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There are no golden geese. There are only fat geese eating the food that could nourish more athletic opportunities for women.
quote by Donna A. Lopiano
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Geese Park
Geese Park,
Resting Place,
In Accra;
And, the President of Ghana,
John Evans Atta Mills was laid to rest.
Geese, peacocks, pigeons, doves and docks!
In a clean envirinment to pay their respect;
But, with a big pond around under tight security.
Face out of sand,
Words out of mind,
Works out of hands;
With mourners dressed in Red and Black! !
And, his resting place was at the Geese Park.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dr. Ambedkar- Sun That Never Sets
i see a sun that never sets,
that enlighten inner quest,
by transcending hearts gate
to overcome lives fade
i see a sun that never sets,
burns stoically for the rest
to help achieve forbidden glory
of those lives gloomy
I see a sun that never sets,
for millions pride sake
breaking law of nature
like a rebel dares death
i see a sun that never sets
and he is a man on mission
with sublime noble reason
to fight human discrimination
i see a man surmount a sun
brilliant high in the sky
nevertheless refusing to lie
unlike a sun that sets everyday
truly Dr. Ambedkar, a dalit icon
is the only sun, dalits reckon
and world shall not witness
any other sun that never sets
poem by Rahul Gade
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Till winter
The light stays till the sun sets.
The night stays till the moon sets.
The drive stays till the ennui sets in
The pride stays till the loneliness sets in.
03.02.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Emotions surpass eroticism.
When husband and wife practise sex
for procreation, sets in perversion.
When they prefer to have sex
as recreation, sets in aversion.
When the pair builds up their sex
as mere rational, sets in delusion.
When the couple makes their sex
as emotional, stays the satisfaction.
Then coitus least matters.
27.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As Long As The Sun Sets
As long as the sun sets,
my heart will belong to you.
As long as the sun sets,
I will never be blue.
But when the sun rises,
I will start all over again.
Surrendering to your love,
as long as the sun sets.
poem by Yashika Virvez
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061011B feathered parade
rush of air from the beach
is most wanted heat relief
oh! i open my car windows
to clear my lungs upon gasp
i slowed down to almost stop
something happening in front
geese with goose-lings on march
they own the road like monarch
two geese stop letting young ones
cross first; that really amaze me
took longer; they're taking pictures
i already have one from golf course
poem by Manonton Dalan
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Miracle of the Geese
The Catholic school children gathered
obedient to the bell, silent, waiting
for morning prayers
to begin another day,
when geese
raced suddenly above
tight formation crossing the
playground, stroking high air, shattering
our discipline with lusty
call, savage
song!
And the children,
raising their arms to heaven,
shouted in praise
at the wonder and glory,
the holy presence,
the miracle of the geese!
poem by Steven Federle
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Bas-Relief
Five geese deploy mysteriously.
Onward proudly with flagstaffs,
Hearses with silver bugles,
Bushes of plum-blossoms dropping
For ten mystic web-feet--
Each his own drum-major,
Each charged with the honor
Of the ancient goose nation,
Each with a nose-length surpassing
The nose-lengths of rival nations.
Somberly, slowly, unimpeachably,
Five geese deploy mysteriously.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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The sets were fantastic. The Harry Potter sets are brilliant. You do get transported for a second.
quote by Ralph Fiennes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Important Birds
Important findings have been made,
Disorders are realised for the people.
Geese shall sound in the skies
To enlighten a few who listen.
Many times a day, the sounds of birds
Arrive and shake the disorder.
An albatross hurts me further,
An eagle has no home here, but further.
Let importance be the guide not the wind,
For wind is reluctant in the eyes of us.
The sky has abandoned the birds at night,
Or have the birds abandoned the night-sky?
Geese and swans are beautiful birds,
But where are all the seagulls?
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Mom Sets the Table
Night after night my mom sets the table
full of joy she passes her hand over the green fleat
like dishes she lays her chips down
they her finest china carefully stacked
her drink is the insurance bet
night after night 21 meals are servered
6 people share the meal with her
we her family eat alone
yet night after night my mom sets the table
the table of broken dreams and poisoned meals
night after night she countinues to eat
untill is consumed
Night after night my mom sets the table
night after night we her family shallow the bitter meal she makes
Night after night my mom sets the table
poem by Vincent Armone
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My Mom Sets the Table
Night after night my mom sets the table
full of joy she passes her hand over the green fleat
like dishes she lays her chips down
they her finest china carefully stacked
her drink is the insurance bet
night after night 21 meals are servered
6 people share the meal with her
we her family eat alone
yet night after night my mom sets the table
the table of broken dreams and poisoned meals
night after night she countinues to eat
untill is consumed
Night after night my mom sets the table
night after night we her family shallow the bitter meal she makes
Night after night my mom sets the table.....
