Reading about nature is fine, but if a person walks in the woods and listens carefully, he can learn more than what is in books, for they speak with the voice of God.
quote by George Washington Carver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In My Every Walk In Nature
In my walks in Nature great beauty I've seen
Like bluebells in bloom on the ditch of bohreen
When hawthorns were in their white blooms of the May
And nesting birds sung in the woods far away.
In my walks in Nature strange voices I hear
Like the song of the whipbird so whip like and clear
In the wooded gully hidden in the brake
A voice from once heard one can never mistake.
In my every walk in Nature and I've had more than a few
To my great surprise I do learn something new
From Nature we learn something new every day
We do never stop learning as some like to say.
I have loved Mother Nature since I was a boy
And my walks in her quiet places I thoroughly enjoy
Her wildbirds chirp and whistle on every bush and tree
And her beauty is everywhere all around me.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Words, Words, Words
We seem to define words so as to use them,
Conquering the speech of another person;
Just to be a speaker is even better for a person
Than to read or write and practise scholarship.
We meet words carefully chosen by them and combine
To form sentences that will be recognised,
Thus the attached meaning is passed on;
Prosperity is the objective, success is marvellous.
Scholars are thinking men, relaxed by books,
They do not only speak, but look at the messages
From the written word, learning godly works,
Escaping blunders, escaping our mockery.
We are with fine words, words capture us,
Your vocabulary depends on your cleverness and intelligence,
So concoct the perfect sentences,
Invent the same language that we speak.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Reading is a conversation. All books talk. But a good book listens as well.
quote by Mark Haddon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jerome
Each day brings its toad, each night its dragon.
Der heilige Hieronymus--his lion is at the zoo--
Listens, listens. All the long, soft, summer day
Dreams affright his couch, the deep boils like a pot.
As the sun sets, the last patient rises,
Says to him, Father, trembles, turns away.
Often, to the lion, the saint said, Son.
To the man the saint says--but the man is gone.
Under a plaque of Gradiva, at gloaming.
The old man boils an egg. When he has eaten
He listens a while. The patients have not stopped.
At midnight, he lies down where his patients lay.
All night the old man whispers to the night.
It listens evenly. The great armored paws
Of its forelegs put together in reflection.
It thinks: Where Ego was, there Id shall be.
The world wrestles with it and is changed into it
And after a long time changes it. The dragon
Listens as the old man says, at dawn: I see
--There is an old man, naked in a desert, by a cliff.
He has set out his books, his hat, his ink, his shears
Among scorpions, toads, the wild beasts of the desert.
I lie beside him--I am a lion.
He kneels listening. He holds in his left hand
The stone with which he beats his breat, and holds
In his right hand, the pen with which he puts
Into his book, the words of the angel:
The angel up into whose face he looks.
But the angel does not speak. He looks into the face
Of the night, and the night says--but the night is gone.
He has slept. . . . At morning, when man's flesh is young
And man's soul thankful for it knows not what,
The air is washed, and smells of boiling coffee,
And the sun lights it. The old man walks placidly
To the grocer's; walks on, under leaves, in light,
To a lynx, a leopard--he has come;
The man holds out a lump of liver to the lion,
And the lion licks the man's hand with his tongue.
poem by Randall Jarrell
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On Books
Books are my first love, I’m so proud to read;
They give me knowledge and help life to lead;
Hours, days just pass by, by reading life-time;
Life would not be worth, if not for my rhyme.
Great are those people who write books all life;
Burning just candles, with Goose-quills in strife;
Tired of writing though day-long or night,
They keep on writing in such a bad light.
Books serve a great cause; their value can’t cease;
It takes years to write but reading is ease;
Book-makers struggle to print a few books;
And keep spending time to, improve their looks.
Some find their way to libraries in town;
Some remain untouched and nev’r taken down;
Silver-fish, Moths eat the books that are old;
Some are gone obsolete, some sold like gold.
Some are in tatters and must be rebound;
Books are Man’s best friends where solace is found;
Reading for long hours, does help you to learn;
Books give much knowledge and wisdom to men.
