I grew with it, and I used to go to see the monks, who had no possessions, even more extreme than my mother.
quote by Satish Kumar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
I am beginning to have a healthy dread of possessions, be it of a country, a house, a being or even an idea. If we are bothered by possessions we cannot really live either from without or from within; we are the possession of our possessions. All wars and most loves come from the possessive instinct. Why grab possessions like thieves, or divide them like socialists when you can ignore them like wise men: that you may belong to everything and everything be yours inclusive of yourself. Could we, and we can, have the vital necessities for all, we should do away with this cry of class and begin to differentiate between individuals.
quote by Natalie Clifford Barney
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Extremes, though contrary, have the like effects. Extreme heat kills, and so extreme cold: extreme love breeds satiety, and so extreme hatred; and too violent rigor tempts chastity, as does too much license.
quote by George Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
13th Of February
he was born
on that day. her mother's heart was not full.
it was torn apart.
and then he was crying
just like any boy
being born
without a father
beside him.
he grew up to be the most normal man
that you see
except the things he kept inside him.
hate. anger.
one day he had to choose.
to kill those who are responsible
for his extreme silence
or to kill the silence within him
forever.
he had chosen.
and this is all about him.
this poem,
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Afraid To Crack
soon there is no use of your fear
in due time
you crack
extreme heat
extreme cold
like a seed
your mind cracks
but do not lose hope
my dear
we all crack
on extreme pain
on extreme joys
we give room
for the seed
to grow
just wait
just wait
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mother In Law
(a. toussaint)
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
The worst person I know
Mother in law, mother in law
She worries me so
Mother in law, mother in law
If she leaves us alone
We could have a happy home
Sent from down below
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
Satan should be her name
Mother in law, mother in law
To me theyre about the same
Mother in law, mother in law
Everytime I open my mouth
Steps in trying to put me out
How could you stood so low
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
Come home with my pay
Mother in law, mother in law
She asks me what I made
Mother in law, mother in law
She thinks her advice is a contribution
If she would leave that would be the solution
Dont come back no more
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law....
song performed by by Huey Lewis And The News
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
That was my childhood. I grew up with the monks, studying Sanskrit and meditating for hours in the morning and hours in the evening, and going once a day to beg for food.
quote by Satish Kumar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Myanmar - Air of Freedom
shackled without chains
again the chants of monks
again the chants of monks
aung san looks over to the hazy horizon
for days when she would breathe the air of freedom
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mother Nature
Often I marvel at Mother Nature
And its unique adventures
It has in stock for us
I have to say Mother Nature is the boss
Everyone has DNA-like life experience
Sometimes it can be monotonously intense
But Mother Nature is supreme
And Mother Nature is extreme
Often I ponder on why Mother Nature
Is sporadically insane with jealousy
Committing many a time unspeakable atrocities
Tornados, earthquakes and volcanic eruptions
It showers, making its necessary modifications
Tidal waves are its trademark of destruction
Of natural and artificial creations
But Mother Nature always makes up
With multiplication and replication of the living!
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Survive
to survive i go for the golden mean
not so tall and not so short
the tastier, meatier part i suppose
is the middle part of the sandwich
the smoother flow is the middle
part of the river
the safer part is the middle in every
location
at the extreme right what do you get?
or at the extreme left?
i sing between
you extreme joy is killing you with arrogance
your extreme sorrow is killing you with hopelessness
you see,
i live in the middle of everything
not so hot and not so cold and they always call it
this paradise.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What is a mother?
What is a mother? A mother is a friend.
What is a mother? A mother is your hero.
What is a mother? A mother is someone who can make your wishes comes true.
What is a mother? A mother is sugar and spice.
What is a mother? A mother knows all the coolest music and style.
What is a mother? A mother is everything in between.
What is a mother? A mother is a better version of you.
What is a mother? A mother is your mommy till the day that you leave this world behind.
poem by Natasha Ligons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What is a mother? pt 2
What is a mother? A mother is a friend.
What is a mother? A mother is your hero.
What is a mother? A mother is someone who can make your wishes comes true.
What is a mother? A mother is sugar and spice.
What is a mother? A mother knows all the coolest music and style.
What is a mother? A mother is everything in between.
What is a mother? A mother is a better version of you.
What is a mother? A mother is your mommy till the day that you leave this world behind.
poem by Natasha Ligons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pinkle Purr
Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
A little black nothing of feet and fur;
And by-and-by, when his eyes came through,
He saw his mother, the big Tattoo.
And all that he learned he learned from her.
'I'll ask my mother,' says Pinkle Purr.
Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
A ridiculous kitten with silky fur.
And little black Pinkle grew and grew
Till he got as big as the big Tattoo.
And all that he did he did with her.
'Two friends together,' says Pinkle Purr.
Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
An adventurous cat in a coat of fur.
