A poem for every day in June

I update ever day with a new poem. Please find the newest ones at the bottom of the lens. You can navigate there by using the contents first clicking on "more".

Fern fronds held tightly
Like the fingers of a little child
Keeping a secret within.

Furry fronds, green and splendid
Are you keeping a secret from us
In those tightly curled fingers?

When I have passed
Will you uncurl and reveal
What you are hiding?
Only to recoil, if I turn back.

When Elijah came to Zarephath
He saw a piteous sight,
A widow woman picking up sticks
With which a fire to light.
A fire to cook a one last meal,
For her and her little son.
When they had eaten that
Their days would soon be done..

But Elijah came,
The man of God
Who declared her ingredients would not run out
Till it rained upon the sod.

She trusted he was right
And fed him from that night.
The flour and oil was there daily
Each day they ate their fill
With flour not from the mill.

But her little son then died,
Elijah to his God cried,
"Have mercy on this woman Lord"
The child revived at Elijah's word.

We would wish for such a miracle,
But we do not live in that time.
But God is still as loving
As He was in the time of this rhyme.

Trust in the Lord
With all your heart,
He'll bring you through the blast.
His purposes may seem difficult for you,
Trust, all will be well at last.

The sun rises in the east
To wake the sleeping earth.
He sends dawn ahead of him
To wake earth's slumbering girth.

'Tis then the fluttering birds
Greet him with their chatter.
The milkman delivers the milk to the shop
Making such a clatter.

Day has come, work must be done.
The cars in endless stream
Pass up the street and join the bustle
Under the sun's bright gleam.

We battle on and then grow tired,
The sun descends in the west.
We travel home to wife and family,
Glad to find our rest.

By their very nature these poetry lenses start off small and grow daily. I am finding this task an immense pleasure and in no way a chore. I hope you enjoy my poems too. I usually write them in the evening and add them next morning. When I began this challenged I wrote several poems on one day fearing the muse would leave me, but now I find no problem in writing one at a time daily. If I had not challenged myself I would have missed out on a lot of pleasure. Is there some challenge you should take on? Go on go for it.

Sleep is a mystery,
A mystery so deep.
The brain becomes like tangled wool,
It's sorted out by sleep.

The troubles of the day
Unravel in the night.
What worried in the day,
In sleep is soon put right.

That's why we say,
"I'll sleep on it."
The magic churning over night,
Puts all in perspective bit by bit.

So sleep your charming sleep,
That healing balm.
The things which stirred you up by day
Will soon be turned to calm.

The moorhen with her chicken feet
Glides along the surface of the canal
And comes to take a closer look
At land locked humans on the tow path.

She turns her head
And shows a beady eye,
Displaying her comical red nose.
Her wings are folded
Up against her tail,
As she poses for the camera.

What goes on in that little brain?
What does she think of us?
She is watching us
Watching her.
No doubt bread is not far from her mind.

Bluebells, bladder campions and thrift,
Drifting down to the ocean.
Swathing the cliffs most gloriously,
In Springtime jocundity.

You look lemming-like,
Crowding to descend.
Rippling like waves
In the gusting wind.

Do you know what joy you bring us
As you bloom so fair?
Taking away our worries.
Removing all our care.

I love my love,
Because he first loved me;
Loved me so much
He went to that tree.

"What tree ?" you say
For you know it as a cross.
For me he went
And took on loss.

"For you?" you say,
"But what of me?"
Oh you are included
Should you choose to be.

He came for the lost
The sad and the poor;
Not the ones who are proud
They get shown the door.

But the humble may come
And find they are blessed;
But not the high and mighty
They don't find such rest.

But if you are stumbling
Along life's way
There's a hand there to help you
Get through each day.

A hand that is steady
One you can trust.
A rescue that is ready
But trust you must.

I told you June
Would be cold and wet.
Now it's happened
Do you feel upset?

The first week was warm,
With plenty of sun,
Now the rain has come
And spoit our fun.

But the farmers are pleased
To have rain on their crops,
The trouble is
Once it starts it never stops.

To balance the weather
To please everyone
Is really quite tricky
It can hardly be done.

We hope for more sunshine
to cheer us each day.
When the farmers have had their rain
In the sun they can make hay.

Have you ever come across
Flynn the cat?
Art is where she's really at.

With fantasy figures she fills the page.
How great is her talent?
Very high I would gauge.

Her talent is great
I'm sure you'll agree,
When you look at this squidoo lens
See "Earth and Sea"
Just look how sea
Gathers herself to descend,
While Earth perches waiting
To her power to bend.

And that blue-eyed girl
Has a meaningful look
Measuring you up,
To see if you dare
To look back at her
With her eyes oh so blue.
I tell you look out,
If she's staring at you.

What joy comes from
Seeing such talent on show.
It's really a treat
To see something so neat.

Here's to you Flynn the cat
Long may you flourish
Practise your art
Our minds to nourish

Here's a little ditty
As it would be a pity,
If I broke this chain,
Through the year.

So I need to write a poem
While I'm still sitting home,
Before I go out to meet a friend.

