Related quotes
But the worst of all is, according to the old phrase, while the grass grows, the horse starves, but the man of money is the man for Nova Scotia. Those may do extremely well.
quote by Nathaniel Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Perpetual Motion
What (said the poet) should we care
For all this mad world's phantasies,
For rumours rife upon the air
Of terrors looming overseas?
If so, the soul were plagued alway
With far-fetched grieving, what of mirth?
For somewhere sorror broods all day;
Yet laughter, too, inhabits earth.
For the sun shines and the grass grows,
And the ferns nod above the stream
That down this placid valley flows;
Then let us rest a while, and dream.
For the grass grows as the sun shines,
And the stream flows and sings a song
To chide the sad heart that repines
Ah, summer, summer, linger long!
What (I gave answer) badgers me
Are not the tragedies of earth.
Despite your gay philosophy
Of seeking joy and claiming mirth
For boon companions as you go,
Oft times these very joys oppress
And suns that shine and streams that flow
May be a source of weariness.
For the grass grows and the sun gleams
To sear the grass and, where they flow,
I must bring water from the streams
To make the blinking grass to grow.
And the sun gleams and the grass grows -
Indeed I know it well enough;
For as it springs where water flows
I've got to cut the blasted stuff.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where the Green Grass Grows
There once was a girl,
walking down the road,
looking for where the green gras grows.
She met a guy,
and thought he was good,
until he left her
for where the green grass grows.
She found a friend
and thought she would last,
until she left her for where the green grass grows.
The girl kept on walking
until she found
the spot where the green grass grew.
She found the guy
and her old, old friend
and then realized
that their happy
world would soon end.
Then the girl ran off
back to the town
and realized
she couldnt be any happier
than in her own little town.
poem by Amanda Marie Harrington
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Moorland Night
My face is against the grass - the moorland grass is wet -
My eyes are shut against the grass, against my lips there are the little blades,
Over my head the curlews call, And now there is the night wind in my hair;
My heart is against the grass and the sweet earth, - it has gone still, at last;
It does not want to beat any more,
And why should it beat?
This is the end of the journey.
The Thing is found.
This is the end of all the roads -
Over the grass there is the night-dew
And the wind that drives up from the sea along the moorland road,
I hear a curlew start out from the heath
And fly off calling through the dusk,
The wild, long, rippling call -:
The Thing is found and I am quiet with the earth;
Perhaps the earth will hold it or the wind, or that bird's cry,
But it is not for long in any life I know. This cannot stay,
Not now, not yet, not in a dying world, with me, for very long;
I leave it here:
And one day the wet grass may give it back -
One day the quiet earth may give it back -
The calling birds may give it back as they go by -
To someone walking on the moor who starves for love and will not know
Who gave it to all these to give away;
Or, if I come and ask for it again
Oh! then, to me.
poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love grows
I know love grows
Yet sometimes its growth is painfully slow
That I just want to say goodbye and go
When moments are hard
And one is down and sad
I look into my own backyard
And ask where the love is?
For if love grows
When it is really necessary, why does it not show?
Instead love tries to hide away in grass that’s low
Or avoids those times by starting a gigantic row
Patience my dear! Says love
Love grows
Time will tell
Things will flow
Eventually love itself will surrender and bow
2005 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Summer Song
THERE are white moon daisies in the mist of the meadow
Where the flowered grass scatters its seeds like spray,
There are purple orchis by the wood-ways' shadow,
There are pale dog-roses by the white highway;
And the grass, the grass is tall, the grass is up for hay,
With daisies white like silver and buttercups like gold,
And it's oh! for once to play thro' the long, the lovely day,
To laugh before the year grows old!
There is silver moonlight on the breast of the river
Where the willows tremble to the kiss of night,
Where the nine tall aspens in the meadow shiver,
Shiver in the night wind that turns them white.
And the lamps, the lamps are lit, the lamps are glow-worms light,
Between the silver aspens and the west's last gold.
And it's oh! to drink delight in the lovely lonely night,
To be young before the heart grows old!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Saddled On the Back of a Steed
Saddled on the back of a steed she is.
Moistered from a heated sweat.
She wishes to tease as she rides.
Butt naked on hilltops.
And loving the fast ride to the bottom,
Where she is dropped.
And she lays next to her muscled steed.
Fantasizing the next throb she gets,
When thrusted with a hustle nonstop.
To gaze and show an afterglow.
That satisfies her peacefully.
As she watches her steed thighs,
Pass her swiftly.
With a mighty galloped gale.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ugly In The Morning
You did one thing wrong
You woke up.
