- A Wonderful Experience
Take time out from work, forget worries and care. Go to where Nature is. Visit the countryside. Feel happy and healthy and free. All you need is a pencil and paper, to write simple poetry. Here are poems I wrote that brought me back to my feet.
Dr Abe V Rotor
Farm Life Memories
Rain and river meet on the plain and farm,
A simple life for the old and young;
The school, the woods and field are all but one,
Shielded from the other world beyond.
Ah, childhood is when nobody misses
The thousand thrills as the sun rises,
Watching the herons and the finches,
With slingshot for simple prizes.
Stillness reigns around a kingfisher,
A coming rain, tells the dragonfly;
A bird’s nest waits, a secret of its finder,
These early lessons - joy to live by.
Conflict is solved by kites and fishing poles,
In hide-and-seek and barefoot races;
Faith lies in the sky and march of seasons,
Virtues all that friendship embraces.
Come thunder and lightning that cut the day,
Sending the fowls early to their tree;
The children catch the raindrops, and soon
Across the field, dash for home in glee.
Summer is short and rainy days are long,
But it’s only passing imagery,
For the young cannot wait, and all along
The years are gone, save sweet memory.
When and where in crisis and in retreat,
In another place, at another time,
Rises one where once the rain and river meet,
To bring the sun shine over the clime.
Freud and Jung long foretold, we know,
What the seed was and how it grew,
Makes a man the child of years ago
From the countryside – oh, it’s true.
Waterfalls
How many falls do you tumble all the time?
And songs you sing in rhythm and rhyme?
Oh, you are simply filled with awe and joy.
And I, I wish I were forever a boy -
I ride on your crest, plunge into your floor,
Inside your womb I’m a child once more,
Together we flow, and I’m weaned out to sea
To tell the world of a beautiful story. ~
Home, Sweet Home in acrylic, AVRotor
Small is my home but wide is its lawn;
Its walls solid, its tiles of the earth;
Its windows open to the yard and path
That leads all feet to the hearth.
Vines and herbs they grow wild and free,
They cool my head, they hide the crack,
And the trees call the birds to build their nest,
They shield the sun and the cold gray rock.
Small is my home but wide is its lawn,
Where quaintness reigns and fresh is the air,
Fence there is none, with neither road nor gate;
This patch of Eden, my little lair. ~
Moth Season
Do moths ride on the wind to bring a message,
Brave the chilly kiss of the Siberian wind?
Or lay in their hammocks on browning trees
Counting stars, drawing the face of the moon?
Do moths fly to places they have not been before,
To search a suffering or lost soul and share his pain?
Do they tell the world how easy darkness comes
When the pen is still after an idea is born?
Alas, how little a candle means at dawn.
You may use these poems for poetry reading in the classroom, in literary criticism, or simply as guide in making your own poems. It's a rare experience: poetry reading with music background around a bonfire on a peaceful evening under the stars with your family and friends. AVR
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