Related quotes
Small is indeed BIG! ! !
Small brooks together make a big RIVER.
Small giggles together make a big LAUGHTER.
Small mickles together make a big MUCKLE.
Small chuckles together make a big CACKLE.
Small steps together make STAIRCASE.
Small bubbles together make EFFERVESCENCE.
poem by Meetika Srivastava
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Alluring Brooks
Comely brooks are fine with an alluring kindness,
Beleaguering the brain with beautiful uprising;
These small rivers infect the daily activity,
Brooding on our minds like a becoming reason.
Shy, reserved rivers think like things that enable being,
Being concentrates with a redolent appeal
Like the small rivers of a summery day
Called brooks of divine authority,
Sempiternal water of the mind, feelings are same.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Where Is The River?
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or somewhere else
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or hidden under the ground
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or safe inside the cave
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or still far away
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or up above the cloud
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or out of our reach
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or trickling on the rock
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or gathering in the pool
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or down over the cliff
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or just sight of illusion
Where is the river?
Is it here
Running in your eyes
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or sudden flood in the road
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Dual Divided
Quiet flows a small river
And a small boat floats on its silence.
Nothing goes wrong for some time-
Nothing goes wrong....
There blooms a flower on the face of the lone sailor
As the river recedes and his boat triumphs forward,
He begins to sing a song-
A sweet song...
Nothing goes wrong for some more time-
Nothing goes wrong.
A small wind blows,
It grows into a storm next,
The song stops for at once
And the boat turns upside down.
The sea emerges
And it embraces the river.
Nothing goes wrong.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Painter’s Agony
I want to paint that river
And the scene behind it
The boat and the boatmen
I know everything about
That river
My association with the river
Many a hundred memories
Evenings and sunshines
Floods and slow water
I have lived my life
On the bank of that river
I want to paint
Paint it with the most beautiful colors
I want to borrow some colors
From the colors of paradise
And I love the town
That lives beside the river
Old and dusty
Where shall I take you
In that small town
Every nook and corner
Shall tell you that it knows me
I want to paint that town
In colors of heaven
I want to carry a few children
And take them on a tour
I want to see the town with their eyes
And then go to the riverbank
And meditate for a while
Drink the wine of nature
And get lost into the world of beauty
And flow with the river
Enter every house
My heart throbs in harmony
With every heart in the town
Give me colors divine
Colors from the other world
For I want to paint
That river and that town
(This poem is about a small town on the bank of river Indus)
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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I Walk A Nameless River
I walk a nameless river
One which collects water from the houses,
The streets and such,
A river of rain that carry small sticks,
Cigarettes butts and, bits of paper
A shadow river that moves pap like rocks
A river trapped in the street cars’ tracks
A river rushing past ants and praying mantises
Against butterflies and worms that comes up and leave
Body tracks in the mud.
A river fed by puddles and cracks; indents in the sidewalks
By downward slanted driveways and situated front yards
By small streams on window glass and streams down sycamore trucks,
Maple, oak and such.
A cleaning river of gutterized rain,
A leaf drooping rain of green things,
River of no name
Too thin to carry twigs
Easily distracted by my foot
Easily stagnated into a nameless pond
When the sky has dried out.
I walk a one street river
A shallow river of clinched fists
A narrow river of butterflies in the nameless sky
A concrete river of feet saturated against the maple rocks
A river of bodies coming up leaving a river of cracks
A river of cigarettes of worms of sycamore trunks, oak
Marble and such.
A thin river of destruction, of gutters and traped tracks
Of sticks collected among themselves like dead praying mantises
In the rush of houses and driveways stacked in the water
Of a small rainy sky.
poem by David E. Patton
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They wanted me to play third like Brooks so I did play like Brooks - Mel Brooks.
quote by Andy Van Slyke
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Character may be manifested in the great moments, but it is made in the small ones.
quote by Phillips Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My River runs to thee
162
My River runs to thee—
Blue Sea! Wilt welcome me?
My River wait reply—
Oh Sea—look graciously—
I'll fetch thee Brooks
From spotted nooks—
Say—Sea—Take Me!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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I Gaze With Marvel At The River
By the river I stand:
Waves amass together
Will ease;
Along the river banks sand
With little ripples
As they please.
How fascinating these
Waves really tease!
Bestowing upon me a quiet
Sense of peace.
As the tension in my
Head release.
Watching with a shiver,
I GAZE WITH MARVEL AT THE
RIVER.
For, I am an avaid believer.
More than life it delivers.
The feeling is mutual.
The river signifies
Something spritual;
Right down below it is
Factual.
Life form continues to
Mature and grow.
And whilst the river flows.
