En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The sand stones had fragments of charcoal on some surfaces but found no recognisable fossils.

quote by George Mercer Dawson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Charcoal Night

On a charcoal night the owl calls.
On a charcoal night wolves sharpen their claws.
On a charcoal night children shake with fear.
The charcoal night is growing near.

On a charcoal night the demon dogs sing.
On a charcoal night the little stars gleam.
On a charcoal night the air goes cold.
The nightmares and stories are always told.

On a charcoal night wolves wet their fangs.
On a charcoal night the owls call rang.
On a charcoal night the beasts are out.
On a charcoal night this is their town.

On a charcoal night lock up the doors.
On a charcoal night don't sleep on the floors.
On a charcaol night say good bye to those dear.
Because the charcaol night is finally hear.

poem by Okami Kamikaze
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People are not recognisable, but places have to be recognisable.

quote by Ann Robinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The hardened mass of liquid stones had much stronger qualities than those which had simply torn. The skin remained a recognisable part of the molten stone.

quote by Andy Goldsworthy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ancient Tsunami Warning Tablet Stones

large stones centuries old still stand on hillsides
with carved letters wise wisdom as messages
messages of love warnings carved into surfaces

patiently warning their aged witness surfaces
forgotten among young trees ancient tsunamis
warning stones stand warning across centuries

earthquake tsunamis will strike in swift waves
modern Japan heed our ancient wise warnings

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Inspired by Issa - morning charcoal fire

morning charcoal fire
excitements of the new day
in the fiery sparks

morning charcoal fire
embers' sparks spread
excitements for the new day

morning charcoal fire
sparks greet and give
way to the new day

morning charcoal fire
first the sparks
then the warm new day

inspired by

morning's charcoal fire-
the mountain's pine breeze
wafting by
-Issa,1813

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Frammento

A fragment is something incomplete
Something broken-off, severed,
Detached, segregated,

A fragment of a conversation,
Extant fragments of an ancient
Document written on stone,
A fragment of my poetry,

How

do

i

say

it?

………………………………….
Some fragments of myself
Missing some fragments of
Myself hidden, and you will
Not find them, too many fragments
like lice in a native woman's
hair spreading on her head

I place them where
You cannot find them because
You presume too much
To know me to love me,

Along this line, so many parts
are detached, perhaps my navel

my mole, my thumb
my right ear, my left eye

So many parts severed, perhaps
My head from my heart
my mind from my soul

my past from my future

Some extant fragments of
My past self, written on some
Stones still unturned, yes

I have pretended so much
And you cannot detect
Which is true from false

i have become so many parts
of myself, now in the last hours

fragmented

wanting to be whole again..

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Charcoal

Charcoal is an impure substance
Called bone-black.
Of the animals is this charcoal
And we ascertain longevity
By heating the way of life.
Upon its character we find no smoke or flame,
Merely the rigidity of a fireplace,
Hotter than relics or artifacts.
Burning one way and another.
Burning again, like charcoal.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Eternal torque

subtle waves
move water
little stones
sand grains
slightly move along

for a moment
settling down
on the sandy bottom
of the sea
or the wet beach

they all reflect
the light
if they are in sight
of the sun

while hiddenin sand
waiting for the moment
the land above them
is on the move again

everything is about to change
that next wave
causes an earthquake
in that little world
of stones, water, sand and sea

poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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Explorations: XXIV

i found myself
in million insignificant fragments
blown away by the merciless winds
blended in the sand dunes

where am i
where am i...?

i lamented for a while...

the bliss of no identity
dawned and there abound
peace in bounty!

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Temporary Poem Of My Time

Hebrew writing and Arabic writing go from east to west,
Latin writing, from west to east.
Languages are like cats:
You must not stroke their hair the wrong way.
The clouds come from the sea, the hot wind from the desert,
The trees bend in the wind,
And stones fly from all four winds,
Into all four winds. They throw stones,
Throw this land, one at the other,
But the land always falls back to the land.
They throw the land, want to get rid of it.
Its stones, its soil, but you can't get rid of it.
They throw stones, throw stones at me
In 1936, 1938, 1948, 1988,
Semites throw at Semites and anti-Semites at anti-Semites,
Evil men throw and just men throw,
Sinners throw and tempters throw,
Geologists throw and theologists throw,
Archaelogists throw and archhooligans throw,
Kidneys throw stones and gall bladders throw,
Head stones and forehead stones and the heart of a stone,
Stones shaped like a screaming mouth
And stones fitting your eyes
Like a pair of glasses,
The past throws stones at the future,
And all of them fall on the present.
Weeping stones and laughing gravel stones,
Even God in the Bible threw stones,
Even the Urim and Tumim were thrown
And got stuck in the beastplate of justice,
And Herod threw stones and what came out was a Temple.

Oh, the poem of stone sadness
Oh, the poem thrown on the stones
Oh, the poem of thrown stones.
Is there in this land
A stone that was never thrown
And never built and never overturned
And never uncovered and never discovered
And never screamed from a wall and never discarded by the builders
And never closed on top of a grave and never lay under lovers
And never turned into a cornerstone?

Please do not throw any more stones,
You are moving the land,
The holy, whole, open land,
You are moving it to the sea
And the sea doesn't want it
The sea says, not in me.

Please throw little stones,
Throw snail fossils, throw gravel,
Justice or injustice from the quarries of Migdal Tsedek,
Throw soft stones, throw sweet clods,
Throw limestone, throw clay,
Throw sand of the seashore,
Throw dust of the desert, throw rust,
Throw soil, throw wind,
Throw air, throw nothing
Until your hands are weary
And the war is weary
And even peace will be weary and will be.