Read books with great care whose weight is in gold;
Serve generations though they may be old;
Source of much Info, deserving respect;
Books are life-partners whom you ne’er reject!
poem by John Celes
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The Voice of Love
After a long solitary confinement
In deep love for someone
I heard a song
A song in the woods
Where I stood
The woods which stood in the solitude
There was nobody
Nobody except me
Nobody heard the song
Which rapped in the woods
Somewhere, but I didn't know where
The song I heard wasn't raspy
Neither soft nor melodious
The song I heard was heart-strucken'd
There was a tone
A tune where you can find
A rapt of love.
The song has given pathogen in me
Who's that guy?
Singing in love
Crying and dying in love?
I listened to the song carefully
Now I found
The lonely woods are in me
And the song I heard
was the voice
The voice of love in me.
poem by D'menz Veen
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The More I learn About Nature
The more I learn about Nature the less I realize I know
About how creatures live in wild state, about how plants and grasses grow
About how flowers close in the evening and open to the morning light
We learn every day from Nature and we learn from what others write.
The more I learn about Nature the more I come to realize
That Nature has a billion lessons each day for us a new surprise
How some trees in Spring get leaves and blossoms and how other trees are evergreen
In Nature there are many lessons and many wonders to be seen.
The more I learn about Nature the less I know I know or so 'twould seem
In Autumn the salmon leaves the ocean to lay her eggs in Inland stream
And her offspring to breed to the stream return and years go by with little change
And ways of Nature never simple and ways of Nature can be strange.
The more I learn about Nature the more self conscious I become
that I must not be clever person in many ways I seem quite dumb
We ought to learn from things around us but I've not learnt much at all
when mother took us from the cradle before we walked we had to crawl
The more I learn about Nature the more and more I seem to see
That Nature can be very complex and far too big a thing for me
And Nature has a billion lessons and the more I learn the less I know I know
About how creatures live in wild state and about how plants and grasses grow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Learning language
Hear and hear to learn hearing.
Speak and speak to learn speaking.
Read and read to learn reading.
Write and write to learn writing.
They are four ways traffic.
04.02.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Going Out To Enjoy The Faces Of Nature
summer. do not sell me books
i have enough of books.
i am going for a swim
bringing my girl.
i will go naked then
up and down. we are going
diving, seeing not just corals
we go for black urchins and
electric eels.
we go bubbling and
taking deep breaths
upstream. you ask me why?
well, this is summer and i am
not reading books.
i will be kissing the beautiful
faces of nature.
and since this is summer
motherfucker, i must do it well.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Books of a Reader and Drinker
The library of books to do with life are great,
Inside them we discover a whole new story.
Their covers are as hard to swallow as fish,
Meeting a drinker dissolves your hatred of reading.
The drinker is a drunkard of the odd variety,
He reads like an angel when his wings number many,
But then they shed due to drink, and the beer has departed.
For this reading composes the mind,
The books of ancient nature fall from the shelves,
They burn by the dozen and leave us with true knowledge.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Beyond the formative effects of reading on the individuals composing society, the fact that they have read the same books gives them experiences and ideas in common. These constitute a kind of shorthand of ideas which helps make communication quicker and more efficient. That is what we mean when we say figuratively of another person, We speak the same language.
quote by Charles Scribner, Jr.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Teacher
I'd like to be a teacher, and have a clever brain,
Calling out, 'Attention, please!' and 'Must I speak in vain?'
I'd be quite strict with boys and girls whose minds I had to train,
And all the books and maps and thngs I'd carefully explain;
I'd make then learn the dates of kings, and all the capes of Spain;
But I wouldn't be a teacher if ...
I couldn't use the cane.
Would you?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Unfit Books
on table
on the room...
some books
with out reading...
but open
un fit
some books close
finish the reading...
with fit...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The reading of all good books is indeed like a conversation with the noblest men of past centuries who were the authors of them, nay a carefully studied conversation, in which they reveal to us none but the best of their thoughts.
