The plants are principally kept in large pots arranged in rows along the sides of narrow paved walks, with the houses of the gardeners at the entrance through which the visitors pass to the gardens.
quote by Robert Fortune
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Visitor Clever Theme Words
my visitors are voices clever words
my visitors arrive anywhere anytime
my visitors script film opera words
my visitors mirror parody depths mime
my visitors initiate connect life dots
my visitors represent patterns to define
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The squeaky wheelbarrow
You can tell that spring is here
because of the gardeners all around
armed with their new forks and spades
digging away at the heavy ground.
The wheelbarrow that had the squeak
has been lobbed unwanted into the skip
along with the trusty old lawnmower
ready to be taken down to the tip.
The conifer trees are skyscraper tall
so high they block out the light
the hedge and lawn are overgrown
and there are insects in search of a bite.
And watch what your pulling out
before you put in those new seeds
because some weeds look like plants
and some plants resemble weeds.
You've read lots of gardening books
and watched hours of D.V.D'S
but nothing is ever mentioned
about backache and arthritic knees.
Still they say it's very therapeutic
relaxing and good for the soul
but not if your gardens been ravaged
by bloody Foxes, Badgers, and Mole!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Tickets
The ticket was sold, in the soil of waters and roots,
Profiting from the sale of plants, a real awakening.
The gardeners travelled to a gathering so great,
Locomotion no problem, making progress against the weeds.
What are these plants? Plants give soil a trouble,
When do flowers reckon their demise?
The tickets have cancelled the talk of the nation,
Then the stages ended for the whole conversation.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Beautiful Nairn
All ye tourists who wish to be away
From the crowded city for a brief holiday;
The town of Nairn is worth a visit, I do confess,
And it's only about fifteen miles from Inverness.
And in the summer season it's a very popular bathing-place,
And the visitors from London and Edinburgh finds solace,
As they walk along the yellow sand beach inhaling fresh air;
Besides, there's every accommodation for ladies and gentlemen there.
Then there's a large number of bathing coaches there,
And the climate is salubrious, and very warm the air;
And every convenience is within the bathers' reach,
Besides, there's very beautiful walks by the sea beach.
The visitors to Nairn can pass away the time agreeably,
By viewing Tarbetness, which slopes downwards to the sea;
And Queen Street is one of the prettiest thoroughfares,
Because there's splendid shops in it, and stocked with different wares.
And there's ornamental grounds, and lovely shady nooks,
Which is a great advantage to visitors while reading their books;
And there's a certain place known as the Ladies' Beach,
So private that no intruder can them reach.
And there's many neat cottages with gardens very nice,
And picturesque villas, which can be rented at a reasonable price;
Besides, there's a golf course for those that such a game seeks,
Which would prove a great attraction to the knights of clubs and cleeks.
The surrounding scenery of Nairn is magnificent to be seen,
Especially its fertile fields and woodlands so green;
Besides, not far from Nairn, there's Cawdor Castle, the ancient seat
Of the noble Thanes of Cawdor, with its bold turrets so neat.
And its massive proportions is very imposing to see,
Because the arched entrance is secured by a drawbridge and a fosse;
And visitors will be allowed all over the grounds to roam,
Besides shown over the castle if the Earl is not at home.
The scenery surrounding the castle is charming in the summertime,
And the apples in the orchard there is very fine,
Also the flower-beds are most beautiful to see,
Especially in the month of June, when the birds sing merrily.
Then there's the ancient stronghold of the Bays of Lochloy,
And visitors when they see it will it heartily enjoy;
And a little further on there's the blasted heath of Macbeth,
And a hillock where the witches are wont to dance till out of breath.
And as the visitors to Nairn walk along the yellow sand,
They can see, right across the Moray Firth, the Black Island so grand,
With its productive fields and romantic scenery,
And as the tourist gazes thereon his heart fills with ecstasy.
And Darnaway Castle is well worthy of praise,
And to oblige all visitors there are open days,
When they can see the castle where one thousand warriors in all
Oft have assembled in the Earl of Randolph's Hall.