My daily poem's here,
There is no need to fear,
That inspiration will run dry

For one more day I've done
what really is quite fun,
To write a poem daily through the year.

'Tis June again
And cold winds blow.
'Tis raining still,
It looks like snow
Well not quite that bad
But we're full of woe.

We like the sun
To shine on us,
With skies of blue,
We like it thus.

But rain is needed
For the crops.
Not a huge deluge,
Just some drops.

We always moan
In England where we bide.
The weather's never right
We're never satisfied

Beautiful, flambuoyant poppy,
Blazing with colour.
Used rightly
You relieve our pain
Used wrongly
you become our bane

Such beauty
Shining from your face
Upon your stem
You stand with grace.

You fill our garden
With such splendour
Standing tall
In joy so tender.
We love to see you standing bright
Giving joy from morn till night.

Lovely rushing river,
Beauteous in your flight,
Speeding down the valley,
What a glorious sight.

Dashing oe'r the weir
Turned from brown to white
In your seaward journey,
Sending back the light.

Froth and bubble
Glorious surge,
Sounding forth your power
Singing out your dirge.

Little ant where did you come from
To be up this bush so tall?
Will you find your way home safely,
Or will you take a fall?

The flower sweet sustains you,
Providing all you need.
Will you find a greenfly,
On this handsome weed.

As you pose for this photo
You do not understand
Just how famous you will be,
Far beyond this land.

A silver sliver of a moon
Hangs in the western sky,
Reflecting the sun's last rays
As dark clouds the northern sky dye.

'Tis night in the cloud
But the moon sits in the dusk.
A single star is poised above,
The moon like an elephant's tusk,

An ivory crescent
Holding back the night,
As the ominous clouds
Threaten with all their might.

The night will come
But the moon will shine,
I will lie in your arms
And you in mine.

What words shall I choose
To tell you of my love?
Are any good enough
To express how I feel, my dove?

For you my mind have captured
I am imprisoned in your snare.
For other things I care not,
You are all my care.

I cannot keep my mind
On more parochial things
Of you alone I think
For you alone my heart sings.

And yet I know
The rose-tinted specs
Are firmly on my nose.
Are you really a thistle, I see,
Or as I hope, the rose?

"Where can I find a friend?" you ask,
"To be with me and share my task."
"Where a friend who will constant be
Stay beside me constantly?"

Humans are all fickle and frail
Promising much, meaning well.

But there's only one
You can fully trust,
Jesus by name,
Child of the dust.

Child of the dust,
He will stay beside you
Till eventide,
From mornings dew.

He constant is
Nor turns away.
If you want a friend
He'll with you stay.

He will take your burden,
Your guilt, your woe
And give you love
That will make you glow.

He paid a heavy price
To set you free,
Now enjoy this freedom
Be filled with glee.

I sit poised at my keyboard to write a poem.
I have no idea what my subject will be.
I sit here between fear and anticipation
Waiting for the muse to move me.

I send a little prayer heavenward
For something to write,
I hope it will be good,
I want to delight.

Day after day I try to write,
Perhaps my muse is tired
Fed up with the fight
Going to leave me uninspired.

If that is the case I must
Continue by craft,
I ought to be able,
I'm not really daft.

Keep writing words
and never give in,
I have only eleven months to go.
To give up on this challenge
Would be a great sin.

The muse with me sometimes
For the rest I'll fill in.
The year soon will go
I know I can win.

The gentle breeze of summer
Is caressing the honeysuckle,
Which grows in profusion
On the trellis below my window.

The birds cheep merrily,
Young life venturing forth.
People fetch their bread and milk
From the little country shop.

And this will be a merry day,
I feel it in my bones.
With confidence I look up
Where the king of kings reigns.

Scientifically it's said
The bumblebee cannot fly.
And yet I see it merrily buzzing by.

Scientists often say
"We thought this ten years ago,
But now we know it isn't so."

There are many wonders in science,
It has to be said,
But you can't trust everything they say,
You have to use your head.

I believe my Bible
With its wonders unexplained.
In believing it I find
There is very much to be gained.

This weekend
I've been feeling ill,
I've even had to take a pill.
Poems don't come easily
When you're feeling weasily.
But try I must to fill the page,
Or I won't be earning my wage.
But now I feel I've said enough
As I am still feeling rough.

Dawn breaks golden in the East,
The western sky gives back an answering blush,
Day has begun
The birds they will not hush.

Man strangely still sleeps on,
His daily task not yet begun.
His time will come
To hurry and to run.

The hills are clad in trees of blue,
The sun rises up and comes in view.
Another joyous day begins
The earth upon its axis spins.

And I am glad this day has come,
For I shall see my beloved one.
Nor shall he know that it is he,
My heart sings for and longs to see.

My secret love shall remain so
I do not wish to cause him woe.
From a distance I will admire,
Write songs for him upon my lyre.

When days are short
And life has been long
Still the heart sings
Its poignant song.

The heart is young
And still it sings.
A song of my love
Through my heart rings.

Tho' time is fleeting
And the night long
Still my heart sings
Its sweet, tender song.

