Green fingers are the extension of a verdant heart.
quote by Russell Page
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And we will call it Britain
Crisp green the stems of daffodils
That brave in spring cold sun
Soft tender green the hawthorn buds
Unfurled with winter done
Bright green the fresh leaves on the limes
That verdant branches lace
Dark green the lily’s slender shoot
That moist earth, piercing breaks
But greenest of all that is green
An island Earth did make
And we will call it Britain
Natures green estate
poem by Egal Bohen
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In America journalism is apt to be regarded as an extension of history: in Britain, as an extension of conversation.
quote by Anthony Sampson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hills of Whroo
'Far below us in a hollow
Slumber'ing in the morning haze,
Lay the quaint, old mining township,
Relic of the Roaring Days.
Through its empty streets we cantered
And our reins we never drew,
For our thoughts were in the future,
Riding o'er the hills of Whroo.'
'Aye; 'tis verdant green, old comrade,
But - your grave is verdant, too!
And we'll go no more together,
Riding o'er the hills of Whroo.'
poem by Edward Harrington
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The Green Month
WHAT of all the colours shall I bring you for your fairing,
Fit to lay your fingers on, fine enough for you ?–
Yellow for the ripened rye, white for ladies' wearing,
Red for briar-roses, or the skies' own blue ?
Nay, for spring has touched the elm, spring has found the willow,
Winds that call the swallow home sway the boughs apart;
Green shall all my curtains be, green shall be my pillow,
Green I'll wear within my hair, and green upon my heart.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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The medium is the message. This is merely to say that the personal and social consequences of any medium - that is, of any extension of ourselves - result from the new scale that is introduced into our affairs by each extension of ourselves, or by any new technology.
quote by Marshall McLuhan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The world is likely to view any temporary extension of the income tax cuts for the top two percent as a prelude to a long-term or permanent extension, and that would hurt economic recovery as well by undermining confidence that we're prepared to make a commitment today to bring down our future deficits.
quote by Timothy Geithner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Green, Green, and More Green
There is green everywhere,
even in peoples' hair.Some
on hands, some on shirts.
There is green everywhere!
Green, green, and more green.
I think I'm going crazy over green.
If you don't wear green you get pinched,
then you'll start to itch.
So many people are obsessed with green.
Green Spring, green air.Green feet, green wheat, green meat.
Green isn't very neat!
poem by Autumn Howard
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Green fingers
Whatever she plants it grows rapidly.
Her soft magical fingers devote for a green house.
He was mesmerized to her sing-song while she was in the fields.
Though he passes several times on her premises
He is not so lucky to touch her transparent fingers.
Already a young vegetarian has joined her green revolution.
But once in a way he peeps to buy fresh vegetables.
Then he touches her finger tips.
He lived in his illusion half of the journey.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Green Fingers
I wish I had green fingers,
so everything in my garden would grow.
The flowers would grow strong,
like my love for you.
The roses would blush at your beauty,
a sunflower to fill your day with brightness.
Oh, how I wish I had green fingers,
with the touch to make every flower grow.
There would be a cascade,
of colours and perfume to fill the air,
as we walked through my garden fair.
poem by David Harris
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The Rim Of Green
Green panties, green roses
green tits, green milk.
Green moon, posies in green.
green eyes, green full lips
green face, cheese, green..
Green around the rim,
green limes can but erupt...?
poem by Is It Poetry
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I See You in Your Fingers
I see your fingers
I see you in your fingers
I see your history from your fingers
I feel your touch from your fingers
They don't tell a lie to me
They don't give me a fake smile
Or promising kiss
But they give me a warm hold
and tickling touch
I see you from your fingers
I see the truth from your fingers
I see you in your fingers
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Land Is Green
The land is green
It is just green
Do not see any other colour
That will make you not to cultivate
The land is green
It must be green
Avoid the deceit of the unpatriotic
They have only their interest at heart
The land is green
It will remain green
Speak not with the double minded.
Nothing positive will come from them
The land is green
For our crops to grow
For our next generation to feed
Our land is meant to be green
poem by Chika Ogbonna
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Poetry of Art or Art of Poetry?
Which came first-poetry or art?
Which of these two is my favorite part?
Poetry speaks to the heart and soul
Through vocalization of written word,
While art molds and shapes formation
Of heart and soul once the poetic art
Of words moves to the shape the heart
Feels inspires visualization and creation
Of such dramatic, deep impact as art
Makes responsive to the poetry that
Inspires it.
Does poetry not speak of art and
Art of poetry?
Each of these takes the form
Of a smiling simile.
Art is the extension of visual beauty,
Words unspoken
As extensively connected as the
Heartfelt extension indepth beauty
Stimulates out of spoken words
Poetry admires and inspires
Deep down in the soul.
Art reflects poetic expression
Poetry visualizes mentally
While are visualizes physically-
Both of which visualize emotionally
When mutually expressed and impressed
Upon each other to create the beauty
That first created it.
poem by Bill Darrah
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My Dad (The Gardener)
My Dad has got green fingers,
He's always been that way;
He grew veg' in his younger days,
He grows them now he's grey.