And in conclusion I will say for good bathing Nairn is the best,
And besides its pleasant scenery is of historical interest;
And the climate gives health to many visitors while there,
Therefore I would recommend Nairn for balmy pure air.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Majestic Tree
They bow to the winds that pass
The beautiful majestic trees,
With arms up toward the skies
They laugh in the summer breeze.
They provide shade and shelter for the bee,
He plants history, who plants a tree.
They provide lumber for houses, and barns
For a roof to cover our heads,
Lumber for aeroplanes, ships and cars
And for caskets, to bury our dead.
This is only a few uses you see
He plants history, who plants a tree.
They provide rest for the weary man
Food and protection, for many wild things,
Home and sanctuary, for millions of birds
And rock their babies to sleep in swings.
Their magestic grace so wild and free
He plants history, who plants a tree.
poem by Della Hodgson James
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City-Dweller
I look through the city with pride,
It compels me with lawmaking,
The gardens are full of employers,
They are gardeners of the gardeners.
We are plenty of times in love with this city,
The district loves me and my company.
Inventing lies on the city is dastardly,
Just view it with the naked eyes and absorb the company.
Maybe the city of all cities can wink a few times,
Calling the angels to visit, with the keys to the city.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Iago: Virtue? A fig! 'Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners.
line from Othello, Act I, Scene 3 by William Shakespeare (1603)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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City Of Orgies
CITY of orgies, walks and joys!
City whom that I have lived and sung in your midst will one day make
you illustrious,
Not the pageants of you--not your shifting tableaux, your spectacles,
repay me;
Not the interminable rows of your houses--nor the ships at the
wharves,
Nor the processions in the streets, nor the bright windows, with
goods in them;
Nor to converse with learn'd persons, or bear my share in the soiree
or feast;
Not those--but, as I pass, O Manhattan! your frequent and swift flash
of eyes offering me love,
Offering response to my own--these repay me;
Lovers, continual lovers, only repay me.
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gardeners instinctively know that flowers and plants are a continuum and that the wheel of garden history will always be coming full circle.
quote by Francis Cabot Lowell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beautiful Thoughts
I remember a rustic place
way back from the road
hidden by brush and trees
overlooked if you didn't know
each day I'd pass and strain
to see more than the day before
bus driver might have slowed down
if I had asked her
but I didn't want to share
that place with the others
I imagine an area cleared out behind it
perfect to grow plants, all kinds
pots randomly place on the stoop
with flowers flowing down
a spicket to water them with
and bird houses all around
a hammock made for love
at a secret place in the woods
sounds of a creek nearby
and you with some of your books
I imagine we'd talk for hours
you'd read as I caressed your skin
sharing thoughts about everything
until one of us gave in
all the time in the world
to be near and learn all you are
protected safe in our secret place
like you are in my heart
poem by La La La Laurie
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Vespers
In your extended absence, you permit me
use of earth, anticipating
some return on investment. I must report
failure in my assignment, principally
regarding the tomato plants.
I think I should not be encouraged to grow
tomatoes. Or, if I am, you should withhold
the heavy rains, the cold nights that come
so often here, while other regions get
twelve weeks of summer. All this
belongs to you: on the other hand,
I planted the seeds, I watched the first shoots
like wings tearing the soil, and it was my heart
broken by the blight, the black spot so quickly
multiplying in the rows. I doubt
you have a heart, in our understanding of
that term. You who do not discriminate
between the dead and the living, who are, in consequence,
immune to foreshadowing, you may not know
how much terror we bear, the spotted leaf,
the red leaves of the maple falling
even in August, in early darkness: I am responsible
for these vines.
poem by Louise Gluck
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All gardeners know better than other gardeners.
I would go home again—to rooms...
I would go home again—to rooms
With sadness large at eventide,
Go in, take off my overcoat,
And in the light of streets outside
Take cheer. I'll pass the thin partitions
Right through; yes, like a beam I'll pass,
As image blends into an image,
As one mass splits another mass.