For you inspire me
With love and devotion.
I may grow old and weary
But still I feel emotion.

I feel I am young
As I sing this tune.
My heart beats a little quicker
In this summer month of June.

I could not love you more
Were I but three and twenty.
You will find of my love
There is a-plenty.

I love you from a distance
And love you well.
I cannot come nearer,
My love to you tell.

Enjoy the sweet life
Which you have built.
Just give me your friendship
Then I'll feel no guilt.

Nor ever yet
Set eye on this page.
My love shall be discreet
Nor parade on a stage.

The morning calls me to arise
They tell me this should make we wise,
Except I went to bed quite late
Then I had to get up,
I could not wait.

My heart o'er flows
With love for you
I wish you well
My love is true.

The selfishness in me
Wishes always to be with you,
But you are loved by another,
A gentle maid
Is your true lover.

I would not part you
If I could
T'would be a crime
It really would.

She loves you true
I see 'tis so,
And you are happy,
Free from woe.

And so alone I dwell
Content to know
That all with you is well.

And so my love
My passion settles down
And my true love for you,
Resigns me
to love you from afar.
Although I do come near you,
Share your space,
Yet I will never reach out
With grasping arm,
To take you for my own.
For I would rather be your friend.
For friendship is most precious
And stands aside
From complicating ardour,
Is simple, strong and lasting.
This is worth striving for;
Worth reining in these rages of desire.

The morning comes
And I must take my pen
To write again,
Of loves that I have lost
And one I have not gained.

It seems to me
Platonic friendship
Is a wondrous thing
With little lost
And so much gained.

Companionship and laughter
And all things cosy,
Are in that word
summed up.
Friends do not ask too much
Of one another,
But make allowances
For each peccadillo.
Do not demand constant company
But part a little
In perfect harmony.

A married couple
Make each other mad with familiarity
Whilst friends agree to part a while
Returning to each other
With renewed interest.

So give me friendship
Every time
And I will smile to meet you
Once again
And long enjoy
The sweetness of your company.

Take off those rose coloured spectacles,
He's just another man
With socks to wash
And meals to cook for
And to encroach on your half of the bed.

But those rose-coloured spectacles
Are such fun
They fill me with delight.
They bring me a vision
Of make believe
and make me feel so bright.

'Twill end in tears
I tell myself
If I don't get this under control.
So throw those spectacles on the ground
And cast them in that hole.

You can look at him
In the light of day.
He is still that special one.
He is your friend
And that in the end
Is what you really want.

Recently DEdgarLamp appeared on this lens and made a comment. I found his Daily Poem on google and we are now good friends. We enjoy reading each other's poetry. Don loves to use all the various forms of poetry whereas I like to stay free with mine. However I have tried a Kyrielle and found it good to have a framework. I'm sure I shall be learning lots from Don and hope he finds the liason equally beneficial.

My poems lately
Have been quite heavy.
Now for something light.
A skip, a jump,
A little bump
Would bring relief and be bright.

A skip of the heart, a leap of the mind
Would be most welcome here, I find.
A hop and a leap
Would belp me keep,
My brain in a merry wind.

Fresh through the trees
Blows the hill top breeze
So merry my thoughts today.
With a leap and a bound
Such joy can be found
And keep sadness well at bay.

WHAT I WANT

I'll tell you now just what I want,
The day you find me dead and gaunt,
Go lather up your legs and shave,
And build a dance floor on my grave.

When all the eulogies are said,
And your blue eyes are puffy red,
It's time for you to misbehave,
And build a dance floor on my grave.

Just call the girls to get the guys,
Forget the wherefores and the whys,
Go find yourself a kindly knave,
And build a dance floor on my grave.

I hope the moon is full that night,
(I'll do my best to time it right),
And you'll announce my tomb side rave,
And build a dance floor on my grave.

Posted on www.dailypoetryclub.com topic: What I Want

For my wife, Mimi
~ D. Edgar Lamp (Kyrielle)

But what if it my love should be,
That I should die ahead of thee.
Could you with equal happy stance
For love upon my grave now dance.

Knowing that I no longer need
A body which I have to feed.
I am now where all joys enhance
For love upon my grave, now dance.

No longer do I need to weep.
I now know my Lord's love so deep.
So do not look my love askance,
For love upon my grave now dance.

So find your comfort where you must
And always in our Saviour trust
So love, without a backward glance
For love, upon my grave now dance.

He was sad,
He was lonely.
He had had a hard life.
He had raised two children,
He had lost a wife.

Life had been rough,
Life had been tough.
Now he longed to lie down and rest.

But he could find no peace
He could find no release,
Except in the depths of a bottle.

This now was no friend
He could see no end
To the misery which was his life.

But his mind went back
To his mother's prayers
To the God where she
Would take her cares.

And hope glimmered dimly
In his eye,
He looked heavenward with a sigh.

"May my God have mercy on my soul,
May God take me and make me whole.
Yet there is hope for a broken man,
I will turn to my God as best as I can."

And Hope gleamed again in his eye,
He no longer felt it was time to die.