Translated from the Hebrew by Barbara and Benjamin Harshav

poem by Yehuda Amichai
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Certainly paleontologists have found samples of an extremely small fraction, only, of the earth's extinct species, and even for groups that are most readily preserved and found as fossils they can never expect to find more than a fraction.

quote by George G. Simpson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Think I Understand

Daylight falls upon the path, the forest falls behind
Today I am not prey to dark uncertainty
The shadow trembles in its wrath, Ive robbed its blackness blind
And tasted sunlight as my fear came clear to me
I think I understand
Fear is like a wilderland
Stepping stones or sinking sand
Now the way leads to the hills, above the steeples chime
Below me sleepy rooftops round the harbor
Its there Ill take my thirsty fill of friendship over wine
Forgetting fear but never disregarding her
Oh, I think I understand
Fear is like a wilderland
Stepping stones and sinking sand
Sometimes voices in the night will call me back again
Back along the pathway of a troubled mind
When forests rise to block the light that keeps a traveler sane
Ill challenge them with flashes from a brighter time
Oh, I think I understand
Fear is like a wilderland
Stepping stones or sinking sand

song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Simple Thoughts

Simple thoughts
Simple minds
Draw up the curtain blinds
Lets see what is inside

A long weary journey home
built in a city far from Rome
With each gear the thoughts accelerate
Dreading the point when home is near

Shortly they disintegrate into fragments
Framents of love
Fragments of hope
Fragments of light in
the middle of night
Fragments of a peaceful bed
To rest ones tired swollen body
from a days work
after been well fed

They disintegrate into
Fragments of a night drink
All the bitterness and sorrow
can now sink
The mind can no longer think

Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Life Is ~ The Stones Under My Feet

Life is the stones under my feet
All the places I've walked
All the places I haven't
They say something about who I am
The pebbles that I pick up to toss in the ocean
The boulders I've sat on
The skipping stones I throw across the lake
Gravel and sand
And cobblestone streets
Places with history
Places where history is about to be written
And what it has to say for my history
All those stones that I've crunched
Under my boots
Or sandals
Or sneakers
Or just my bare feet
Walking carefully
And there occasionally is a piece of glass
When I cut myself I bleed
But I heal in the end
Then I get up to walk on more stones
Because life is where you choose to walk
And where you don't

poem by Indigo Rosedragon
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Biblical Audiology

prophetic verses set like smooth stones
past the camels dry chiseled steps.

next to a parable and a jawbone.
the dead sea testamental tongues
leaflike water the valley of acacia
transposing thier verbal vernacular.

the oral traditions passed down
by the giver of ghost
and imprinted on the skull
bones of martyred saints.

down where bone becomes papris,
the course stones shed thier skin.

and under the fingernails of an old
god the fossils prophesy.

yes the dry bones prophesy...

speaking in ancient acrostic constructs,
verse by verse their biblical audiologies
unfold in an east wind.

poem by Nathan Martin
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The Story Of A Search For A Poem

A man went in search of a Poem
He searched everywhere he walked
He searched inside himself
He searched inside the poems of others
He searched and searched -

And what came to him were fragments of many poems
And he thought perhaps that they themselves were the poem
But they refused to be satisfied with themselves-

So he searched for a way to put them together-
But in searching came upon more fragments
With each new fragment totally re-ordering those that had gone before-

So he thought ‘I went looking for one poem but found many
Perhaps there are only many poems’

And he began to write them down
And felt at times that he had found many poems
But always too he knew he had not found the one-

So he searched and searched again
And could not find the Poem-

He is still searching
And does not know where the poem is
Sometimes he thinks it is hidden in the many already written
But he does not have the eye to discern it the heart to feel it-

He now is surrounded by poems-
They are everywhere-
But he still cannot find the One Poem which is the Poem for him
The Poem which is his Poem and his Poem alone-

He says he is still searching and will search to the end of his days
But he is old now and soon may be too weak to search
And so the Poem he seeks the one he has longed for all his life
May never be found
Though he goes on searching still.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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We are concerned that, in a few years time, this place of discovery, with its wealth of human fossils, the like of which can be found nowhere else in the world, could be completely destroyed.

quote by Richard Leakey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Conceit and Deceit

what i have in my hands
are only stones

if you search for more
pebbles

my mind can give you
but first

you must entice me
with a flower in your hand

for you to have stones
that soon will grow you

some leaves of sand
that soon shall show you

how pebbles can be flowers
too

what you have are only
flowers

a little bit lighter than
the twigs of their source

what i have in my hands
are pebble that give us weight

yes, weight is wisdom
and they are all stones

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poems Flutter

Along each river in thousands are the ditches,
And the dungeons that conceals the objects,
Thousands of things hidden to the human eyes.

Man in fact is a brimming river wide and deep,
Thousands of ditches hide secrets countless;
As pebbles, sand, stones dwell in the bottom,
Covered with the opaque oozy settling layers.

I bring out those pebbles, sand and stones,
To construct, erect the castle with thick walls,
Where nestle themselves poems mysterious,
And often flutter; flap there from one by one.

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Production Line

much is much and
so many is like sand sprawling
on the shore... so much so many
and one who lays her body on
the sandy shore
takes sand for granted just another
part of this mass production of
things in her ordinary world: rocks, pebbles, stones,
sands,
what value can there be on a speck of dust
a grain of sand
becomes like her sun, too ordinary for her sunburn-skin

what's got the sun to do with me?
or the sand?
her sunglasses speak for her
in the middle of her empty hours
basking under the sun

production some times, so much for so many
meaninglessness growing like fruits of the poisonous tree

i could have kept one, just one
kept it inside my heart, i could have known what is precious,

diamond, just one,
glittering in the darkest hour of my night.

but there is no one really, all i have are mass produced, and
like sand, i lay my body on the shore, spreading so thinly without
feelings.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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