Vegetable garden and mill, don't tell your neighbor how much they yield.
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Garden in my inner square
I planted a vegetable garden
in the inner square opposite a mural
and next to it there are flowers that only in the morning hour
spread their cups and spiral up against every side,
where it finds a holding place and grow hillock on hillock
over every thing with purple flowers that only last a short time.
I planted a vegetable garden
in the inner square opposite a mural,
where mountains tooth out blue in the background
and field after field of purple lavender bushes stand at the front
and there’s a shop owner sending his servants on bicycles around
and at the bottom in fruitful red sand
a vegetable garden was planted by me.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Differences
My neighbor lives on the hill,
And I in the valley dwell,
My neighbor must look down on me,
Must I look up?--ah, well,
My neighbor lives on the hill,
And I in the valley dwell.
My neighbor reads, and prays,
And I--I laugh, God wot,
And sing like a bird when the grass is green
In my small garden plot;
But ah, he reads and prays,
And I--I laugh, God wot.
His face is a book of woe,
And mine is a song of glee;
A slave he is to the great 'They say,'
But I--I am bold and free;
No wonder he smacks of woe,
And I have the tang of glee.
My neighbor thinks me a fool,
'The same to yourself,' say I;
'Why take your books and take your prayers,
Give me the open sky;'
My neighbor thinks me a fool,
'The same to yourself,' say I.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Neighbor, Neighbor
Neighbor, neighbor, why you messin in my life?
Neighbor, neighbor, youve been talkin to my wife,
Tellin her you seen me
Runnin wild the other night,
Runnin wild the other night.
A neighbor, neighbor, theress always one in every crowd.
A neighbor, neighbor, tellin lies and talkin loud.
You better watch your step now.
You might fall off your cloud.
You might fall off your cloud.
Now I was walking down a dusty road
When along came a neighbor of mine.
He saw me walkin with my head hung down,
He just had to stop and pass the time.
Neighbor, neighbor, floatin in the salty brine.
Floatin in the salty brine.
song performed by by ZZ Top
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Optimistic Cucumber
Once upon a time
There lived a cheerful cucumber
In a lovely vegetable garden.
Optimistic and happy in its green dress,
The cucumber was born toothless;
Yet it made a firm decision to resist
The learned advice to visit a dentist.
In the garden the days quickly trickled
And on an early summer morning
The cucumber timidly asked
Its gentle neighbor and kin,
A yellow and plump pumpkin:
"Excuse me, but don't you think,
That you are a little fat? "
"Oh, I don't mind to be like that
After all I am not an adipose cat.
And besides, as a humble pumpkin
I would be embarrassed truly
Not to be as I am, corpulently brave
And unflinchingly yours, roly-poly."
Then suddenly a jolly July breeze
Blew through the morning garden
And the gardener stepped in warbling.
He praised his good luck
And surveyed several vegetables
Ripened with sun shine to pluck.
And thus before the clock
Struck a forenoon ten, unbiased,
The wholesome cucumber ended up
In a glorious Greek salad for breakfast.
Still, just before being eaten like that,
It turned to the pumpkin and said:
"Remember this beautiful garden
With its comely butterflies unfurled
And never-ever lose your faith
In the goodness of the world."
poem by Paul Hartal
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Dharma Talk # 2 (Cry For Help)
the growl in your stomach,
your neighbor's hunger.
the wet spot on your pillow,
your neighbor's tears.
the sharp pain in your heart,
your neighbor's eviction notice.
the sadness in your mirror...
your neighbor's cry for help!
WAKE UP!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Remain continuously in the vegetable and flower garden.
The Mill
WINDING and grinding
Round goes the mill:
Winding and grinding
Should never stand still.
Ask not if neighbor
Grind great or small:
Spare not your labor,
Grind your wheat all.
Winding and grinding round goes the mill:
Winding and grinding should never stand still.
Winding and grinding
Work through the day,
Grief never minding--
Grind it away!
What though tears dropping
Rust as they fall?
Have no wheel stopping--
Work comforts all.
Winding and grinding round goes the mill:
Winding and grinding should never stand still.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Vegetable Man
In yellow shoes I get the blues
Though I walk the streets with my plastic feet
With my blue velvet trousers, make me feel pink
Theres a kind of stink about blue velvet trousers
In my paisley shirt I look a jerk
And my turquoise waistcoat is quite out of sight
But oh oh my haircut looks so bad
Vegetable man how are you?
So Ive changed my dear, and I find my knees,
And I covered them up with the latest cut,
And my pants and socks all point in a box,
They dont make long of my nylon socks,
The watch, black watch
My watch with a black face
And a big pin, a little hole,
And all the lot is what I got,
Its what I wear, its what you see,
It must be me, its what I am,
Vegetable man.
Ive been looking all over the place for a place for me,
But it aint anywhere, it just aint anywhere.
