The reason for this project comes from my childhood, that is clear to me. I did not have any toys. So, I played in the bricks of ruined buildings around me and with which I built houses.
quote by Anselm Kiefer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
When Toys
Unfortunately someone did not have any toys
In the forgotton childhood...hides my attic.
Ingaged, they now play with the other toys
between the wooden rails...ironwood is....
Butterfly wings stick together while others cry
pulling back the wind they fly not far apart....
Jack and Jill they have no other toys
some where In your lost childhood...
When hills had eyes I came back to say
When toys..........
T.G.
poem by Is It Poetry
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fences
Fences are built from bricks and mortar,
Then wood is added to the list of torture.
Fenced in houses are loving and breezed,
By the winds, also the very gales that are pleased.
poem by Naveed Akram
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There are plenty of ruined buildings in the world but no ruined stones.
quote by Hugh MacDiarmid
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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MY Toys
I have instructed someone else,
To play with MY toys!
'Instructed?
Why don't you just give them your toys? '
I want it understood that they are mine...
When and IF I decide I want them back.
'Why 'those' toys? '
Gee...
I hadn't thought of it.
I guess the real reason is...
Those were the only toys they selected.
AND...
I now find that myself to be strange.
Because...
IF they had 'not' selected 'those' toys...
I would have given them away,
Anyway.
I hate to be intruded upon!
Especially by those making demands,
With high expectations.
Oh well...
My mind goes 'cuckoo' on me sometimes.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Toys Bring Joy
Toys are to obey and part with,
Their answers solve the goldsmith.
Toys bare all secrets of youth,
Of childhood, of over-stretched tooth.
Toys may not harm the child or infant,
As well, the accidents emerge like an elephant.
May the toy bring joy, wonderful jokes,
Like anything that breaks the blokes.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Where once a hillock was
Where once a hillock was
I see bulldozers, trucks
and cranes
busy digging
deeper into the earth.
Houses and tower blocks
rise where once
plants had grown green
against that kopje
and from infinity,
were undisturbed
until man’s hand
stretched out.
No one will know
how great it looked before
buildings broke the serenity
and the rich started to dwell
in houses above the cliffs
and nothing will ever mend
the damage done.
Nature is dying,
pines away and disappears
while people
are erecting buildings almost everywhere.
poem by Gert Strydom
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On the other hand....
Best friends from when we were young
still here with us today
can be possibly the best reminder of who we were
irregardless of if we’ve put that person away.
For that person and how they were,
what they thought,
said,
did,
or believed
is different from the person we are now
and different from how we are trying to be.
Childhood friends are like childhood toys,
some must be put away once they’ve outlived their use,
but the disposing
or distancing oneself
from such reminders of a past
can be one of the hardest things to do.
Because that grip upon who, how, what
or when you may have been,
is consequently made stronger
by who you keep labeled as “friend”.
Someone who was there with you
in times of hazy yesteryears
may not respect all which has fallen apart
which has been built back up
to get you to right now
and right here.
poem by Chris Weersing
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The Wisdom of Toys
That worn, stuffed bear you hide -
have not quite thrown away
is more than your childhood
seen through rose-tinted time -
toys that speak,
toys that are talked to,
toys that simply listen
are the mediators between
the wisdom of the animal world
which shares with us, a heart
animals who live a blessed life
only in the present now,
and the wisdom that children bring
from the heaven that lies all about us
in our infancy, as the poet said;
toys are reflectors of our self
that remembered what's our self;
that remember what's our self.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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From everything that man erects and builds in his urge for living nothing is in my eyes better and more valuable than bridges. They are more important than houses, more sacred than shrines. Belonging to everyone and being equal to everyone, useful, always built with a sense, on the spot where most human needs are crossing, they are more durable than other buildings and they do not serve for anything secret or bad.
quote by Ivo Andric
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Toys
We are the night,
Well tempt you and turn you on.
Live in our hearts
And play with your man.
Oh these are your toys
Hold them and theyll obey,
From blood into life
Thy still become your toys.
This is your game
In heaven in your bedroom,
Your chivalrous knight
Will save you tonight.
Theyll look for reasons again and again
Let them go,let them go let them go.
Youll have your reason again and again
For letting them go, for letting them go.
Oh stand by the wall,
Wach as they shoot you down,
From blood to stone
They still become your toys.