Let all abiding mooted problems
Deep rooted in our fortunes seem
To some a sedentary habit;
But still at home I brood and dream.
Again the trees and houses breathe
Their old refrain and fragrant air.
Again to right and left old winter
Sets up her household everywhere.
Again by dinner time the dark
Comes suddenly—to blind, to scare,
To teach the narrow lanes and alleys
She'll fool them if they don't take care.
Again, though weak my heart, O Moscow,
I listen, and in words compose
The way you smoke, the way you rise,
The way your great construction goes.
And so I take you as my harness
For the sake of raging days to be,
That you may know our past by heart
And like a poem remember me.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Stupidity.
Stupidity.
We celebrate our dead heroes.
Their white headstones arranged in rows.
To mark where soldiers bodies lie.
They are no longer friends and foes
War cemeteries are tended well
in honour of the men who fell
It is the least that we can do
for men who died by shot and shell.
Each single death a tragedy,
each one recorded carefully.
To satisfy the bureaucrats
who collate deaths statistically.
I wonder why we cannot see.
That death alone claims victory.
Each new war adds to the score
of people dying uselessly.
Though we remember them with pride.
The countless men who sadly died.
Each thinking that their cause was just.
Involuntary suicide.
We celebrate our dead heroes
with white headstones arranged in rows.
Yet we still send young men to die
And always will do I suppose.
We do not learn from history
For no good reason I can see.
That wars prove nothing in the end
Except how stupid we can be.
Wednesday,30 December 2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beautiful Crief
Ye lovers of the picturesque, if ye wish to drown your grief,
Take my advice, and visit the ancient town of Crieff;
The climate is bracing, and the walks lovely to see.
Besides, ye can ramble over the district, and view the beautiful scenery.
The town is admirably situated from the cold winter winds,
And the visitors, during their stay there, great comfort finds,
Because there is boating and fishing, and admission free,
Therefore they can enjoy themselves right merrily.
There is also golf courses, tennis greens, and good roads,
Which will make the travelling easier to tourists with great loads,
And which will make the bicyclists' hearts feel gay,
Because they have everything there to make an enjoyable holiday.
The principal river there is the Earn, rolling on its way,
And which flows from Loch Earn, and joins the silvery Tay
Above Newburgh, after a course of more than thirty miles;
And as the tourist views the scene with joy he smiles.
The princely domain of Drummond Castle is most beautiful to be seen,
Especially when the woody landscape is blown full green,
And from the entrance gate to the castle an avenue extends all the way,
And to view the branches of the frees interlacing makes the heart feel gay.
Drummond Castle's flowery gardens are really very grand;
They cannot be surpassed in Great Britain,
And in the summer-time the bee and the butterfly are there on the wing,
And with the carolling of birds the gardens doth ring.
And from Knock Hill on the north and west,
The view from its summit is considered the best;
Because the Grampians and the Ochils can be seen,
While the beautiful rich fertile valley lies between.
And there are many seats where the weary traveller can rest,
And there is also a fountain of water, the very best,
While visitors can drink of while resting there,
And gaze on the magnificent scenery and inhale the pure air.
Then there's Lady Mary's Walk near the Bridge of Turret,
Which I hope visitors will go and see and not forget,
Because near by grows a magnificent oak most lovely to see,
Which is known by the name of Eppie Callum's Tree.
And at each end of this walk the visitors can ascend Laggan Hill,
And as they view the woods and fields with joy their hearts
And they will find seats plenteous on this elevated bower,
On which they may rest and wile away the hour.
The Hydropathic is situated on an eminence most grand,
And is one of the largest buildings in fair Scotland;
And capable of accommodating five hundred visitors, who often call there,
To recuperate their health and breathe the fragrant air.
Then there's Abercairny, which is most beautiful to view,
And Her Majesty the Queen visited the grounds in 1842;
And the park and the trees has the aspect of a southern scene,
And the lovely appearance of it gladdened the heart of our Queen.
