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More grows in a tilled field than is sown in it.
Love Field
You lie so unfolded
In a love field
With your contempt for any modesty
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
You yield with your lips still sealed
In a love field
Lost in a sea of imaginary women
Everything youd want
From the dawn to the dimming
Breath comes sharp and heart beats faster
In a love field
Cold ground for a pillow
Under a blanket of stars
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
Headlights that startled
This embrace of hours
In a love field
In a crooked house
Where things can be arranged
You think youre different from the rest
But you dont see how youve changed
Under an archway
On a road of white linen
In a love field
Feel the anxious rhythm of a functional stranger
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
Shes so tense but its never mentioned
In a love field
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Idleness is not doing nothing. Idleness is being free to do anything.
quote by Floyd Dell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Roland Lost
Im lost, Im lost, find me
Im lost, Im lost, find me
He wondered too far now
He is lost and lonely
Little roland all alone
Cause he cant find his way
Wish I was home in the arms of my mom
Shes the one to protect me
But here I am in the woods by myself
Wont somebody find me
Im lost, Im lost, find me
Im lost, Im lost, find me
I see a path maybe this is the way
That leads to safety
No just a dead end leading to nowhere
Wont somebody find me
Im lost, Im lost, find me
Im lost, Im lost, find me
Little roland see your field eyes
Little legs running wildly
Comes the night, strange noises
Guess hes lost forever
Im lost, Im lost, find me
Im lost, Im lost, find me
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It has been said that idleness is the parent of mischief, which is very true; but mischief itself is merely an attempt to escape from the dreary vacuum of idleness.
quote by George Borrow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poet's Possession
Think not, oh master of the well-tilled field,
This earth is only thine; for after thee,
When all is sown and gathered and put by,
Comes the grave poet with creative eye,
And from these silent acres and clean plots,
Bids with his wand the fancied after-yield,
A second tilth and second harvest, be,
The crop of images and curious thoughts.
poem by Archibald Lampman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Idleness is a constant sin, and labor is a duty. Idleness is the devil's home for temptation and for unprofitable, distracting musings; while labor profit others and ourselves.
quote by Anne Baxter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Labor is work that leaves no trace behind it when it is finished, or if it does, as in the case of the tilled field, this product of human activity requires still more labor, incessant, tireless labor, to maintain its identity as a ""work"" of man.
quote by Mary McCarthy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Study invites study, idleness produces idleness.
Idleness is the stupidity of the body, and stupidity is the idleness of the mind.
quote by Johann G. Seume
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Field Of Dreams
May tomorrow bring you sunshine
as you kiss the sky
in this field of dreams
alone here, you stand
lost little dandelion
soaking up the morning sun
Love flowing like streams
torn apart at the seams
summer days are never gone
with just one promise in your hand
yesterday memories
blowing in the breeze
still never lost in time
You listen to every dropp of rain
fall like teardrops outside your window
in this field of dreams
you never let go
we hide behind the pain
this love so vein
Days so bitter sweet
days that never end
nights that just pass by
in this field of dreams
its only you and I
where our love will mend
And hearts tortured it seems
there is where we will meet
in this field of dreams
where we will never die
In this field of dreams
I'm still lonely on these streets
waiting here for you to be mine
(spiritwind-2009)
poem by Spiritwind Wood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Day of The Lord
The Day of the Lord is at hand, at hand:
Its storms roll up the sky:
The nations sleep starving on heaps of gold;
All dreamers toss and sigh;
The night is darkest before the morn;
When the pain is sorest the child is born,
And the Day of the Lord at hand.
Gather you, gather you, angels of God-
Freedom, and Mercy, and Truth;
Come! for the Earth is grown coward and old,
Come down, and renew us her youth.
Wisdom, Self-Sacrifice, Daring, and Love,
Haste to the battle-field, stoop from above,
To the Day of the Lord at hand.
Gather you, gather you, hounds of hell-
Famine, and Plague, and War;
Idleness, Bigotry, Cant, and Misrule,
Gather, and fall in the snare!
Hireling and Mammonite, Bigot and Knave,
Crawl to the battle-field, sneak to your grave,
In the Day of the Lord at hand.
Who would sit down and sigh for a lost age of gold,
While the Lord of all ages is here?
True hearts will leap up at the trumpet of God,
And those who can suffer, can dare.
Each old age of gold was an iron age too,
And the meekest of saints may find stern work to do,
In the Day of the Lord at hand.
On the Torridge, Devonshire,
September 10, 1849.
poem by Charles Kingsley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Good Templars' Song
AIR-'O SUSANNAH!'
Ye soldiers in the temperance cause,
Our work is but begun.
Oh! sit not down in idleness
And think the field is won.
Our lambs are straying from the fold,
The wolves are on the track:
Oh! can you sit and see them go,
Nor strive to bring them back?
Chorus:
O Good Templars!
There's work for us to-day.
Then gird your armor on again,
And only pause to pray.
Whichever way the eye may turn,
It sees the rum-shop stand
With open door and flowing bowl,
A viper in the land.
The grapes are hanging from the vines,
All ready for the press.