Tomatoes are his forte,
No finer can be found;
He eats them by the dozen,
And sells them by the pound.
He grows a vast amount, and now
Two greenhouses he owns;
Tomato juice is in his blood,
And marrow in his bones.
His spuds are so delicious,
Their praises I must sing;
So fresh and full of flavour,
And fit for any king.
His lettuce too, are lovely,
They're crispy and dark green;
Much better than the shop ones,
The best I've ever seen.
There's not much that can beat him,
He's skillful in his craft;
He isn't Percy Thrower
But he isn't flippin' daft.
The only thing I've ever known
My Dad to fail to grow,
Is melons, for my sisters,
Just a tiny one did show;
The whole procedure was for him
A problem just too great;
So now they're off the menu,
And for melon they must wait.
But still, it's just one failure,
And not like all the rest;
My Dad is still the greatest,
My Dad is still the best.
My Dad has got green fingers,
And this will always be;
Now mine are going green as well,
And that will do for me.
(Written Oct 1994)
poem by John Carter Brown
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Oh! Green, Stay Green!
In the brilliant spectrum of rainbow hues,
Oh, Green! Thou art a ravishing shade.
You glow and fade in distant skies,
You hide beneath the oceans deep,
You make the Earth so cheery to live,
You ward off famine and assure wealth,
You signal movement and ensure health,
You sooth the eyes and cool the hearts.
In the brilliant spectrum of rainbow hues,
Oh, Green! Thou art a ravishing shade.
Green is the garb; God gave the Earth to wear,
Green is the harbinger of blooming spring,
Green – the forests that is home to beasts,
Green – the meadows, where the cattle graze,
Green – the prairies that stretch afar,
Green – the lawns that adorn the homes,
Green – the tuft of grass that grows beneath,
Green – the unripe fruits that hangs from boughs.
In the brilliant spectrum of rainbow hues,
Oh, Green! Thou art a ravishing shade.
But Alas! The Green is fast fading out,
The verdant Earth, turned into an arid stretch,
Life made so horrid for man and beast,
And Nature mourns her doleful plight,
Toil hard to usher the Green again,
Never let the trees fall and rot,
Take from Nature just enough to make you go,
And keep in reserve what is due for the ones to come!
In the brilliant spectrum of rainbow hues,
Oh, Green! Thou art a ravishing shade.
poem by Valsa George
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Frenzied Fingers Run Amuck
When I get you into my arms
I can't control the things that I do.
Fingers grab the hair on your head.
Fingers caress the small of your back.
Fingers travel down your spine
and back up again.
Fingers reach to all corners of your being,
quietly unnoticed at first,
but more frenzied with passing time.
Wild fingers travel your soul
with frenzied action that is hard to stop.
Uncontrollable fingers run wild
until you beg them to stop.
But even then, there's no counting on it.
These fingers like to run wild.
Whenever I place my fingers on you,
frenzied fingers run amuck.
Suisun Spring
the green glow
of our cottonwoods
newly clothed in the gentle April sun....
our apple tree,
still skeletal,
intimating cotton buds
promising green glory to come,
and the grass!
all winter-yellow evaporated,
shouting like a
third-grade leprechaun
skipping across the playground
in the school's St. Patrick's Day Parade.
but most unforeseen,
along the rough fence
the vinca
blazing with royal light
in the deep, verdant shade
of our cottonwoods.
poem by Steven Federle
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My Plant is in a Cage
Some of my friends say,
I have green fingers.
I just plant the seed and pray,
and watch, as time lingers.
Grow they do, green and lush
Don't tell no one hush, hush.
cause in Holland we grow 'Mary Jane'
In U.S.A. and Canada it's not quit the same.
The green sage is all the rage,
So I put my green plant in a cage
Locked up tight, 'Motion Detector' on! .
In the morning, no plant will be gone!
poem by David Darbyshire
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Monroe Louisiana
On the green, green farm
In green, green Monroe Louisiana
So green, green
Wet-luscious green and alive
So green after the rain
So bright green and clean
Just passing through
On my way to tomorrow
But so green today and yesterday
It was on that stranger's green, green farm
And I didn't stay long
And I didn't expect someone
To fire that shotgun right next to me
The barrel pointed out the front door
Into that green, green world beyond.
There were hot springs
On the green, green farm
In green, green Monroe Louisiana
Back in 1973.
poem by M.L. Squier
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Road Trip in Spring
Rolling Green Pastoral land
For as far as the eye
Can see
The lush verdant Oak and Elm
Outshine the other tree's
Rounded bush-lined lanes of
Concrete
As above we look to the aside Dale
Up-down-over and around
Glimpses of many a country trail
And traveling down Ranger Hill
From up above so very high
Brings more lush green beauty
That sparkles pure brillance
Into one's eyes
Oh what a grand canvas 'tis this
Our higher power has created for we
Many colors and sights of early Spring
For all of His beloved children to see
poem by Theodora Onken
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