Submissions by Eternal-traveler

The nightingales

I hardly expected anything from life,
Happiness simply cannot be traced.
What does it give? – In the cold spring night
Sing the immortal nightingales.

Dutch to English translation.

by: J.C. Bloem (1887-1966)
–
Uit: Avond (1950), opgenomen in Verzamelde Gedichten (1965)

the whispered whisper

soft sensitive exciting
fragments come along
some not heard
it was clear
exotic in it self
floating in its full glory
the good news recognisable
caressing senses of nature
the colours were part of the whole
new forms grew
budding after long sleep
the wind became softer
sunny rays more intense
dawning days earlier
nature in harmony in tone
growing impetuous in colours
delicate new flowers
fresh scents new life
whisper grew
to harmonious crescendo
confluent Bird...