He that picks up all sorts of wood, soon gets an armful.
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Through The Wood
THROUGH the wood, the green wood, the wet wood, the light wood,
Love and I went maying a thousand lives ago;
Shafts of golden sunlight had made a golden bright wood
In my heart reflected, because I loved you so.
Through the wood, the chill wood, the brown wood, the bare wood,
I alone went lonely no later than last year,
What had thinned the branches, and wrecked my dear and fair wood,
Killed the pale wild roses and left the rose-thorns sere?
Through the wood, the dead wood, the sad wood, the lone wood,
Winds of winter shiver through lichens old and grey,
You ride past forgetting the wood that was our own wood
All our own--and withered as ever a flower of May.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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picks up attitude;
rejects, vagabonds alike;
picks up a guitar
haiku by Chris Gardner
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The Wild Wood is pretty well populated by now; with all the usual lot, good, bad, and indifferent - I name no names. It takes all sorts to make a world.
quote by Kenneth Grahame
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You may use different sorts of sentences and illustrations before different sorts of audiences, but you don't -- if you are wise -- talk down to any audience.
quote by Norman Thomas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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These sorts of things can happen, identities can be switched, the emotional implications are something that he has not been trained to feel. His whole life has been about separating himself from these sorts of actions.
quote by Atom Egoyan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The postdoc explained to me how to distinguish different sorts of particles on the basis of the amounts of energy they deposited in various sorts of detectors, spark chambers, calorimeters, what have you.
quote by Eric Allin Cornell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sea-Saw (more writing fun)
If I saw a wood boat afloat
Upon the sea,
Would what I see possibly be
The wood I cut from a tree?
For when I saw a tree
I would like to think I see,
What the wood I saw
Could be.
If all I saw in wood from a tree
Was all I saw that there was to see,
Would what I did saw
Be the wood that I now see?
And if the wood I once did saw
Was indeed made into that ship on the sea,
Would it even be possible to know that here what I see
Is the wood once sawed by me?
All I here would dare to share is:
I see what I saw, and I saw what I see,
And therefore the wood I do saw could one day be
The boat I may see, afloat upon the sea.
See?
poem by Smoky Hoss
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One-Hearted
When those red berries come in springtime,
Flushing on your southland branches,
Take home an armful, for my sake,
As a symbol of our love.
poem by Wang Wei
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Man never legislates, but destinies and accidents, happening in all sorts of ways, legislate in all sorts of ways.
Pocketful Of Rainbows
(words & music by wise - weisman)
I dont worry
Whenever skies are gray above
Got a pocketful of rainbows
Got a heart full of love
Mister heartache
Ive found a way to make him leave
Got a pocketful of rainbows
Got a star up in my sleeve
Kiss me extra tender
Hold me extra tight
cause Im savin your sweetness
For a lonely night, aye
Aye, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye
No more teardrops
Now that Ive found a love so true
I got a pocketful of rainbows
Got an armful of you
Kiss me extra tender
Hold me extra tight
cause Im savin your sweetness
For a lonely night, aye
Aye, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye
No more heartaches
Now that Ive found a love so true
Got a pocketful of rainbows
And an armful of you
Rainbows...
Rainbows...
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pocketful Of Rainbows (#3)
I don't worry
Whenever skies are gray above
Got a pocketful of rainbows
Got a heart full of love
Mister Heartache
I've found a way to make him leave
Got a pocketful of rainbows
Got a star up in my sleeve
Kiss me extra tender
Hold me extra tight
'Cause I'm savin' your sweetness
For a lonely night, aye
Aye, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye
No more teardrops
Now that I've found a love so true
I got a pocketful of rainbows
Got an armful of you
Kiss me extra tender
Hold me extra tight
'Cause I'm savin' your sweetness
For a lonely night, aye
Aye, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye, aye
No more heartaches
Now that I've found a love so true
Got a pocketful of rainbows
And an armful of you
Rainbows...
Rainbows...
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Comparison
A bird can live anywhere.
It doesn't worry about rent.
Finds a tree. Picks one out.
Never feels that its without.
A man can't live anywhere
and worries about his rent.
Finds a house. Picks one out.
Loses his job and is left to shout
Now what?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Mindweaver
Hello,
Oh, hi!
How are you?
Mm, Im fine.
Whats up?
Umm-umm, no, no, its alright.
Er, yeah, go ahead, Im listening.
Umm-umm, hah-hah, yeah, umm...