poem by Bikramjyoti Kashyop
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Restless
Theres a kind of a restless feeling and it pulls me from within
It sets my senses reeling and my wheels begin to spin
In the quietude of winter you can hear the wild geese cry
And I will always love that sound until the day I die
Theres a plain and a simple answer to each and every quest
From every quiet dance who might be a special guest
In a movie made for tv or a late night interview
You might even find them on the young and the restless too
Do ya get that restless feelin when you hear a whistle blast
Like an echo from the past
Of an old engine flyin down a road thats ironcast
The lake is blue, the sky is gray, the leaves have turned to gold
The wild goose will be on her way, the weathers much too cold
When the muskie and the old trout too have all gone down to rest
We will be returning to the things that we love best
Do ya get that restless yearning when you think about your dad
And the scrimshaw that he had
Of an old schooner rovin neath a sky thats ironclad
Theres a kind of a restless feeling and it catches you off guard
As we gaze off at the distance through the trees in my back yard
I can feel that restless yearning of those geese as off they roam
Then trade that for a warm bed and a place I can call home
Will ya get that restless yearning when you hear the wicked blast
Of a spectre from the past
Of a cold diesel rollin down a road thats built to last
Still I get that restless feelin when I hear a whistle blast
See an image from the past
Of an old schooner flyin down a sky thats overcast
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Muscovy Duck
The rooster is a brainless dude, although he sports a crest,
The hen’s an awful fool we know, though hen-eggs are the best;
She’ll flutter, cackling, anywhere save through a gate or door,
And try to hatch a door-knob, too, for forty days or more.
The turkey is of small account, we’ll let it go in peace,
And other fowls are ornaments, and geese are simply geese;
But over all that cackle, hiss, or gobble, quack, or cluck,
My favourite shall always be the quaint Muscovy duck.
I’m fond of Mrs Muscovy, I think she knows the most
Of all the different kinds of fowls that poultry-breeders boast.
She knows best how to build her nest when laying time is past,
And you should see the knowing pride with which she sets at last.
She waddles out for food and drink—she’s not afraid of us,
And if we fix her now and then she doesn’t make a fuss;
No frantic flaps of useless wings, no cackle, hiss, nor cluck,
She’s queen of all philosophers—the quaint Muscovy duck.
It is a wondrous thing to see, and a wondrous thing to tell,
Her ducklings know as much as ducks the day they leave the shell.
That she is proud as proud can be, is plain to any dunce—
The little ducklings set to work to grow up ducks at once;
And, on a sunny winter’s day, ’tis a good thing for the eyes
To see her waddle round and watch her ducklings catching flies,
I love her for her waddle, and her patience, and her pluck,
Her wag of tail and nod of head—the quaint Muscovy duck.
poem by Henry Lawson
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April In My Heart
H. meinardi / hoagy carmichael
Theres snowflakes in the sky
And geese are flying high
But its april in my heart again
The devil got his due
Loves holiday is through
Love and I have made a happy start again
Through leaves lie on the ground
The world just turned around
It isnt fall at all you see
Its spring that I have found
Theres frost in central park
At five its almost dark
Whats the difference
When youve heard loves sweet amend
Theres snowflakes in the sky
And geese are flying high
But theres april in my heart again
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beloved, with the spent and sickly fumes...
Beloved, with the spent and sickly fumes
Of rumour's cinders all the air is filled,
But you are the engrossing lexicon
Of fame mysterious and unrevealed,
And fame it is the soil's strong pull.
Would that I more erect were sprung!
But even so I shall be called
The native son of my own native tongue.
The poets' age no longer sets their rhyme,
Now, in the sweep of country plots and roads,
Lermontov is rhymed with summertime,
And Pushkin rhymes with geese and snow.
And my wish is that when we die,
Our circle closed, and hence depart,
We shall be set in closer rhyme
Than binds the auricle and the heart.
And may our harmony unified
Some listener's muffled ear caress
With all that we do now imbibe,
And shall draw in through mouths of grass.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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The Last Word
Creep into thy narrow bed,
Creep, and let no more be said!
Vain thy onset! all stands fast.
Thou thyself must break at last.
Let the long contention cease!
Geese are swans, and swans are geese.
Let them have it how they will!
Thou art tired: best be still.
They out-talked thee, hissed thee, tore thee?
Better men fared thus before thee;
Fired their ringing shot and passed,
Hotly charged - and sank at last.
Charge once more, then, and be dumb!
Let the victors, when they come,
When the forts of folly fall,
Find thy body by the wall!
poem by Matthew Arnold
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The Moose and the Goose
The mighty mad moose said to the gentle gliding goose,
“It’s not fair you fly in formation while I suffer much abuse.
Wind and breeze are there as you fly first class.
I’m down here on the ground fighting weeds and grass.”
The flock of geese had just landed for some food and rest,
And here is this mighty mad moose acting like a real pest.
But the head gliding goose had a gentle reply,
“Mighty mad moose you’re upset and I don’t know why.”
“Each year we chart the route for you mighty moose.
We’re the train’s engine, while you have freedom of a caboose.
Pay attention to our direction as we geese pass over;
Then you moose will know the way and have time for clover.”
Sir moose replied, “You fly south for winter and return in spring.
So all I have to do is remember that one important thing.
As I browse through trees and brush, I need to raise my eyes
To see you all as you map our way through the skies.”
The attitude of mighty moose changed from mad to glad,
Since he understood the treasure that he really always had.
As the gentle gliding geese flew off in formation,
Mighty moose smiled and tipped his antlers in appreciation.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Duck! Don't Stick Your Neck Out
How many quacks does a quack quack quack
before he ducks for fish?
How many ducks does a quack quack duck
before his fish is fished?
How many geese's goose is cooked
because they ate up all the fish?
How many cooks cook geese
before their goose is cooked?
How many fowl fall foul
of fowl hunting cooks?
How many fowls' geese are cooked
before they flew from a foul hunting cook?
How many ducks' goose is cooked
because he didn't duck duck duck
when a fowl cook reached for his neck?
poem by David Taylor
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