Who knows
That life holds for us tomorrow.
{ 12/10/2006 }
poem by Istiqur Rahman
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River of Love
I've been to many places throughout the world,
As a teen and as a small girl,
But one place holds me to the end,
That place has always been a questioning friend.
One moment sweet and so golden pure,
other times so evil, leaving me unsure,
But whether I dream or sit awake,
River of love knows my heart did break.
River of love, river of pure,
Why do you leave me so unsure?
River of mortality,
Why do you do this to me?
River of love, river of my youth,
Will you tell me where I went wrong?
because one's heart is not a dead flower,
And I don't want to spend my life crying for hours.
poem by Adnana Saric
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Back up the Hill
As I walked down to the river today
I met a man with no legs in a chair
we spoke about life and he stood tall in a way
as I walked down to the river
As I walked on I met a blind girl
who gave me directions just over the hill
for someone like me who was lost she could see
as I walked on to the river
Down by the banks I met a small child
whose mother and father had recently died
and he splashed around with a heartful of life
down by the banks of the river
As I looked in the river I saw a young man
a reflection of me if you understand
who thought he would end it as he coudn't cope
as I looked into the river
Considering the people I met on the way
they didn't give up I heard myself say
and though I believed that I'd been through the mill
I laughed at the river, and walked back up the hill.
poem by Charles M. Moore
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In Any Form Of Endearment
The river in you moves
Taking the least resistance
You shall be the murky one
That seeks your own level of murkiness
In calm and still moments
Let me fish for once
In your moments of rage
I shall be the rocky gauge
In the moment of your dryness
I shall be the river bank nearby
We shall be always here in any form
I shall be the bamboo grove one day
And you shall be the cool river again
gently flowing by
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Green Fields And Running Brooks
Ho! green fields and running brooks!
Knotted strings and fishing-hooks
Of the truant, stealing down
Weedy backways of the town.
Where the sunshine overlooks,
By green fields and running brooks,
All intruding guests of chance
With a golden tolerance,
Cooing doves, or pensive pair
Of picnickers, straying there--
By green fields and running brooks,
Sylvan shades and mossy nooks!
And--O Dreamer of the Days,
Murmurer of roundelays
All unsung of words or books,
Sing green fields and running brooks!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Love Necklace
There is a small amethyst strand rope in black
There is a small river in the heart glow
There's a word shine every day every hour every second
There is a simplicity in love
There're small memories that can be forgotten but not to be worried
There are flowers that wilted eventhough they had ever fragrant
There's a grass that always happy even you step by your shoes
There is a fragile bridge but then it was glad when you're on top
There is a small river named creek that is always soft-spoken
There's beauty that always in your heart
There is a necklace of love that you carry wherever you go
There is a beautiful death later that you need not weep
There is an everlasting love I carry wherever I go
There is a fragrant flower in amethyst necklace of love
(Denver International Airport,2010)
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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Dancing River
Accompany me and listen to the music of the singing, dancing river rushing on its way to the rocky ridge.
Feel the cool spray of the river shower as it tumbles over the jagged rocks of the falls.
A river that travels constantly until it takes a quiet pause to form its delightful winter art during the icy chill.
Cold that is only temporary as the water waits for the dancing journey that resumes when the warm days begin and the river music starts again.
poem by Carol Pelletier
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Dry River Bed
The river- was, but died away,
leaving behind sand and stone,
a dry river bed.
The river that once led the way,
To Rameses throne,
Has no more life- dead.
The river from which reeds grew and swayed,
now dead and gone,
all that's left-a dry river bed.
The river that was marvelous by day,
and treacherous once the sun was gone,
is now but a dri river bed.
The river- beautiful, no words could say,
left behind - just a dry river bed.
poem by Esnala Banda
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The Road That Runs Beside The River
follows the river as it bends
along the valley floor,
going the way it must.
Where water goes, so goes the road,
if there's room (not in a ravine,
gorge), the river
on your right or left. Left is better: when you're driving,
it's over your elbow across
the road.
You see the current, which is
what the river is: the river
in the river, a thing sliding fast forward
inside a thing sliding not so fast forward.
Driving with, beside, the river's flow is good.
Another pleasure, driving against it: it's the same river
someone else will see
somewhere else downstream -- same play,
new theater, different set.
Wide, shallow, fairly fast,
roundy-stone streambed, rocky-land river,
it turns there or here -- the ground
telling it so -- draining dull
mountains to the north,
migrating, feeding a few hard-fleshed fish
who live in it. One small sandbar splits
the river, then it loops left,
the road right, and the river's silver
slips under the trees,
into the forest,
and over the sharp perpendicular
edge of the earth.
poem by Thomas Lux
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