Quotes about cherry, page 9
The Cherry Trees
in that shinjuku lane
an old sakura tree
stands in my mind
grandma with her
bare hair
inspired by
The Cherry Trees
The cherry trees bend over and are shedding,
On the old road where all that passed are dead,
Their petals, strewing the grass as for a wedding
This early May morn when there is none to wed.
Edward Thomas
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Cherry plum blossom in an old tin jug
Cherry plum blossom in an old tin jug —
Oh, it is lovely, beautiful and fair,
With sun on it and little shadows mixed
All in among the fragrant wonder there.
Cherry plum blossom on the workroom bench
Where we can see it all our working hours.
In all my garden days of ladyhood,
I never met girls who so loved sweet flowers.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Japan diary (Miyajima)
we have been looking forward
to the Miyajima cherry blossom report for a while
and was happy
to see the weather further improve
in time for our visit.
The 'shrine island' near Hiroshima has been one of our favorite places in Japan since our first trip there,
and is particularly
pleasant during the cherry blossom
and autumn leaf seasons.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Reverse
Cherry, whipped cream
Chocolate sauce, ice cream
I can't enjoy it, I wish I could
But my body rejects the food
Fingers on my lips
Slim down my hips
I eat until I'm full
Show everyone I'm normal
Head bent over the bowl
No longer full
Back up in reverse
Wanting more, makes it worse
Ice cream, chocolate sauce
Whipped cream, cherry, food loss
poem by Brynn Fier
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Potpourri 2
cherry blossom
our hearts full with praises
for spring
new york supermoon
a dream i still
carry with me
cherry blossom
our hearts full with praises
for spring
two trapeze artists
a sixteen legged stunt
in a maze of ropes
the black widow did not just
devour her male partner
he begged for it
... he said it was part of his ecstasy
[...] Read more
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Choka Sonnet
nature’s beauty show.
near Tokyo in the spring
guaranteed to please.
avenues of cherry trees.
soft spring breezes blow
setting pink blossoms dancing
on the cherry trees
their sweet perfumes they release.
lovers stroll below
unaware completely free
to just wander to and fro.
all that they can see
their own private paradise
where the blossom never dies,
10-Apr-08
Choka sonnet
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Loveliest of Trees, the Cherry Now
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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Come on
Come on give me those cherry lips blooming
I'm cast in your dice
I'm cast to your side
And pray to my Lord
In winter's abode
My love for you
In hearth to abide
No past no future just a gift of present
Beautiful beautiful present from above
Cherry lips blooming in a cup of your love
In winter's freezing white washed desert
Your heart burning around my hearth
A gift from heaven winter joy and mirth
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Everything
Everything’s looted, betrayed and traded,
black death’s wing’s overhead.
Everything’s eaten by hunger, unsated,
so why does a light shine ahead?
By day, a mysterious wood, near the town,
breathes out cherry, a cherry perfume.
By night, on July’s sky, deep, and transparent,
new constellations are thrown.
And something miraculous will come
close to the darkness and ruin,
something no-one, no-one, has known,
though we’ve longed for it since we were children.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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Telling the Bees
A Colonial Custom
Bathsheba came out to the sun,
Out to our wallèd cherry-trees;
The tears adown her cheek did run,
Bathsheba standing in the sun,
Telling the bees.
My mother had that moment died;
Unknowing, sped I to the trees,
And plucked Bathsheba’s hand aside;
Then caught the name that there she cried
Telling the bees.
Her look I never can forget,
I that held sobbing to her knees;
The cherry-boughs above us met;
I think I see Bathsheba yet
Telling the bees.
poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese
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