Five Poems by Maria Downs

 

A WHISTLE UPON THE AIR

So to hear the soft – throated,  bird sing,

from its note form those words,  like flowers of spring

flowing,  as the soul waits,  with listening ears,

the rushing stream,  the heaven vision,  to appear.

 

So silence will caress,  as the wing of a bird,

the hours at the lull when the grounds gape,

for a song to be heard.

 

The green spruces,  flourishing rich,

the blossom bough,  the skies cloudless,  float upon a sea of

dreams,

that quivers at twilight,  as if to pitch -

each note of voices,  as of the breeze,

from folk chatting at ease,  from the whirr of the summer swift

cruising,  trees.

 

How gentle does the evening embrace the sense of joy

exuding,  love all the day,

as if to warily say, “let all who have ears, hear”

the busy heat of Nature’s escapades.

 

Rolling,  like the oncoming wave rising,  to meet but the shore’s

rim,

the sweetest voice of the golden bird

who beat its wings upon the wind.

ENDLESS JOY OF INNOCENCE

 

Larks herald,  the morning’s dawn,

to share amidst this music,  of the spring time,  song

where a parade of adorned,  leafy trees,  home

the blackbird’s plaintive tale,

that swells alongside,  those tiny sparrows,

that flit and throng.

 

Where the verdure below,  reveals,  

the bright red berries,  upon shrub and bush,

upon the prairie mead,

those hedgerows laced,  with brilliant,  white hawthorn,

where the bees,  buzz

and the butterflies alight,  upon each shaded,  hush

 

of those cool,  meadows and fields

flanked,  by towering trees,  that overlook

and cast their shadows,  upon the rushing brook,

that laps its melody,  across those vibrant,  green glades,

 

with much awaiting,  the daze of heat,

when the sun blazes,  its fire

upon those rickets of hay,

upon the village lanes and streets –

 

a furnace of flaming tongues,

that scorch,  each soul’s face,

each neatly,  attired place,  with its rays

 

and little ones escape,  the heaving mass,

to frolic,  in those cool groves,

near the cows and sheep,  that dumb,  will graze –

 

all thirst quenched,  by the water tap,

that fills up and erupts,  from the dappling stream,

while others picnic and blindly,  run

chasing,  the very air,

as if trying to find,  the place,

from where the welcome sun,  has come.

 

So sweeps,  this harmonious,  scenic domain,

listening shrill,  to the mirth,  the cries,

of all that soars and flies,

of what each sunrise will embrace,  once more,  again –

 

with wide – eyed,  wonder,  to espy

each little child,  coo and sigh –

 

this,  as all beheld,  to see

spring’s emergence,  of all,  that is born

all,  that grows at last,  to be,

as this miracle,  to indulge each sense -

euphoria of infancy,  of the young,  of innocence,

 

for all,  to enjoy,  taste and feel,

souls’ beauty,  so wondrous,  so real,

perceived and heard,

as the lavish,  green unravels,  its pleats,  its folds,

each flower unfurls,  to never grow old,

upon this ever – spinning,  wheel.

CAPTIVE TO THE LONELY WINDSWEPT TERRAIN

 

So,  lament no more,

when the sun descends,  

below the rim of the moorlands,

to know,  as those rose – pink,  skies blaze

with fiery colours,  of which to gaze,

now filtering,  the pearly grey,

‘twixt the glistening stars,  of the milky way,

 

that peace still reigns,

as these silken,  shrouds veil,  the skies

so,  the heart elates,  upon this lonely dream,

‘twixt the imaginings and the real world,

with all held illusory,  to the eye

perceiving only,  what seems to be,

when joy and sorrow,  upon this middle earth,

rests safe,  within this recess of the heart,

that endless remains,  serene.

 

So floats this remedy,  this healing balm of grace,

found,  within this temple of the soul,

reflecting,  upon each and every place.

Yet,  still aware,  of a providence to care,

hearing each songbird,  rippling tunes,  upon the air,

though senses shrill,  will alert

to all perceived,  acutely heard.

 

Yet blessed,  so drifts,  this nomadic soul,

voicing each beauty word,  each turn of phrase,

with all received,  from Nature’s infinity,

the rhythmic,  drum beat,  of this wild earth

that calls to the moon,  with its pale light that looms,

in sacred reverence,  of this world.

