Ben and Bea met one night
At the Palais, in early spring.
They disagreed on everything.
It ended in a nasty fight;
A case of hatred at first sight.
The Palais is long derelict,
Their steps are slow, their hair is white
But still they quarrel day and night
For Ben loves Bea, as you'd predict
And Beatrice loves Benedict.
~~ George J. Dance, 2007 from Doggerel, and other doggerel, 2015.
[All rights reserved by the author - Used with permission]
The lady Lillian knelt upon the sward,
Between the arbour and the almond leaves;
Beyond, the barley gathered into sheaves;
A blade of gladiolous, like a sword,
Flamed fierce against the gold; and down toward
The limpid west, a pallid poplar wove
A spell of shadow; through the meadow drove
A deep unbroken brook without a ford.
A fountain flung and poised a golden ball;
On the soft grass a frosted serpent lay,
With oval spots of opal over all;
Upon the basin’s edge within the spray,
Lulled by some craft of laughter in the fall,
An ancient crow dreamed hours and hours away.
II
The lady watched the serpent and the crow
For days, then came a little naked lad,
And smote the serpent with a spear he had;
Then stooped and caught the coil, and straining slow,
Took the lithe weight upon his shoulder, so,
And tugged, but could not move the ponderous thing,
Then flushing red with rage, his spear did fling,
And cut the gladiolus at one blow.
Then back he swung his flaming weapon high,
And smote the snake and called a magic name;
Then the whole garden vanished utterly,
And through a mist the lightning went and came,
And flooded all the caverns of the sky,
A rosy gulf of unimprisoned flame.
--- Duncan Campbell Scott (1862-1947) from The Magic House, and other poems, 1893
[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]
“You think I am dead,”
The apple tree said,
“Because I have never a leaf to show —
Because I stoop,
And my branches droop,
And the dull gray mosses over me grow!
But I’m still alive in trunk and shoot;
The buds of next May
I fold away —
But I pity the withered grass at my root.”
“You think I am dead,”
The quick grass said,
“Because I have parted with stem and blade!
But under the ground
I am safe and sound
With the snow’s thick blanket over me laid.
I’m all alive, and ready to shoot,
Should the spring of the year
Come dancing here —
But I pity the flower without branch or root.”
“You think I am dead,”
A soft voice said,
“Because not a branch or root I own.
I never have died,
But close I hide
In a plumy seed that the wind has sown.
Patient I wait through the long winter hours;
You will see me again —
I shall laugh at you then,
Out of the eyes of a hundred flowers.”
~~ Edith M. Thomas (1854-1925) from Selected Poems, 1926
[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the European Union]
In broken land, the hills remain
And grass and trees are lush again.
My teardrops fall upon new flowers —
Birds flit —I pace and mourn the hours,
The flames of war now three months old,
A word from home more dear than gold.
I scratch my head; white hair too thin
To even hold a hairpin in.
--- Tu Fu (712-770) Englished by George J. Dance, 2011 from Doggerel, and other doggerel, 2015
Country damaged mountains rivers here
City spring grass trees deep
Feel moment flower splash tears
Regret parting bird startle heart
Beacon fires join three months
Family letters worth ten thousand metal
White head scratch become thin
Virtually about to not bear hairpin
