old' curtains still hanging there,
You look closed too, doorknob and handle not cleaned
Without a gloss they don't shine this welcome as they did before.
No flowers in the windowsills, no lovely little hats,
no looking in, no smudges of flattening noses of curious people
who are just enjoying the beautiful things inside the room.
You always welcomed everybody.
I did peep over the fence, your crooked path disappeared,
the rosehedge has moved.
They forced you into a straightjacket of hedges, you look like a French garden
You've lost your medievel character.
The appletree got some air, the cherrytree was chopped
so good for he was almost choking you.
And yet I saw you,
still putting up your struggle with all your strenghts.
There was weed again, we fought this weed for many years,
but always lost the battle.
In summer you would show off with a variety of wild flowers
and people shouted "oh beautiful" and then you beamed ancient garden,
because you did win again and I beamed with you for your beauty.
Dear old house, we did love you so much
It still touches me when I think of you.
In my mind I see my dearest, standing in your garden
You fight on old house, until you feel beautiful again.
Goodbye my dear
I empathize with you all along
And now I live in Sluis, an ancient little village too.
Beautiful, but crowded with tourists who come to spend their money.
I made my little corner of remembrance.
I chose to live on second floor,
So I could see the tower of cityhall, a belfry, unique in it's kind
I hear the ding dongs again of ancient bells,
as I used to hear them in my old house, every day at eight o'clock.
A tradition from way back, to warn the farmers on the fields to come home
before the gates were closed.
I was a lucky lady to have known this ancient house.
The waves roll on and gulls above soar high,
Lone foghorns chanting Cape Cod's solitude.
The dunes at rest beneath the autumn sky
Envelop peaceful beaches once imbued.
Bright foliage adorns the countryside,
Surrounding sundried bogs of cranberries.
This summer tourists' verdant welcome tide
Now boasts majestic hues of burgundies.
Synthetic lakes spew forth from each bog's moat
Releasing berries for the harvest day,
And bouyant crimson carpets lie afloat
In just abeyance to be scooped away
The ferries from Wood's Hole to Edgartown
From Falmouth's harborfront over a mere
Resplendent view of Martha's Vineyard Sound -
"America the Beautiful" born here.
I'm tired of the lonely desert
Where heat can bake your brain
Tired of those cactus dreams
Tired of the cowboy's refrain
I'm heading east in a little while
Gonna find the eastern shore
Adventure is what I'm seeking
But I hope to find much more
Hoping to find some peace of mind
Family and maybe some new friends
So I'll drive away, down Route 66
Keep going til the highway ends.
My road is sun baked dirt and stone,
my yard a field of wild grass grown,
and at my furthest boundary,
tall rows of corn stand guard for me.
At dark the stars become a torch,
the brightest light from my back porch,
and fireflies mime the stars in flight;
I find I see much more at night.
My neighbors are the maple trees
and swooping wrens and bumble bees,
a snowshoe rabbit running wild,
a tawny doe with freckled child.
We share a home near glacier's gift
of arctic waters left adrift,
one lake of many lakes around
a place called Colon, my home town.
I look back and watch
As my place of firsts
Fades away like a dream
So many memories stored
Rise to the surface and I smile
Remembering when I wanted
Nothing more than to get away
Move out from the small town to
Find freedom and excitement
Now I almost wish to stay.
Remembering so many times
That warm my heart and
Bring tears to my eyes
Memories of my first love
Of my first heartache.
Of my first day of school
Of meeting the people who
Would become my closest friends
Memories of family gathering
Around the table at holidays
With enough food to feed
A small country spread out
In front of our anxious eyes
And growling stomachs
I realize I like the small town look
Of a cold winters day
When the snow first falls.
Everything is so perfect and
Filled with quiet beauty
The life that spring brings
As everything begins to waken
Flowers and tree blossoms
Coming to life in a parade of
Sweet scents and splendor
The sunny days of summer.
Hearing children play in twilight
The sun lazily setting softly.
People gathered in small groups
Talking and laughing as they
Make memories to last a lifetime.
Or in the fall, when leaves of
All shades and colors dance
In time with the wind's harmony
I lean back and close my eyes.
A sigh comes to my lips as I reach
And feel his hand by my side.
I know there are memories waiting
To be made in my new life ahead
With his love guiding me
into a brand new world
A new home is my destination
With the man I love and cherish
Still in the corner of my heart
Home will always be that small town.
By Tara Bassler
Was it just three short years ago, give or take a month
That I wrote a poem of towns [which needed a little “umph!”]
And here it is to see again, the feelings that I felt,
I see by way of memory I’m still here in this belt
Of farmers, ranchers, engineers, some solid type of folk
Accountants, lawyers, bankers, too, in serious need of jokes!
I can be in the glitz of things, or back to rural roots
Look north, south, east or west, you see some wearing boots.
I can reach for culture, and not look so very far,
Or stand within a pasture and nearly touch a star
I can hear the grasses blowing in the Kaws great wind
Or sit among some artists and wear emotions thin
I stand upon a crossroads that connects the east to west
Where gentlemen in cummerbunds meet cowboys in their vests
I see the cowboy in white hat traveling from north to south
He’s been to see Great Canada, now heading for Gulf’s mouth
This is the town they pass through, and some come here to stay
A quiet little talented town, and we wave if you must stray
On to other towns, where a landmark bears your name,
But know if you passed by here, we’ll never be the same,
For you have brought a difference, we noted it so true;
We shall wave you on your way, and wish for you Good Views!
No high buildings I see around me
just wide horizons trimmed by trees
Little dykes surrounding acres
a paradise for birds and bees
A little farmhouse we call our own
of age about a hundred years
They build and rebuild it many times
there was happiness and shed of tears
Neighbours, there are few around me
I can count them up to four
But there is much space between us
and we come in by the back door
Early Spring there is activity
when the farmers sow their lands
Day and night when rain is coming
they give, when needed, helping hands
In the Summer there are tourists
but they're seeking the seashores
So in my place it's always quiet
except when storm lets hear it's roars
Beautiful creeks you're finding here
fringed with softly waving reed
Ducks are nestling, laying eggs
in the ditches the frogs will meet
And then there is the harvest time
stressiest time of the whole year
leaving black and plowed soil
I really enjoy all seasons here
In the Winter all is quiet
trees are bare and colors grey
cuddling up against warm woodstoves
I couldn't live any other way
I grew up in Wilmington, Delaware
just a few blocks from city hall
when Pete Du Pont was governor
and Joe Biden was a senator
I loved slowly strolling
banks of the Brandywine
where George Washington
and the British once fought
Beneath willowy trees
of a once Du pont estate
my favorite lovers' lane
parking under the stars
in my boyfriends arms
even in the summer rain
Tourists visit Rehobeth Beach
Swimming in the Atlantic
not far from Jersey shores
Ocean city and Wildwood
those beaches i adored
Concerts in Philadelphia
where the Eagles and Flyers play
even Dick Clark had bandstand
not too far away
Amongst the chemical capital
are many millionaires
I was not one of them
a lovely blue hen state
but I never saw a hen
cause I was a city girl
in Wilmington, Delaware
way back then
[This message has been edited by Balladeer (05-06-2002 02:17 PM).]