If you are planning to travel where corn grows, you should take a sickle with you.
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When planning for a year, plant corn. When planning for a decade, plant trees. When planning for life, train and educate people.
The eater is not the grower.
Corn grows, but man says he grows it.
It is corn's drive that makes it grow.
Yet man says he grows it and harvests it.
The one, who eats what one grows, does not grow it.
25.03.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If you are planning for a year, sow rice; if you are planning for a decade, plant trees; if you are planning for a lifetime, educate people.
If you are planning for a year, sow rice if you are planning for a decade, plant trees if you are planning for a lifetime, educate people.
Corn Circles
Corn circles
Appearing all over the land
Corn circles
Appearing all over the land
Nobody knows where they come from
Nobody understands
Corn circles
Mysterious symbols in the fields
Corn circles
Mysterious symbols in the fields
No one knows - are they phony
Or maybe are they real?
Corn circles!
Corn circles!
Corn circles
Is somebody playing a trick?
Corn circles
Pixies, witches, hoaxers
Take your pick
Throw a few theories out there
See what sticks!
Corn circles!
Corn circles!
Corn circles
Patterns in the gold
Corn circles
Pretty patterns in the gold
Like something out of the future
Or something very old
Corn circles!
Corn circles!
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sickle
SICKLE
Love moon and its nature,
Don`t make it a sickle,
Don`t divide moon between Hindu and Mohanden or Christian,
Don`t shed blood in the universe,
Moon is moon,
Man is man,
Don`t divide and try to cut it,
With a sickle
poem by Dr. Ram Sharma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Women's song of the corn
How beautiful are the corn rows,
Stretching to the morning sun,
Stretching to the evening sun.
Very beautiful, the long rows of corn.
How beautiful is the white corn,
I husk it,
I grind it.
Very beautiful, my white corn.
How beautiful is the red corn,
I gather it and make fine meal,
I am glad doing this.
Very beautiful, my red corn.
How beautiful is the black corn,
I give it to my father,
To my mother,
I give it to my child.
Very beautiful, the black corn.
How beautiful is the mottled corn,
Like the sky with little clouds,
I eat it looking at the sky.
Very beautiful, my mottled corn.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If you are planning for one year, grow rice. If you are planning for 20 years grow trees. If you are planning for centuries, grow men.
Searching
How many people pass by them all day long,
As the wind touch their skin to feel cold and warm,
To unknown destination they travel thinking,
They travel to the known destination of working and sleeping,
Planning for hours, to reach the goals on time,
Displaced using the available sources to release tension,
They have changed a lot from the dirty hunters, in appearance,
Habits of them never changed as their ancestors, who strive,
To seek the better of better always, will this search ever stop?
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Marvellous Travel
I travel with my eyes,
Watching those silently cry,
Asking themselves the question why,
Someone left them without saying goodbye;
I travel with my thoughts,
I travel with my pen;
To write about children, women and men;
I travel with my voice,
I travel with my hope,
That something new, would spring into my horoscope,
Whether in Asia, America or Europe,
There'll always be something interesting to scope;
I travel to many different places,
Mix with many races,
Identify tribesmen by their faces,
And little girls by their laces,
I travel without money,
So, please listen to my testimony,
The good, the bad and even the ugly,
Every experience is worth life's journey,
For I'll always be marvelled,
When ever I travel.
poem by Joshua Fernandez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Travelerz
I travel with my eyes,
Watching those silently cry,
Asking themselves the question
why,
Someone left them without
saying goodbye;
I travel with my thoughts,
I travel with my pen;
To write about children, women
and men;
I travel with my voice,
I travel with my hope,
That something new, would
spring into my horoscope,
Whether in Asia, America or
Europe,
There'll always be something
interesting to scope;
I travel to many different places,
Mix with many races,
Identify tribesmen by their faces,
And little girls by their laces,
I travel without money,
So, please listen to my testimony,
The good, the bad and even the
ugly,
Every experience is worth life's
journey,
For I'll always be marvelled,
When ever I travel.
poem by Akingbehin Daniel Murphy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ghosting
Your influence will fuse with
an everlasting barrel of prayer
The tree that grows in your lungs
will blacken and fall to shreds
The animal of your past has
found its way back again
You travel in twos, you travel
back to the land of death
Brandenburgh Harvest-Song
The corn, in golden light,
Waves o'er the plain;
The sickle's gleam is bright;
Full swells the grain.
Now send we far around
Our harvest lay!
-Alas! a heavier sound
Comes o'er the day!
On every breeze a knell
The hamlets pour,-
-We know its cause too well,
She is no more!
Her soft eye's blue,-
-Now o'er the gifts of God
Fall tears like dew!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If you are going to go where corn grows, take a cutting tool with you.
The farmer grows the corn, but the bear eats it.
Corn and Catholics
"What! still those two infernal questions,
That with our meals our slumbers mix --
That spoil our tempers and digestions --
Eternal Corn and Catholics!
Gods! were there ever two such bores?
Nothing else talk'd of night or morn --
Nothing in doors, or out of doors,
But endless Catholics and Corn!
Never was such a brace of pests --
While Ministers, still worse than either,
Skill'd but in feathering their nests,
Plague us with both, and settle neither.
So addled in my cranium meet
Popery and Corn, that oft I doubt,
Whether this year, 'twas bonded Wheat
Or bonded Papists, they let out.
Here, landlords, here, polemics nail you,
Arm'd with all rubbish they can rake up;
Prices and Texts at once assail you --
From Daniel these, and those from Jacob.
And when you sleep, with head still torn
Between the two, their shapes you mix,
Till sometimes Catholics seem Corn --
Then Corn again seems Catholics.
Now, Dantzic wheat before you floats --
Now, Jesuits from California --
Now, Ceres, link'd with Titus Oats,
Comes dancing through the "Porta Cornea."
Oft, too, the Corn grows animate,
And a whole crop of heads appears,
Like Papists, bearding Church and State --
Themselves, together by the ears!
In short, these torments never cease;
And oft I wish myself transferr'd off
To some far, lonely land of peace,
Where Corn or Papists ne'er were heard of.
Yes, waft me, Parry, to the Pole,
For -- if my fate is to be chosen
'Twixt bores and icebergs -- on my soul,
I'd rather, of the two, be frozen!
poem by Thomas Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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