A book is like a garden carried in the pocket.
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For several days after my first book was published, I carried it about in my pocket and took surreptitious peeps at it to make sure the ink had not faded.
quote by James M. Barrie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Carried Away
(barry gibb/albhy galuten)
There you are
Shiny as a morning star
Its a figure of speech
But youre still out of reach
You never told me loving you could be so wrong and right
And its gonna be a lonely night
I turn to you
You turn away
Youre looking at someone else
And here am i
Loving you more and more
Weve got an open door, my love
Oh let it be just a state of mind
And suddenly you appear
Im carried away
Im carried away
To be carried away
Im carried away
To be carried away
Im carried away
Cest la vie
So you wanna play another part
Can you say goodbye
Can you live a lie
Shell never give you what I gave you was my breaking heart
Better than I ever knew
And if you can live without my love
Youre really gonna be alone
And here am i
Walking against the crowd
Calling your name out loud, my love
Oh let it be just a state of mind
And suddenly you appear
Im carried away
Im carried away
To be carried away
Im carried away
To be carried away
Im carried away
Carried away
Baby there aint no final word
Ill be yours again
I got a world of tenderness
Yours until the end
Im carried away
Im carried away
To be carried away
Im carried away
To be carried away
Im carried away
Im carried away
Im carried away
To be carried away
Im carried away
Im carried away
To be carried away
Im carried away
To be carried away
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Any Reader
As from the house your mother sees
You playing round the garden trees,
So you may see, if you will look
Through the windows of this book,
Another child, far, far away,
And in another garden, play.
But do not think you can at all,
By knocking on the window, call
That child to hear you. He intent
Is all on his play-business bent.
He does not hear; he will not look,
Nor yet be lured out of this book.
For, long ago, the truth to say,
He has grown up and gone away,
And it is but a child of air
That lingers in the garden there.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sunny On the Other Side
Let not a rainy day,
cast a shadow upon your garden.
Let not your worries be over your head.
Let not others downfall be your upbringing.
Let not anger define your character.
Let not your garden be full of weeds.
Let not greed entangle like vines.
Let not life loose it's meaning.
Let not love be lost to lust.
Let not your passions fade away.
Let not your book have few pages.
Let your book become a novel, and in that novel, control the outcome.
Let rainy days inflict the greatest growth.
Let your garden become a jungle.
Keep your gate open to the seeds of life,
and inside those gates, dreams will bare the sweetest fruit.
Let only the sun,
cast a shadow upon your garden.
poem by Jacob Gifford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Their Kind Of Books
You are somebody's wife and now,
Somebody's husband is using you;
But, is this what you call love? !
You are somebody's husband and now,
Somebody's wife is sleeping with you;
But, is this what you call love? !
What kind of world is this?
Is this the kind of love or lust that you want?
What kind of garden of Eden is this?
Is this what you call lust or love?
Oh, what a shame! ! !
A lady sleeps with a president and writes a book about it,
A man kills a woman ans writes a book about it,
A thief robs a bank and writes a book about it,
A man sleeps with somebody's wife and writes a book about it,
A flirt sleeps with different people and writes a book about it,
A kidnapper is very successful with his or her acts and writes a book about it,
A woman kills a man and writes a book about it,
And so on and so forth as we seen in this world;
But, sin is like enjoyment to these people in this Garden of Eden!
And now, thier kind of books are all over the stores in this world for sale.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem In My Pocket!
I have a poem in my pocket for this very day,
a poem in my packet you might even say,
i have a poem in my pocket for all of you to hear,
this is the poem in my pocket,
the one you've just heard me peirs,
so a poem in my pocket is to my heart
but i have to say sorry it's time for us to part!
poem by Raven Fulford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Carried Away
There you are
Shiny as a morning star
Its a figure of speech
But youre still out of reach
You never told me loving you
Could be so wrong and right
And its gonna be a lonely night
I turn to you
You turn away
Youre looking at someone else
And here I am
Loving you more and more
We got an open door , my love
Oh let it be just a state of mind
And suddenly you appear
Chorus:
Im carried away
Im carried away
To be carried away
Im carried away
Cest la vie
So you wanna play another part
Can you say goodbye
Can you live a lie
Shell never give you what i
Gave you was my breaking heart
Better than I ever known
And if you can live without my love
You know youre gonna be alone
And here am i
Walking against the crowd
Calling your name out loud my love
Oh let it be just a state of mind
And suddenly you appear
Chorus:
Im carried away
Im carried away
To be carried away
And Im carried away
Bridge:
Baby there aint no final word
Ill be yours again
I got a world of tenderness
Yours until the end
Chorus:
Im carried
Im carried
To be carried away
Im carried
(repeat chorus and fade)
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Zip-lock
I've been stealing
Time where I can get it from
I've been losing
Grip on what I used to hold
If I could get another chance
I'd put it in a zip-loc bag
And keep it in my pocket
Keep it in my pocket
Keep it in my pocket
Tell me
When I start to blow it would you
Show me
What I need to do before you
Hate me
I could never live with that so
Tell me
Before you're better off without me
Before you're better off without me
I've been watching you
Sleeping with a troubled look
I'm sure your bad dreams
Are probably all about me
And better off without me
If I could get another chance
I'd put it in a ziploc bag
And keep it in my pocket
Keep it in my pocket
Keep it in my pocket
Tell me
When I start to blow it would you
Show me
What I need to do before you
Hate me
I could never live with that so
Tell me
Before you're better off without me
Before you're better off without me
Well I've been losing
Grip on what I used to hold
I don't want you
To be better off without me
If I could get another chance
I'd put it in a ziploc bag
And keep it in my pocket
Keep it in my pocket
Keep it in my pocket
Tell me
When I start to blow it would you
Show me
Tell me
What I need to do before you
Hate me
Tell me
Cuz I could never live with that so
Help me
Before you're better off without me
song performed by by Lit from A Place In The Sun
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Epitaph On John Adams, Of Southwell - A Carrier, Who Died Of Drunkenness
JOHN ADAMS lies here, of the parish of Southwell,
A Carrier who carried his can to his mouth well:
He carried so much, and he carried so fast,
He could carry no more‑so was carried at last;
For, the liquor he drank, being too much for one,
He could not carry off,--so he's now carri-on.
