What would surprise a lot of people about me... I'm a gardener! I have a green thumb. I really like to get into the shrubs, the bushes, and really cultivate.
quote by Jeffrey Donovan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wasp Man
Under my thumb's the girl who once had me down
Under my thumb's the girl who once pushed me around
It's down to me, the diff'rence in the clothes she wears
It's down to me, the change has come, she's under my thumb
Under my thumb's a squirming dog who's just had her day
Under my thumb's a girl who has just changed her ways
It's down to me, the way she does what she's told
It's down to me, the change has come, she's under my thumb
Under my thumb's a Siamese cat of a girl
Under my thumb she's the sweetest pet in the world
It's down to me, the way she does what she's told
It's down to me, the change has come, she's under my thumb
Under my thumb her eyes are just kept to herself
Under my thumb, well, I can still look at someone else
It's down to me, the way she talks when she's spoken to
It's down to me, the change has come, she's under my thumb
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Squash in Blossom
How lush, how loose, the uninhibited squash is.
If ever hearts (and these immoderate leaves
Are vegetable hearts) were worn on sleeves,
The squash's are. In green the squash vine gushes.
The flowers are cornucopias of summer,
Briefly exuberant and cheaply golden.
And if they make a show of being hidden,
Are open promiscuously to every comer.
Let the squash be what it was doomed to be
By the old Gardener with the shrewd green thumb.
Let it expand and sprawl, defenceless, dumb.
But let me be the fiber-disciplined tree
Whose leaf (with something to say in wind) is small,
Reduced to the ingenuity of a green splinter
Sharp to defy or fraternize with winter,
Or if not that, prepared in fall to fall.
poem by Robert Francis
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He will therefore have to use what knowledge he can achieve, not to shape the results as the craftsman shapes his handiwork, but rather to cultivate a growth by providing the appropriate environment, in the manner in which the gardener does this for his plants.
quote by Friedrich August von Hayek
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So high do these plants stand in the favour of the Chinese gardener, that he will cultivate them extensively, even against the wishes of his employer; and, in many instances, rather leave his situation than give up the growth of his favourite flower.
quote by Robert Fortune
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thumbsucker
I met her on a corner in Duluth
(That’s the truth.)
She was tryin’ to fix her shoe in a telephone booth
(Her name was Ruth.)
She said she was just waiting for a bus
But I hid my thumb cause I knew just what she was,
And I ain’t gonna let no thumbsucker such my thumb.
It’ll drive you crazy and leave you deaf and dumb.
It’ll make you crawl and climb the wall
Leave you without no thumb at all.
So I ain’t gonna let no thumbsucker suck my thumb.
I’ll tell you what them thumbsuckers like to do.
They suck your thumb till it’s wrinkled like a prune
They’ll say you’ve got the sweetest thumb of all
But then they suck the thumb of the guy livin’ down the hall
That’s why I ain’t gonna let no thumbsucker suck my thumb
(etc. . . etc. . . until finally giving in.)
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Thumbs
Oh, the thumb-sucker's thumb
May look wrinkled and wet
And withered, and white as the snow,
But the taste of a thumb Is the sweetest taste yet
(As only we thumb-suckers know).
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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The One
No surprise
Hey that you wanna be the one again
No surprise
You wanna be the one
Heard you had a story to tell
Sold your soul in a kiss and tell
Sliding down on a helter skelter ride
Into yesterday
No way out, the price of fame
Once its told will you be the same
Rolling down on a roller coaster ride
Well be waiting for you
No surprise
Hey that you wanna be the one again
No surprise
No surprise
Hey that you wanna be the one
No surprise
You wanna be the one
Shock the world with your fall from grace
Glory days gone without a trace
No surprise youre a face without a name
But we all still love you
No surprise
Hey that you wanna be the one again
No surprise
No surprise
Hey that you wanna be the one
No surprise
You wanna be the one
Its time to tell you
Were faithful and true
Take us back to the days
When we could dream
cos it makes us happy
No surprise
Hey that you wanna be the one again
No surprise
No surprise
Hey that you wanna be the one
No surprise
No surprise
Hey that you wanna be the one again
No surprise
No surprise
Hey that you wanna be the one
No surprise
No surprise
Hey that you wanna be the one
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prima Facie
My black rose,
I like to caress
your soft petals.
savoury pollen
stolen my soul.
like to jump
over the fence.
Oh! the gardener with the spade
is crueller than the prickly shrubs.
I like to hide in the garden secretly
my little haughty
naughty bee request a nod.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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To cultivate trees, you need 10 years. To cultivate people, you need 100 years.
Best If Gravelled
Under the bushes,
Is where they swept and kept their dirt.