It looked better before
More-more
And the stomach turns...
Say nothing without wasting a word
I know exactly what you meant
I know how piggy feels
He starves without missing a meal
Look in the mirror...
Dont look at me-
Im ugly in the morning
When the headache is gone,
The sun is not.
Forgot to turn the alarm
On-on
Doesnt matter how much you think
Or the number of hairs in the sink
I did it to myself again
I know how piggy feels
He starves without missing a meal
Its getting clearer...
Dont look at me-
Im ugly in the morning
song performed by by Faith No More
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O'Donohue's Mistress
Of all the fair months, that round the sun
In light-link'd dance their circles run,
Sweet May, shine thou for me;
For still, when thy earliest beams arise,
That youth, who beneath the blue lake lies,
Sweet May, returns to me.
Of all the bright haunts, where daylight leaves
Its lingering smile on golden eves,
Fair lake, thou'rt dearest to me;
For when the last April sun grows dim
Thy Naiads prepare his steed for him
Who dwells, bright lake, in thee.
Of all the proud steeds that ever bore
Young plumed Chiefs on sea or shore,
White Steed, most joy to thee;
Who still, with the first young glance of spring,
From under that glorious lake dost bring
My love, my chief, to me.
While, white as the sail some bark unfurls,
When newly launch'd, thy long mane curls,
Fair Steed, as white and free;
And spirits, from all the lake's deep bowers,
Glide o'er the blue wave scattering flowers,
Around my love and thee.
Of all the sweet deaths that maidens die,
Whose lovers beneath the cold wave lie,
Most sweet that death will be,
Which, under the next May evening's light,
When thou and thy steed are lost to sight,
Dear love, I'll die for thee.
poem by Thomas Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Steed Of Mind Speedeth Over The Sky
The steed of mind speedeth over the sky,
And, in the twinkling of the eye,
A hundred thousand leagues traverseth he.
Yet a man of discrimination can control
the curvetting steed,
And, on the wheels of praana and apraana, guide
his chariot aright.
poem by Lalleshwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Is How All Sunny Days Should Be
Green grass grows fast, green grass
I want you to grow so fast
So I can leap up, from the ground
And pretend to fly, soar so high
And then gravity, cruel, vile, unkind
Will drag me down, and shut my laugh
And then, green grass, (grow fast)
I’ll be sad of falling down
But then, my friend you’ll muffle my fall
And ill lie there
……..Calm………..
And hide, in the very green, tall,
Great, bed like grass
And then I’ll stare at the sky
(Light blue, immense sky)
And get lost in the clouds
(White, light absorbing clouds)
And then I’ll only hear the birds
And the wind brushing the branches
And the flowers will be dancing
To the rhythm of the air
And then I’ll think
“This is how all sunny days should be”
Nobody Knows
By dickey betts
Copyright 1991 sony music entertainment, inc.
Transcribed by ed luskey
Nobody knows about whats going on,
With the world and the steel,
The flesh and the bone.
River keeps flowing and the grass still grows,
And the spirit keeps going, nobody knows.
Poets they come and the poets they go,
Politicians and preachers they all claim to know.
The words that are written and the melodys played,
As the years turn their pages, they all start to fade.
The oceans still move with the moon and the sky,
The grass still grows on the hillside.
Got to believe in believing,
Got to believe in a dream,
Freedom is ever deceiving,
Never turning out to be what it seems.
Its amazing how fast our lives go by,
Like the flash of the lightning or the blink of an eye.
We all fall in love, and we fall into life,
We look for the truth on the edge of a knife.
Heavens turn around the river still flows,
Spirit keeps going, nobody knows.
Words that are written and melodys played,
As the years turn their pages, it all start to fade.
Oceans still move with the moon and the sky,
The grass still grows on the hillside.
Got to believe in believing,
Got to believe in a dream,
Freedom is ever deceiving,
Never turning out to be what it seems.
song performed by by Allman Brothers Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There is nothing fantastic or ultradimansional about crab grass... unless you are an sf writer, in which case pretty soon you are viewing crab grass with suspicion. What are it's real motives And who sent it here in the first place It only looks like crab grass. That's what they want us to think it is. One day the crab grass suit will fall off and their true identity will be revealed. By then the Pentagon will be full of crab grass and it'll be too late. The crab grass, or what we took to be crab grass, will dictate terms.
quote by Philip K. Dick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sit quiety, doing nothing, spring comes, and the grass grows by itself.
It will last out our time; if after us no grass grows, what does it matter to us?