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Green Hills

Green hills,
embroidered
mist, rich
rising ridge
fog filled
plunging fields
cattle,
black, weightless
rise poised
from bare bank
grazing
the grass of
heaven

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As Through the Wild Green Hills of Wyre

As through the wild green hills of Wyre
The train ran, changing sky and shire,
And far behind, a fading crest,
Low in the forsaken west
Sank the high-reared head of Clee,
My hand lay empty on my knee.
Aching on my knee it lay:
That morning half a shire away
So many an honest fellow's fist
Had well-nigh wrung it from the wrist.
Hand, said I, since now we part
From fields and men we know by heart,
For strangers' faces, strangers' lands,--
Hand, you have held true fellows' hands.
Be clean then; rot before you do
A thing they'll not believe of you.
You and I must keep from shame
In London streets the Shropshire name;
On banks of Thames they must not say
Severn breeds worse men than they;
And friends abroad must bear in mind
Friends at home they leave behind.
Oh, I shall be stiff and cold
When I forget you, hearts of gold;
The land where I shall mind you not
Is the land where all's forgot.
And if my foot returns no more
To Teme nor Corve nor Severn shore,
Luck, my lads, be with you still
By falling stream and standing hill,
By chiming tower and whispering tree,
Men that made a man of me.
About your work in town and farm
Still you'll keep my head from harm,
Still you'll help me, hands that gave
A grasp to friend me to the grave.

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A Natural Green

Who coloured the green trees?
Who coloured the green grass?
Who coloured the green hills?
How about my green spider plant? ?

Green, Green, you are so glorious green...
An abundance of beautiful green, not coloured, but just natural and kind.

Makes me wonder how your creation of green came to life....

A ride on a helicopter over the huge Rain Forest and see nothing, but acres & acres of simply gorgeous green!

Green, Green, you are so glorious green...
An abundance of beautiful green, not coloured, but just natural and kind.

Makes me wonder how your creation of green came to life...

GREEN, I admire and respect the vitality you bring in the air that I breathe...

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Green New Zealand

I've seen great sights of beauty in my travels
The gold and grey landscapes, the brown and green
But south Pacific Islands of New Zealand
Are beautiful as anywhere I've seen.

I've seen the hills of Sherbrooke east of Melbourne
Where tall mountain ash reach upwards towards the sky
And cool rainforests of northern New South Wales and Queensland
Are memories I can recall and enjoy.

I've seen the high hills of Britain and Ireland
Of such green beauty famous bards have wrote
But I would write a song for green New Zealand
Had I been blessed with gift of rhyming poet.

I've seen the wild brown outback of Australia
It's rugged beauty man could never tame
A different sort of beauty to New Zealand
And no two sorts of beauty seem the same.

I've seen the Catskill mountains in their splendour
When flowers were blooming in the month of May
And birds sang in the leafy mountain woodlands
But that was years ago and far away.

The lush green hills and valleys of New Zealand
As beautiful as I have ever seen
And the Homeland of the kakapo and kiwi
Can compare with to anywhere I've been.

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The path is stony
Through valleys deep and hidden
But green hills you'll reach

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A Summer Storm In Passion Love

glorious memories with sunshine upon green hills of life
memories in gilt frame highlighting love in rich passion
ignoring winter snow dancing in ripe summer meadows


Inspired by ‘I Remember You’ by Julie Lopez.

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Seeing Off A Friend

Green hills above the northern wall,
White water winding east of the city.
On this spot our single act of parting,
The lonely tumbleweed journeys ten thousand li.
Drifting clouds echo the traveller's thoughts,
The setting sun reflects my old friend's feelings.
You wave your hand and set off from this place,
Your horse whinnies as it leaves.

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Tuatha de Dannan

The green hills lay silent,
Glens whispered within a quiet breeze,
The sky was as blue as un-chartered ocean
While birds nested in the oldest of oaks trees.
The clans of Erin softly slept,
Through the prayers and poetry of the Bards and Druids,
While the fairy race of the Tuatha de Dannan
Crept onto Irelands shore like an ocean mist.


2006

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A Second Farewell To Governor Yen Wu At The FengJi Post Station

We have come far together, but here we must part;
the green hills vainly echo my feelings.
When will we again take wine cups in hand
to stroll as we did beneath last night's moon?
Every district sings sad songs at your leaving;
three reigns now you have served with distinction.
Now I must go back to my river village alone,
and alone live out the rest of my days.

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Love in Spring

My arms reach out
to embrace green hills,
to hold heart-close
spring’s pulsing thrill.

With passion flush,
and grateful tears
I gaze on the forest
for I know you are near!

I can hear your song
in the sea-borne breeze.
Your golden voice fills
green lilting trees.

Oh give me more wine!
Your grape and your vine,
make the night sublime
with spring’s sweet life,

eternally bounding
from boundless time.