Umm-umm,
Umm-umm.
He was a mindweaver, always on the phone,
Telling me all sorts of hurt of his own.
Although his voice was sweet to me,
I wondered if we could ever be.
He was a mindbeater, always on the phone,
Telling me all sorts of what I did wrong.
Although his voice was sweet to me,
I wondered if we could ever be.
He was a mindbender, always on the phone,
Telling me all sorts of dreams he has sewn.
Although his voice was sweet to me,
I wondered if we could ever be.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mindweaver
Hello,
Oh, hi!
How are you?
Mm, Im fine.
Whats up?
Umm-umm, no, no, its alright.
Er, yeah, go ahead, Im listening.
Umm-umm, hah-hah, yeah, umm...
Umm-umm,
Umm-umm.
He was a mindweaver, always on the phone,
Telling me all sorts of hurt of his own.
Although his voice was sweet to me,
I wondered if we could ever be.
He was a mindbeater, always on the phone,
Telling me all sorts of what I did wrong.
Although his voice was sweet to me,
I wondered if we could ever be.
He was a mindbender, always on the phone,
Telling me all sorts of dreams he has sewn.
Although his voice was sweet to me,
I wondered if we could ever be.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gun Play One
Gunplay 1
They don´t have guns in heaven only tooth picks,
but god has got a golden gun, given to him by
the producer of James Bond movies.
He toys with it just for fun when newcomers
arrive, but most of the time the gun is on top
of the bible he wrote once upon a time.
Not that he has copyright, he will be the first
to tell you, but with the help of strange people
who insisted he had spoken to them.
Sometimes when god is alone he put the gun
to his temple and…click... nothing happens
it is all in jest or is it? Infinity can be a burden.
Now, if you wonder about the tooth picks,
angels like to welcome you with a bright smile.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Knock On Wood
I dont want to lose the good thing that Ive got
If I do, I will surely, I will lose a lot
For your love is better than any love other Ive know
Its like thunder, lightning
The way you love me is frightening
I better knock on wood
Baby
I got superstitious about you, but I cant take change
You got me spinning, baby, spinning in a trance
But your love is better than any other love Ive known
Its like thunder, lightning
The way you love me is frightening
You better knock on wood
Its no secret, but that woman fills my lovin cup
She sees, so ready, that I get enough
And her love is better than any other love Ive known
Its like thunder
Its like lightning
The way you love me is frightening
I better knock on wood
Baby
Better, yes, better
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) yes, I better
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) oh, knock on wood
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) you know I would, would
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) its no secret
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) no, oh, better
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) hangin above me
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) I cant leave her
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) oh no, baby
Knock on wood, woo!
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alumni Hall
surrounded by old wood
you breathe wood
and you feel the wood
breathing you too
all around you
in deep sleep
the past comes still dreaming of you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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As the Wind Blows...
As the wind blows in the
moment so blue
i say my last goodbyes to you
i let go of all my fears
i let fall all my tears
as the wind picks up
i look in the sky
as the wind picks up
i waves goodbye
so as the wind blows
in the moments so blue
i say my last goodbyes to you...
poem by Eilena Sharpe
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Those Pigeons Inside My Box...
...nevertheless
do not attempt to call this
art,
not actually nonsense
because these are all landmarks
of sorts,
friends without names here
but when i scan
i always remember what they did with their lives
and how they wish
to reshape them to reinvent what broken lines are there
furrowed on their faces
people that strike me with disbelief
lives like the flash of lightning
making so much thunder
a community bewildered
losing hope
expectations crashing down
like earthquake
productions
ah, these moments of truths
there are all here
captured like pigeons inside
a box of wood
they will not be killed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Father, With His Arthritic Hands
My father, with his arthritic hands
Closes his door, picks up the bow
Tucks the bit under his chin
Tunes it real low
My father can compete with the world's best bands
My father plays the violin.
His eyes are dim but the notes are clear
His hearing is faulty but we can hear
The songs that pour out from within
People outside stop to listen
When my father plays the violin.
He opens up another world
Far from stress and pain
I become a child again
As without a word
He picks up the bow, tunes it real low
My father plays the violin.
My father with his arthritic hands
Holds a magnifying glass to his eyes to read
He sits out there under the clear blue skies
Now that he can hardly walk
(Luckily my sisters are there when he needs to talk) .
And when its dusk and he enters within
Then with his arthritic hands
Father picks up his violin.
poem by Rani Turton
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