Before, behind, on every side
Are seeds of drunkenness.
Our foes are all untiring,
But God is with the right,
And we will conquer at the last-
Then onward to the fight!
Ay, onward to the battle-field,
Each woman, child, and man!
King Alcohol shall yet go down
With all his demon clan.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lost The Meaning
I don't even know what to say anymore
And somewhere along the way
I lost the meaning to words
and the ability to understand what they meant
I sit here waiting for the words to come
It's like trying to catch a sheet of paper
When the wind took it up in the air
and blew it a couple of miles away
Are we supposed to walk
a couple of miles to find the words
that seem to be lost in the corn field
or do we just let them decay in the field
Lost In You
Theres no more waiting
Holding out for love
You are my godsend
That I have been forever dreaming of
My angel from above
Heaven knows
Im head over heels and it shows
Ive played every field I suppose
But theres something about you
When youre around
Baby I have found
I get lost in you
What is this feeling
Ive never known before
That I should touch you
Swearing to surrender ever more
Thats what I came here for
Heaven knows
Im head over heels and it shows
Ive played every field I suppose
But theres something about you
When youre around
Baby I have found
I get lost in a wonderful daze
Lost in your wonderful ways
Heaven knows
When youre around
Baby I have found
I get lost
Heaven knows
Im head over heels and it shows
Ive played every field I suppose
But theres something about you
When youre around
Baby I have found
I get lost in you
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Testament (Zapovit)
When I die, bury me
On a grave mound
Amid the wide-wide steppe
In my beloved Ukraine,
In a place from where the wide-tilled fields
And the Dnipro and its steep banks
Can be seen and
Its roaring rapids heard.
When it carries off
The enemy’s blood from Ukraine
To the deep blue sea… I’ll leave
The tilled fields and mountains -
I’ll leave everything behind and ascend
To pray to God
Himself… but till then
I don’t know God.
Bury me and arise, break your chains
And sprinkle your freedom
With the enemy’s evil blood.
And don’t forget to remember me
In the great family,
In a family new and free,
With a kind and quiet word.
poem by Taras Shevchenko (25 December 1845), translated by Michael M. Naydan
Submitted by Mihai Cucereavii
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All to War
I lost my mother
I lost my father
I lost my brother
And lost my dreams too
I lost my friends
I lost my family
I lost my sister
And lost my will too
I lost my school
I lost my work
I lost my city
And lost my rights too
I lost my day
I lost my night
I lost my sight
And lost my morning dew
(to the soul of every victim of war)
poem by Ezekiel Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lost in everything
Lost in thought
lost in pain
lost in fear
that you can never retain!
Lost in trouble
lost in grief
lost in heartbreak
that you can never relief!
Lost in sorrow
lost in death
lost in misery
That you can never refresh!
Lost in life
lost in words
lost in everything
That you can never return!
Lost in chaos
lost in peace
lost in burdens
that you can never release!
Because these are the things
we think and feel
through the good and the bad
It's a forever done deal!
poem by Katarina Bowman
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To My Sister
It is the first mild day of March:
Each minute sweeter than before
The redbreast sings from the tall larch
That stands beside our door.
There is a blessing in the air,
Which seems a sense of joy to yield
To the bare trees, and mountains bare,
And grass in the green field.
My sister! ('tis a wish of mine)
Now that our morning meal is done,
Make haste, your morning task resign;
Come forth and feel the sun.
Edward will come with you;--and, pray,
Put on with speed your woodland dress;
And bring no book: for this one day
We'll give to idleness.
No joyless forms shall regulate
Our living calendar:
We from to-day, my Friend, will date
The opening of the year.
Love, now a universal birth,
From heart to heart is stealing,
From earth to man, from man to earth:
--It is the hour of feeling.
One moment now may give us more
Than years of toiling reason:
Our minds shall drink at every pore
The spirit of the season.
Some silent laws our hearts will make,
Which they shall long obey:
We for the year to come may take
Our temper from to-day.
And from the blessed power that rolls
About, below, above,
We'll frame the measure of our souls:
They shall be tuned to love.
Then come, my Sister! come, I pray,
With speed put on your woodland dress;
And bring no book: for this one day
We'll give to idleness.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Sweet Nick
Sweet Nicholas, your handfuls of song
Endure and echo in the thoughts of some
Who look to deeper lives once more, in England and beyond
The damp tones of voice strewn on guitar, the steady pick
And falling strain, are clear as rain upon hard trodden ground
And grow more sturdy through the fallen years
Your generation lost in the abandonment of dreams,
Its hope and thirst for dreaming both erased
By monstrous waves of violence, foregone the force
Of persistence born in calm. Still, you watch and wait
For Betty at the riverbank. Your burial field
Is tilled and sown by seeds you left for her to find.
Half-boyish demi-smile, long slender hair
And frame, by Hampstead and Cyrano's coffee bar.
Near to invisible in the air, you hold to youth with fingers fine.
That blue guitar is strung across a pink-edged moon
Your life a gift extreme, a quietude of love
And fragile voices heard much further, later, now.
Nick Drake,1948 - 1974
poem by Frank Bana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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