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From The Banks Of Ganga: VIII

A hard rock my support
Against the rapid flow

Broken pieces of sun
As Ganga moved at her will
The green hills
Caressing the sky
Ganga caressing the foot of the hills

Sky
Earth
Water
Fire
Air
Blend to blend me
In them
Leave me,
Leave me to the sky!
Leave me,
Leave me to the earth!
Leave me,
Leave me to the wind
Leave me,
Leave me to the fire
Leave me,
Leave me with Ganga!
I urged and urged

Ganga flowed through me!

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Going Home

UNDER the young moon's slender shield
With the wind's cool lips on mine,
I went home from the Rabitty Field
As the clocks were striking nine.

The yews were dark in the level light,
The thorn-trees dropped with gold,
And a partridge called where the dew was white
In the grass on the edge of the fold.

O, had your hand been in my hand
As the long chalk-road I trod,
The green hills of the lovely land
Had seemed the hills of God.

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My God

my God is just around
like a friend who reads my poems
in the midst of his professor's lecture
on oil pipes and cracking chemistry
my God is silent
like the glass sculpture on my desk
my God is patient
like a blank paper on my table
my God is filled with possibilities
like a pen ready with its ink
my God is forever
like the series of green hills
extending an infinity of my thoughts

my God!
i am tired, i am overworked, and i am always late.

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Colors of Silence

Yellow roses swing in the wind
Lonely dogs bark but the wolves prevail
The violin strings snap, protesting
The aloofly silent mind of the nail.

Blue tulips pray with the bells
On the lake white triangles sail
The postman walks slowly, pondering
The silent somber red box of the mail.

Evening descends on the green hills
The trees are wincing along the grey tail
In the dense dark rests the black forest
The silence dreams it screams under a veil.

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Flow

It flows
over highways
dripping down
lamp-posts
through gutters,
pounding
storm drains,
filling
narrow lanes,
past dark houses,
past high-tension
wires, driving
through
constraining fence,
unfettered
it fills
the green hills
and rolls
through folding slough, past
low bridge and causeway,
ever lower
down to Suisun Bay,
unstoppable
like a swimmer’s blood
pulsing through throbbing vein,
reaching for gate of gold
to break free,
to become
one with
One.

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Cricket Ballad

Smooth green hills just short of touching the sky
White plastic fences seeming to try and out run the hills
Beautiful beast’s hooves pounding silently on the green as they play
The horse house set low down the hill near the sparkling cricks
Smell of manure and the sweet alfalfa
Drift up the hill to the porch wrapped palace of white
The crickets harmoniously sing their ballad
And the wooden porch seat swings gently in the breeze as if to plead, “Encore.”

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A Grave Reminder

The green hills are drinking
the clouds,
keep pouring out
the scented breath.

In capsuled hour the wind was its own rival.
A slant on confessional suicide:
the charm obliterates the solitude.

A gray shower of thoughts outside the window,
I forget, I remember in coyness
my sparks are humming.

The plundered land
by advancing columns of hunger
tosses around the dead lips of tropical
hues.

The fear demands learning,
finding the uninvited death
in the manipulated existence.

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Swinging....

I did not will them
dreams of crystals
a stupid calendar of flight
from insomnic past.

Do not want to return to future,
hub of my clouds.
History had been writhing and screaming.
Present cannot redeem my woes.

I ask my bleak, frosted branches
where the birds have gone?
The songs, green hills, divine particles?
When they will enter in frozen affairs?

Anti-matter is now colliding with black energy
I am faltering a rhythm.
helplessly watch a xenomorphic face
disappearing in the blue sky.

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J-Home

These soft, round, green hills
Soothe my mind
Quiet my soul

I left them for the ocean
And some other hills

I saw whales and seals
Waves tossed my kayak
Winds threatened my schooner

Sunset at Campobello gloried my dinner
Granite boulders demanded climbing
Tide pools opened other lives to us

A sandy beach of ground up seashells
Gave us rocks and sand dollars
And time to chase the waves

The stiff, soft ocean air
Changed us for a moment
A day
A lifetime

These soft, round, green hills
Soothe my mind
Quiet my soul
Welcome me
Home

July 25,1997

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A Song

Steal from the meadows, rob the tall green hills,
Ravish my orchard's blossoms, let me bind
A crown of orchard flowers and daffodils,
Because my love is fair and white and kind.

To-day the thrush has trilled her daintiest phrases,
Flowers with their incense have made drunk the air,
God has bent down to gild the hearts of daisies,
Because my love is kind and white and fair.

To-day the sun has kissed the rose-tree's daughter,
And sad Narcissus, Spring's pale acolyte,
Hangs down his head and smiles into the water,
Because my love is kind and fair and white.

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A Hymn

AFTER READING 'LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT.'

Lead gently, Lord, and slow,
For oh, my steps are weak,
And ever as I go,
Some soothing sentence speak;

That I may turn my face
Through doubt's obscurity
Toward thine abiding-place,
E'en tho' I cannot see.

For lo, the way is dark;
Through mist and cloud I grope,
Save for that fitful spark,
The little flame of hope.

Lead gently, Lord, and slow,
For fear that I may fall;
I know not where to go
Unless I hear thy call.

My fainting soul doth yearn
For thy green hills afar;
So let thy mercy burn--
My greater, guiding star!

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