 

So,  in awe,  of each thicket and grove,

where the rose in the briar,

those red,  holly berries,  the blackthorn bush,

boast on fire,  with vivid hue

sweeping across,  the slush and the mire,

where spreads upon these hedgerows,

each sheen of morning dew.

 

Withholding all love,  save,  

but within this idyll,  this sanctuary,  to dream

of all that lies fair,  upon this domain,

that calls but only,  for peace,

while you sleep,  

as if forever,  there.

LEERING TO CHANCE AT BEAUTY

                          

Scarlet wild to see so bold

upon a tree at autumn’s lull. Sweeping large spread
around, until the winds will toss each leaf to the ground.

Such are colours of finest hue, sprinkling mosaics felt – 

like, shades in the dwindling light to view –

crimsons russets ambers gold,

fair to line, as a parade - the dripping paints, vivid sights 

lacing all fields shrubs too, under the waning sun bright. 

Leaving a soul duped by the daze

the crucible blown asunder, by the winds that blaze.

Hear still, with listless ear, the hurried chirp of birds at 

this moment of the year, leaving reluctant to embrace each 

feather to their fold.

Somewhere to know just in this realm, awaiting the festive 

hours that will knell, yields a grace to tell that all reaps 

rich, as a lord to hoard

the fruits of harvest, of plenty more - while the sun will 

flare, as if in a dream upon the wonder yet, all wilting 

dying into the wintry bare of peace.

Still alone, as loving the ripple of streams that flow

the mighty turn of seasons, the cold snowfall, as the times 

will blessings send

upon the wheel of life that never ends – until your gaze can 

no longer see,

the golden apple upon a tree.

THE DREAM OF EVENING SONG                           

 

Starlit,  nights dream,  those hours of peace,

when the soul embraces,   little else,

but the deep,  dark of silence,

where serenity immerses the mind,  in its blissful,  spell.

 

Standing before those wide oceans, 

that spray and hiss,

espying the twinkle,  of bejewelled stars,  in those skies,

where the white,  moon face beams,  its lustrous glow,

where all,  now,  in slumberland,

rests in a place,  where sleeps,  the soul.

 

Heart’s love,  remains only,  

amidst this essence of tranquility,

as the clouds drift past,  this silver orb,

looming ghostly,  as if to haunt

the mind enthralled,  by this allure,

of fantasy,  seducing the sense,

gazing alone,  before this huge firmament.

 

Thinking no more,  of what irks or annoys,

                           

when waves lap,  their melancholic refrains,

to the lonely bay,

here,  to stay,  so close,  to one -

this scenic rapture,  threading such magic

echoing,  song – like,  this harmony

amidst the nightlights’ home.

 

Where this immense,  arched dome projects,

in its vastness,  that hails

what this soul believes,  

but only,  in all facets of Nature’s beauty,  

that prevails –

 

listening,  to the slow,  toll of hours,

as the dying of the night sky,  yields

but the morning’s dawn,

to arise with zest,  at the sun that gleams,

venture light – foot,  upon each quest,

to learn of such,  that merits,  worth -

this truce of peace,  with each fair word.

 

Knowing the greater star,  that shines

                              

will bestow much joy,  to souls that pine

for life,  to always bring,  such ease,

such peace,  as the song

that fulfils such dreams –

 

eternal,  as these gems so bright,

upon the lands and seas

and heavens,  of night.

Maria Downs - Has been playing the piano for fifty years. She a has painted over 150 artworks, of garden scenes, moorlands and seascapes for fourteen years and has been writing poetry, concerning Nature’s realms, the universe and the soul,  for forty years, writing over 2200, verses.

Maria has lived in Lyon, France, studying French and in Florence, Italy, studying the history of art, musical drama, history of Greek theatre, aesthetics, Italian language  and classical music with emphasis on the composers, Robert Schumann and Debussy.

She reads excessively and now, mainly loves writing her verses, reading biographies about interesting gifted people, playing upbeat pop music, easy listening, and Motown, Rhythm and blues and Soul music on her piano. She loves to read, a genuine “good book”.