The Reproof
Mamma heard me with scorn and pride
A wretched beggar-boy deride.
'Do you not know,' said I, 'how mean
It is to be thus begging seen?
If for a week I were not fed,
I'm sure I would not beg my bread.'
And then away she saw me stalk
With a most self-important walk.
But meeting her upon the stairs,
All these my consequential airs
Were changed to an entreating look.
'Give me,' said I, 'the pocket-book,
Mamma, you promised I should have.'
The pocket-book to me she gave;
After reproof and counsel sage
She bade me write in the first page
This naughty action all in rhyme;
No food to have until the time,
In writing fair and neatly worded,
The unfeeling fact I had recorded.
Slow I compose, and slow I write;
And now I feel keen hunger bite.
My mother's pardon I entreat,
And beg she'll give me food to eat.
Dry bread would be received with joy
By her repentant beggar-boy.
poem by Charles Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Note That You Must Read When You Wake Up
before i embark on another trip today
i depart from the usual
silence, there is something inside me that wants
to
say something, like a note that i have written last night
which i put
inside my pocket and if by chance my tongue cannot get away
from its sealed
lips, i may just take that note and put it beside your table while
you are
still asleep, and if i had to, if i shall not forget, I'll put
a rose beside it,
the one that i pick from your garden, still fresh with dew on its
petals,
it is like, i only give what i take from you, a rose from your garden,
and a note from me, that despite all those stormy days,
i think, and this you must treasure like all the flowers that grow
in your garden, that which you water and nurture,
that it is my fault, that even if you cannot forgive me,
as i pack my bag, to give your flowers more space, and for you to be at peace, i, too, shall take a deep breath, saying
i still love you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Man With The Golden Gun
The man
With the golden gun
Is waiting
Somewhere
Out there
For you
But you'll never see him
He'll be looking for you
Demand
For the golden gun
It's high priced
Precise
And true
But you'll never see him
He'll be looking for you
The man with the golden
Gun in his pocket, Oh, oh
The man with the golden
Gun in his case, Oh, oh
The man with the golden
Gun in your face
But you'll never see him
He'll be looking for you
You better believe
He'll be looking for you
He-e-e-e-e-e's, The man with the golden
Gun in his pocket
The man with the golden
Gun in his case
The man with the golden
Gun in his pocket
The man with the golden
Gun in your face
But you'll never see him
He'll be looking for you
You better believe
He'll be looking for yo-ou
He-e-e-e-e-e's, The man with the golden
Gun in his pocket
The man with the golden
Gun in his case
The man with the golden
Gun in his pocket
The man with the golden
Gun in your face
The man with the go-o-olden
Gun in his pocket
The man with the go-o-lden
Gun in his case
The man who gave you the golden gun
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Back to Normality?
Today I am going to pretend to be normal.
I am going to behave as I would have before that Friday.
I am going to hang up the washing
and I am going to weed the garden
without my finger on the button
of my remote control panic device.
However,
it will be
the back garden.
And the device will be
in my pocket.
Well,
I did tell you
that I was only pretending,
didn’t I?
(1 January 2001)
This is the 3rd in a series of 3 and includes 'That Friday (29 October 2009) ' and 'My October Visitors'
poem by Diana van den Berg
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My Childhood Garden
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
lush and green
it was so happy it made me scream
my joy and hopes
and all my mopes
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
with the ups and downs
when i jumped i could not touch the ground
with my purle ponys
it made it homey
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
flying high
with the little lies
the grass fine
up in the sky my kite
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
now in the past
i now know that it can never last
now as i get taller
it was differnt when i was smaller
my childhood garden
poem by Danielle Eager
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When You Define A Thing
when you define
a thing, you limit it,
it is like fencing
your garden
the garden becomes
a set of exclusive
flowers, and anything
not like it becomes
a weed, and anything
that moves
becomes a pest
it is not that you
do not define, we do
it sometimes
only to understand
the limits of
understanding,
but we must be open
to other possibilities
of a garden,
a garden of stones
a garden of sand
of mud, of water
a fountain, a garden
of winds, of clouds
a garden of memories
like a poem
for instance, a garden
of words,
words with arms open
to the magic
of further creation
words still trying
to define themselves
in the garden
of the unknown
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I write about five thousand words a day, when working on a book, about three thousand a day if I'm writing a short story. I take long periods off between projects, when I read a lot, garden, and think about the next book or stories.
quote by Eric Brown
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the Garden, With My Father
It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden -
My father is there;
... though long since gone...
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers...
He is there.
I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) ...
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I've come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
- I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much.......
I - at that early age of restless youth - had no use
For such slow moving things.
But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.
It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find... I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father - standing in the garden -
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I've missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here...
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Alone
He put the gum in his right
lower pocket, where it belonged;
The Certs in this heat melted, staining his right
upper pocket, a crying shame.
The green stone went in his left
upper pocket along with the key to nothing;
the robin's egg nestled in his left
lower pocket but never hatched.
He crisscrossed the flats between
the two rocky spires and, every day,
wished he had a compass
or to find anything that could control
his life's motion.
But he never found that thing,
except for thre head-bones of a cow,
and he could not contrive a place
for them, so he buried them and mourned:
Later on he died alone.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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