It is fine, let us learn from swine
It is fine
Let us learn from swine
The flu that has inflicted millions nine
And made them confine
Suffering in pain
With a totally new fatal design
Defying all understanding developed to define
An infection and its ways malign
And with the ability to make medicines resign
Forcing us to redesign
Our medical approach and tune-fine
It is fine
Let us learn from swine
What we have not learnt from the virus
That made our immune system porous
And created a situation disastrous
More than three decades of research rigorous
With no solution really vigorous
To put an end to that problem stupendous
It is fine
Let us learn from swine
What we failed to learn
From tsunami that raised concern
And killed millions to earn
A notorious name all over, but we failed to discern
The cause of this killer govern
Tsunami was only a word to learn
From a dictionary till then, but when we saw its thorn
We came to know how far we were torn
It is fine
Let us learn from swine
That all the above only showcase
The greedy ways
Of the human race
In the name of developmental phase
With no regard for nature’s grace
To see that every one has
What all his needs surface
It is fine
Let us learn from swine
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Unicorn 9
For most of those who are graced to see it, the vision’s enough –
they bring humility, are still, drink in
this creature, which for a space of time
is in this world, and yet not of this world,
who shows them who they are, and always were –
so what is known, is known; they leave its presence
as themselves.
but some find it’s quite natural to speak,
as one might bear a sacrifice in outstretched arms
of all that is and is not of themselves.
That glorious creature does not speak; but listens:
listens with, as if, the one point of its horn which brings
its ears to its eyes; gazes as it listens; a gentle, mild, sweet gaze;
listens, gazes, with its whole wise, understanding presence;
and having spoken, or not spoken, all leave
as themselves; knowing themselves to have
the whole universe as their measure.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The More I Learn Of Nature
The more I learn of Nature the less of her I know I know
The little bird that all day search for insects in the hedgerow
Lives quite a complex lifestyle though we may not think so
The more I learn of Nature the more my wonder of her grow.
The more I learn of Nature the more I realize
That there is more to Nature than we see with our own eyes
The lives of flora and fauna are complex one might say
And from our ageless Earth Mother we learn every day.
The workings of Mother Nature is an amazing thing
There is more to the songbird than the song the songbird sing
Out in the wilds of Nature the strongest do survive
And always some have got to die for more to stay alive.
And every day in Nature there's something new to learn
The tiny ants amongst them an outsider can discern
That ant must flee their territory or they will kill it if it stay
And from the creatures of Nature we learn every day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Stephen King in many respects is a wonderful writer. He has made a contribution. People in the future will be able to pick up Stephen King's books and learn a lot about who we were by reading those books.
Deathly Talking
As the teacher is ready
To come into class and teach
The students are in the washers
Shining their hair and teeth with bleach
The teacher is on his way
And students prepare to yell and jump
All waiting the new miserable teacher
They are ready to run him down and end him with a stomp
And as the poor teacher walks into the room
The criminal children are ready to loom
They prepare to throw stones and catapult books on their way
And as the teacher walks inside
They all look along and stray
Not expecting a fight
It’s just another teacher gone
Learning is their worst enemy
It has always been all along
The teacher marches in
Ready for the first day on the job
Not expecting a world war 3
And not expecting a worldwide mob
The teacher gets in
Welcomed with flying books and rocks
People kept shouting though the teacher urged them to stop
All speaking at once the teacher’s mind would just pop
The teacher gets ready
Reaching into his stock
Paper, books, and rocks cover the entire floor
Then the teacher explodes
Releasing an enormous roar
Revealing his weapons and death devices
The teacher takes out a pistol and shoots them like lices
Then a rifle is found and fires at sight
Then shotguns are shown shooting anyone with all their might
The rest are held hostage
Face to face with a 50-cal
Threatening every person
From innocent, to gangster, to gangster’s pal
All look frightened
And look desert dry
Not knowing if it’s time to apologize or cry
One stands up thinking to show he is brave
With an RPG
The ruthless teacher sends him to his grave
Now that the teacher is done
He looks away
Says it was either his terms or the mafia way
And now let that be a lesson for each of you to learn
Not one
Not one soul, Should speak out of turn!
Wine can only be drunk once
Fine wine, unlike fine poetry.
Must be given time to mature,
selected for its quality.
You must be absolutely sure.
To store it very carefully
undisturbed perhaps for years.
I much prefer fine poetry
which rings like music in my ears.
Dependent on your taste of course.
My ears drink in well spoken verse.
My taste in wine is rather coarse
but it is easy on my purse.
I read fine poetry for free
from books stored in my library.
5-Sep-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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