It was under the bushes...
Priorities fed to ignore any weeding grew.
It was under the bushes everyone knew,
From where the soiling of the lawn began.
And there under the bushes,
They can be seen digging deep...
Burning the midnight oil,
And not getting a bit of sleep...
To bury any traces of denial.
But the maintaining of the lawn,
Manicured as visitors expect...
Would be best if gravelled,
As many disgusted visitors suggest!
And quickly under the bushes,
A working continues...
To smooth over the dirt,
With a time released scenting...
Hopefully used for all to forget,
The influence of the bushes...
And the planting of them all regret.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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Wuss
feeling like a
wuss
the feeb
in her
seems to be ineffectual
now
amidst the
shrubs and bushes
she breaks away
walking under the sun
bowing her head
hiding her eyes
under the shade of
her gray fedora hat
she is not
a quitter all she wished
is that she becomes
another
Bob Dylan
and i know
all the wimps
cannot hold her
back
she simply decides
to be otherwise
beginning
this day
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Looking Back At The Greens
i too look back at those green things
from the point of view of my
green thumb
a vegetable garden without an aphid on a leaf
a row of roses, lush green leaves
and red blooms
some petals falling due to the
wind
a line of green mint trees along the path
leading to the highway
sounds of motors threatening what green there is
i come back and settle on this patch
of green meadows
and grass and gray shade
my own shadow cast
on the huge gabi leaf.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Forgotten Fertility Myth
Pranab k c
27/06/2011
a deep depression
carries monsoon again
its raining
five days at a stretch
day and night
she is wet
her chastity
waiting to be ploughed
soil so soft
to be mould in creation
plough hard
my peasant friend
pour dropp to form seed
your personal rain
would make her corny
every dream
of your personal cloud
would make her smile festive
fertile soil seeks seedling
cultivate you the peasant
cultivate hard
cultivate with care
cultivate with unending passion
She waits to bear all the pain
for a pleasure of exposing a life again
poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
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Ebony Sweet Feet
Look at the black trees
Peer through the bars
See my disease
Spiked cloves of grass
Mutated pansies
Willows of glass
Green thumb, black thumb
sowing needles
Would you like some?
They call me ebony sweet feet
Not for the shoes I wear
but the people I eat
Pale gnomes painted black
My favorite snack
Seeking eye
I am sore
I must die
All are bound to my fate
no more ethics of metaphysics
Love is what I hate
Hopefully none read these words of my gate,
please escape my fate,
grab me hold me take me away,
destiny is a lie unless it means to die,
yet I still say farewell even though nobody fares well
poem by Wandering Scarlet
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This Day
What shrubs or bushes
they are, I don't know.
I pass and smell
and feel the zeal
for a further go.
The ups and the turns
open the mystery.
The sudden blow of fresh air,
makes the moment windy.
Below, I see the picturesque,
lush greens of tea garden.
Two leaves and one bud,
take away mind's burden.
The peak of Kanchanjangha,
is glittering under the shining sun.
This Day will never fade,
is now added to Eternal.
poem by Nilakshi Das
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It is true, I see it more often
That for the sake of a single rose
The gardener becomes the servant
To a hundred thorns
So let the gardener come
To my house
And I will teach him how to be wise.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Great Outdoors
Standing on an old wooden bridge,
I look upwards towards a hilly ridge,
Where trees of every shade of green,
Hug the sides of a deep ravine,
And gentle paths are found, between
Bushes and shrubs, where they convene,
And one can happily walk for miles,
Past so many wild creatures domiciles.
Whilst scanning the river bed below,
Watching a meandering, peaceful flow
Of water, trickling over the weir,
So sweet to drink and oh, so clear.
I study the minnow and stickleback,
Then realise I'm without my anorak,
For I perceive there's a chill in the air,
Of which I've suddenly become aware.
So with an audible sigh, I start to leave,
And my way homewards, I start to weave.
Then just for a moment, I stop and pause,
Marvelling once more at this great outdoors.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Meet Me in the Green Glen
Love, meet me in the green glen,
Beside the tall elm-tree,
Where the sweetbriar smells so sweet agen;
There come with me.
Meet me in the green glen.
Meet me at the sunset
Down in the green glen,
Where we've often met
By hawthorn-tree and foxes' den,
Meet me in the green glen.
Meet me in the green glen,
By sweetbriar bushes there;
Meet me by your own sen,
Where the wild thyme blossoms fair.
Meet me in the green glen.
Meet me by the sweetbriar,
By the mole-hill swelling there;
When the west glows like a fire
God's crimson bed is there.
Meet me in the green glen.
poem by John Clare
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