And whenever he thought of a thing to do,
He didn't much bother about Tattoo,
For he knows it's nothing to do with her,
So 'See you later,' says Pinkle Purr.
Tattoo is the mother of Pinkle Purr,
An enormous leopard with coal-black fur.
A little brown kitten that's nearly new
Is now playing games with its big Tattoo…
And Pink looks lazily down at her:
'Dear little Tat,' says Pinkle Purr.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I still need a mother
I need a mother who would love me
I need a mother who would take care of me
I need a mother who would understand me
I need a mother for who I am
I need a mother to know me
I need a mother who would be there for me
I need a mother who would not yell at her son
I need a mother who won't push her son away
I need a mother who would not throw me out of her life
Even though I still need a mother
Everyday I try to be nice
Sometime she don't care about me
What I need is a mother who would be there for me
I need a mother who would watch me grow
I need a mother who would celebrate my birthday
I need a mother who would miss me
I need a mother to cry on
I need a mother to know that her son loves her
But she won't let me know her
What I need is a mother
Who is no more now.
poem by Bikramjyoti Kashyop
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I still need a mother
I need a mother who would love me
I need a mother who would take care of me
I need a mother who would understand me
I need a mother for who I am
I need a mother to know me
I need a mother who would be there for me
I need a mother who would not yell at her son
I need a mother who won't push her son away
I need a mother who would not throw me out of her life
Even though I still need a mother
Everyday I try to be nice
Sometime she don't care about me
What I need is a mother who would be there for me
I need a mother who would watch me grow
I need a mother who would celebrate my birthday
I need a mother who would miss me
I need a mother to cry on
I need a mother to know that her son loves her
But she won't let me know her
What I need is a mother
Who is no more now.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Weight of Poetry
Poetry is core of arts
It’s not strange!
Not knowing that poetry is core of all arts
It’s not strange as well!
The many who don’t know that poetry is core of all arts
It’s not a strange at all!
Although the poets usually make foes against vulgarity
A city makes the poets wandering on the streets
Should utterly lack of the manner and style
A society brings the resentment to the poets
Should fully lack of consciousness
Solitude is the major topic in life
Solitude is poetry
Lack of poetry, art is a form of imitation
Lack of poetry, power is a presumptuous mediocrity
Lack of poetry, fortune is a wealthy poverty
Lack of poetry, love is a superficial organ
The extreme of love- solitude
The extreme of wealth- solitude
The extreme of power – solitude
The extreme of art- solitude
The extreme of climax - solitude
The extreme of world - solitude
The extreme of planets- solitude
Those who have never explored loneliness
Can write down the weight of poetry?
poem by DePen Chang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Your Face...
stay still, do not turn your face
to the extreme end, , , this is the right angle
i click the camera,
this is the side of happiness, keep your cool,
do not move, do not change the angle,
now, try moving to the extreme left,
this will be the same face, but the extreme one
on a 190 degree turn, shows the other
side of you, and this i will try to take too,
this face of sorrow,
this angle of lament, , , , you see, it is the same face
with just one turn, a little change,
at the extreme, i can see both of you...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Be Proud
Be pride and poison for it,
Poor is the friar who took.
Pleasure is soon, sooner than ever,
When bones are picked by the vultures
Over our heads that speak of those ones that fly nearby.
Be proud and in the death of others be proud
Against a fountain of rifles and ammunition,
These are the guns we lift to our eyes and let vultures fly to die.
The monks are not in the vicinity, like hairy monks.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Carpenter's Song
My lot grew lighter day by day;
The children grew apace;
I built a little house last May--
No palace like that place.
And--"Father," said she, "sure you know
That once we ate dry bread?
Into our own house now we go!"--
The mother, she is dead!
Her house the undertaker made,
And not the carpenter;
My grace unsaid, the pastor prayed
In loud tones over her.
The day that's spent with merriment,
'Mid blossoms blue and red,
No music lent--my heart was rent!--
The mother, she is dead.
We pulled together many a year;
Like old bird-mates were we;
But who e'er thinks of dying here
While both together be?
Fast barred is every window-blind--
I care not what is said;
Yes, sell the house! I do not mind--
The mother, she is dead!
poem by Carmen Sylva
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
People who get through life dependent on other people's possessions are always the first to lecture you on how little possessions count.
Josiah Tompkins
I was well known and much beloved
And rich, as fortunes are reckoned
In Spoon River, where I had lived and worked.
That was the home for me,
Though all my children had flown afar—
Which is the way of Nature—all but one.
The boy, who was the baby, stayed at home,
To be my help in my failing years
And the solace of his mother.
But I grew weaker, as he grew stronger,
And he quarreled with me about the business,
And his wife said I was a hindrance to it;
And he won his mother to see as he did,
Till they tore me up to be transplanted
With them to her girlhood home in Missouri.
And so much of my fortune was gone at last,
Though I made the will just as he drew it,
He profited little by it.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!