Then there's the village of Foulis, which tourists ought to see,
Because the scenery there is charming and pretty;
And there's a sycamore tree there that was planted 300 years ago,
And I'm sure the sight thereof will please both high and low.
Therefore, in conclusion, to all lovers of the beautiful I will say,
If ye really wish to spend an enjoyable holiday,
I would recommend Crieff for lovely scenery and pure air;
Besides, the climate gives health to many visitors during their stay there.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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When Gardens Begin To Die
When gardens begin to die
In these scorching sun and times
Where shall we go to smell flowers sweet?
When gardens die for a season
I do not see a change, I see only an end.
Some one ordered me to be pessimistic.
A flying bird comes down to my abode
And asks all of a sudden, `How are you friend? `
I tell her a lie, ` I am happy in my garden`.
The clouds have a promise to fulfill
They must break into water drops.
To let our plants live in a garden.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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We Walk In The Moonlight
We walk in the moonlight
to buy cake meal and cinnamon
past rows and rows of houses of which the lights wink
with the veldt stripped open into the distance
and you tell my about your childhood days,
about a house on a farm now demolished,
about an inheritance that was not yours
and the old yard may be up for sale.
Stars shine like torches against the sky,
your eyes gleam secretively
with the beauty of a innocent child,
our feelings are suddenly intense and intimate.
poem by Gert Strydom
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This Prospect Seems Quite Heavenly
I chanced upon a thought today
A thought that would not go away
What if heaven's like here on earth?
More like a parallel universe?
So, people live in houses there
And go to work and comb their hair
And sleep at night and make love too
And eat and drink, go to the loo
A heaven marked by being mundane
And then i had that thought again
We're just on earth for life's extent
In heaven no end's imminent
Alive for ever in the clouds
But would we all be wearing shrouds?
I somehow think not for i'd guess
We'd all be doing what we do best
So deceased tailors would make clothes
And gardeners still gardens grow
Accountants would still cook the books
And chefs would be eternal cooks
But wait! i see some contradiction
Apparent even in this fiction
Someone just dead would rub their shoulders
With others who would be much older
Imagine if this came to pass
Newton could meet Pythagoras
Krushchev could lecture Kant and Hegel
While Ben Gurion just fed them bagels
Bach could learn to play the blues
Beethoven could wear blue suede shoes
Henry Ford could meet Ferrari
At Andy Warhol's dinner parties
Da Vinci could meet Wittgenstein
And discuss theories with Einstein
The kings the queens the good and evil
Would all be mixed up at that table
A final thought then came to me
This prospect seems quite heavenly.
poem by David Keig
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Green Fingers
People have gardens, both large and small,
Whilst flat dwellers have no garden at all.
Some people love to surround their homes
With comical-looking, little garden gnomes.
A few gardens boast fantastic water-features,
Or a large array of stone, woodland creatures.
To make their garden nice, some folk really do try,
Whilst other gardens really are a sight for sore eyes.
Some folk really wish their garden was just not there,
And, about them, they, very obviously, just do not care.
Without a garden, some people would feel really lost,
And they keep them looking nice, whatever the cost.
Some people are blessed: they have green fingers,
And, in their gardens, for hours, they love to linger.
When some people pull on their gardening gloves,
They tend their gardens with such heartfelt love.
People love to spend their time sowing seeds,
Trimming their hedges, and pulling up weeds.
Some tend flower beds, upon bended knee.
Some grow delicious fruit upon their trees.
The gardener's nightmare is the garden pest:
To eradicate them all, they do their best.
Some people love to escape to their sheds,
Where they can think, and clear their heads.
In their gardens, people love to spend time,
But they like it best, when the weather is fine.
When all of their gardening chores are done,
Some people love to sit and relax in the sun.
Time spent in the garden, always really flies;
The benefits of gardening cannot be denied.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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You may cook in small pots aw well as in large ones.