Vegetable man, vegetable man,
Hes the kind of person, you just gonna see him if you can,
Vegetable man.
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cabbage: a familiar kitchen-garden vegetable about as large and wise as a man's head.
quote by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cabbage. A familiar kitchen-garden vegetable about as large and wise as a man's head.
quote by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My agent was ambitious for me. But going out and chasing it? No, I'd rather work in my vegetable garden or play with my kid. I guess I'm kind of boring.
quote by Kathleen Quinlan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mocking Fairy
'Won't you look out of your window, Mrs. Gill?'
Quoth the Fairy, nidding, nodding in the garden;
'Can't you look out of your window, Mrs. Gill?'
Quoth the Fairy, laughing softly in the garden;
But the air was still, the cherry boughs were still,
And the ivy-tod neath the empty sill,
And never from her window looked out Mrs. Gill
On the Fairy shrilly mocking in the garden.
'What have they done with you, you poor Mrs. Gill?'
Quoth the Fairy brightly glancing in the garden;
'Where have they hidden you, you poor old Mrs. Gill?'
Quoth the Fairy dancing lightly in the garden;
But night's faint veil now wrapped the hill,
Stark 'neath the stars stood the dead-still Mill,
And out of her cold cottage never answered Mrs. Gill
The Fairy mimbling, mambling in the garden.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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Be Careful Of Stones That You Throw
Recorded by hank williams, sr.
Written by bonnie dodd
Chorus
A [f] tongue can accuse and carry bad [c] news
The [f] seeds of distrust, it will [c] sow
But [f] unless youve made no mistakes in your [c] life
Be careful of [g7] stones that you [c] throw.
(spoken)
[c] a neighbor was passing my [f] garden one time
[c] she stopped and I knew right away [g7]
That it was gossip, not flowers, she had on her mind [c]
And this is what I heard my neighbor say:
[c] that girl down the street [f] should be run from our midst
[c] she drinks and she talks quite a lot [g7]
She knows not to speak to my child or to me. [c]
My neighbor then smiled and I thought:
Chorus
(spoken)
A car speeded by and the screamin of brakes
A sound that made my blood chill
For my neighbors one child had been pulled from the path
And saved by a girl lying still.
The child was unhurt and my neighbor cried out:
Oh! who was that brave girl so sweet?
I covered the crushed, broken body and said:
The bad girl who lived down the street.
Chorus
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A vegetable garden in the beginning looks so promising and then after all little by little it grows nothing but vegetables, nothing, nothing but vegetables.
quote by Gertrude Stein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You must not throw stones into your neighbor's garden.
Rich Poor Man
We pitied him because
He lived alone;
His tiny cottage was
His only own.
His little garden had
A wall around;
Yet never was so glad
A bit of ground.
It seemed to fair rejoice
With flowers and fruit;
With blooms it found a voice
When ours was muts.
It smiled without a pause
In gracious glow:
I think it was because
He loved it so.
He had no news to read,
No rent to pay;
His vegetable need
He plucked each day.
His grateful garden gave
Him ample fare;
He lived without a crave,
Without a care.
His bread and milk and tea
Were all he bought;
To us he seemed to be
A sorry lot . . .
But when we're dead and gone,
With all our fuss,
I guess he'll carry on,
And laugh at us.
poem by Robert William Service
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A love for neighbor
Love the neighbor
that is great honor
he will be first to attend
All may reach last including friends
the neighbor and guests are best
they stand the time and test
open your secrets and confide
Neighbor will know even if you hide
it is wrong to assume
no grudges and feelings to fume
if you know him to be near
there won't be any fear
Love the neighbor so to be close to Thy
there has to be no question as why?
rule or no rule he is there to rescue
relatives and friends may have no clue
Love wins you whole world
the neighbor must be in our hold
he is there to watch and protect
from any of the harm or ill act
we generally harbor ill feelings
we don’t go closer or even willing
this is one of gratest drawback
it may put us on backtrack
It may not help us either
Even seasons act wise in weather
we are sensible human being
we should not stick to views or cling
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Keepsake Mill
Over the borders, a sin without pardon,
Breaking the branches and crawling below,
Out through the breach in the wall of the garden,
Down by the banks of the river we go.
Here is a mill with the humming of thunder,
Here is the weir with the wonder of foam,
Here is the sluice with the race running under--
Marvellous places, though handy to home!
Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller,
Stiller the note of the birds on the hill;
Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller,
Deaf are his ears with the moil of the mill.
Years may go by, and the wheel in the river
Wheel as it wheels for us, children, to-day,
Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever
Long after all of the boys are away.
Home for the Indies and home from the ocean,
Heroes and soldiers we all will come home;
Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion,
Turning and churning that river to foam.
You with the bean that I gave when we quarrelled,
I with your marble of Saturday last,
Honoured and old and all gaily apparelled,
Here we shall meet and remember the past.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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