Your toys, your toys.
song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Man With All The Toys
Hes the man with all the toys
Someone found a lighted house late one night
And he saw through the window a sight
A big man in a chair
And little tiny men everywhere
Hes the man with all the toys
Well how thrilled that someone must have been
And he must have been tempted to go in
He stayed out in the cold
And when he left them he told
About the man with all the toys
Hes the man with all the toys
The man with all the toys
Hes the man with all the toys
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Straight Pathway
My opening of the doors created folly,
Abhor those who sit and wait, with ice.
The life of plenty condemns nobody,
Letting fences be built for the gardens.
Return to the grass, if a straight course
Means a pathway to the enemy.
Buildings of bricks and mortar
Shall make offerings to Nature.
My opening of the door to Nature
Is like that of the entrance to Time.
poem by Naveed Akram
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It was very clear that this was a very, very old site. There were remains of sod walls. Fishermen assumed it was an old Indian site. Bu Indians didn't use that kind of buildings and houses.
quote by Helge Ingstad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Garden Wall
Bricks of the wall,
so much older than the house -
taken I think from a farm pulled down
when the street was built -
narrow bricks of another century.
Modestly, though laid with panels and parapets,
a wall behind the flowers -
roses and hollyhocks, the silver
pods of lupine, sweet-tasting
phlox, gray
lavender -
unnoticed -
but I discovered
the colors in the wall that woke
when spray from the hose
played on its pocks and warts -
a hazy red, a
grain gold, a mauve
of small shadows, sprung
from the quiet dry brown -
archetype
of the world always a step
beyond the world, that can't
be looked for, only
as the eye wanders,
found.
poem by Denise Levertov
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the old houses of Vigan
the old houses
claim their right
not not be changed
they shiver when
you touch
any of their
walls
they fear that you
may soon change
your mind
and proclaim
that beauty lives
in new
creations
you ask yourself
if truth is truer
when tested by the
fading of time
or its ultimate
disappearance upon
the cajolery of
recent promises
the truth frowns upon
you
you are late
and you walk upon the
shallowness of
those reddish bricks
the old houses are howling
with the winds of
change
they have outlived fire
and played on those
earthquakes and
floods
you walk away
and you simply let them be
beautiful in their own ways
magnificent
in those dresses of
cracking paints
they still look regal
on those faces
framed by stones
surely, they have the right
still to be here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Master of the Mysterious House!
Wind realizes that she must avoid the way
As the poor fellow builds a House!
Rain promised not to be there
Until he finishes the roof.
Sun gets up early to make his foundation strong.
And the Moon protects his innocent bricks
From the thieves in the night.
This Homeless built myriad of Houses
Along the unending cycle of Births & Deaths?
All were Museums now and the skeletons of Scarecrows
Remained there!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Alive Toys
Unfortunately some did not have any toy
In the childhood...
Exchange, they now play with alive toys
As by wooden...
Passions grow together the authorities
By iron wings...
Unfortunately they did not have any toy
In the childhood...
poem by Tsira Gogeshvili
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Return to Ireland's Eye
Last night I had a dream of Ireland's Eye
wind-ruffled island of my childhood hour
- waves, restless seaweed, cliffs and gull-filled sky
the ruined church, the ever-watchful tower.
After a day exploring crags and beach
we'd board the motorboat to take us home
leaving the islet to unpeopled peace
its history dozing in the deepening gloom.
I dreamt that we were going there once more
with sandwiches and drinks just as before
- found roads there, streetlights, houses and a shop
with canned food, newspapers and fizzy pop.
Dream-isle of childhood - say adieu to me
some tiger crouches where you used to be.
I'm never going back to Ireland's Eye
the dream is fading - best to let it die.
poem by Hugh Mitchell
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What Happened To His Village
He was born just a short distance from Adelaide
And he could see the sea from his back door
And in his young days there were not many houses
But the years have brought great change to Semaphore.
His sea side Village has grown to a coastal suburb
And his old Homeplace has undergone great change
Where once were trees and paddocks now there's houses
A stranger to your old Homeplace seems strange.
What happened to the Village of his childhood
The paddock where he played in years ago
He only can refer now to his memories
Of peaceful place the Homeplace he once did know.
The cottage of his childhood gone forever
A doctor's surgery where once it stood
And not one know him he is now a stranger
In Semaphore the place of his boyhood.
But of the past he still has good old memories
Of his old Village how it used to be
And from the cottage by the wide brown paddock
Six hundred yards off he could see the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I have a book of buildings from 25,000 BC. These are huts built out of mammoth bones. These buildings were beautifully made, from the bones of the body into shelter.
quote by Ben Nicholson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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