Everything vanishes around me, and works are born as if out of the void. Ripe, graphic fruits fall off. My hand has become the obedient instrument of a remote will.
Related quotes
On Promising Fruitfulness of a Tree
A comely sight indeed it is to see
A world of blossoms on an apple-tree:
Yet far more comely would this tree appear,
If all its dainty blooms young apples were.
But how much more might one upon it see,
If all would hang there till they ripe should be.
But most of all in beauty 'twould abound,
If then none worm-eaten should there be found.
But we, alas! do commonly behold
Blooms fall apace, if mornings be but cold.
They too, which hang till they young apples are,
By blasting winds and vermin take despair,
Store that do hang, while almost ripe, we see
By blust'ring winds are shaken from the tree,
So that of many, only some there be,
That grow till they come to maturity.
Comparison.
This tree a perfect emblem is of those
Which God doth plant, which in his garden grows,
Its blasted blooms are motions unto good,
Which chill affections do nip in the bud.
Those little apples which yet blasted are,
Show some good purposes, no good fruits bear.
Those spoiled by vermin are to let us see,
How good attempts by bad thoughts ruin'd be.
Those which the wind blows down, while they are green,
Show good works have by trials spoiled been.
Those that abide, while ripe upon the tree,
Show, in a good man, some ripe fruit will be.
Behold then how abortive some fruits are,
Which at the first most promising appear.
The frost, the wind, the worm, with time doth show,
There flows, from much appearance, works but few.
poem by John Bunyan
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Following No Rules
...is like going towards a house
on a mountaintop
the trees there have
ripe fruits for the picking
lots of jack
fruits spreading a map
of smell
and you focus your gaze
and you do not know
which way
you follow a scent
a view
and you bow down
to a thick grass
finding your way in there
you are not lost
you are tired
the house is still there
the fruits are about to fall
no one has gone there yet
in your wild
imagination
a native tells you frankly
sir, it is only the top of the mountain
nothing more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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God cares for all Creatures
The guava sapling planted has grown big;
The tree is laden with ripe fruits many;
How many can I pluck or eat each day?
Lie fruits unseen at heights, I cannot reach.
I see the parrots enjoy tasty fruits;
I see the squirrels gnaw the fine ripe ones;
I see bats with voracious appetites;
And many more fall down by force of winds.
God fills the tree with fruits for each season;
Man cannot eat all fruits the tree can bear;
God feeds each bird of the air with care;
He made them all and that’s the chief reason.
When God can feed His other creatures well,
So many human beings starve to death;
Oh, what a man-made tragedy, we see,
As tons of food goes rotten every day!
God loves all human beings even more
Than all His other creatures whom He made;
Both food and drink turn scarce by acts of men;
Why blame God for our misdemeanor, then?
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-3-2008
poem by John Celes
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For We Are The Trees Bearing So Much Fruits
For we are trees
That bear so many fruits
We are lucky
Our seeds fall of fertile grounds
Our branches grafted
On healthy trunks
Our fruits are ripe
Everyone gathers
We have no right to ask them
Who they are
Their names do not matter
Not even their character
We cannot refuse giving
Them all
Lest we perish
And die....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fruits Of The Tree
What fruits we have!
Glittering with evil,
To shed innocent blood,
Shining with greed,
And we end in comfort that lasts only a moment
What fruits we bare!
Lost in ambition and passion
That we preach prosperity and success
As if they last an eternity
Swelling with pride that lasts a stint
Fruits of the tree
That the master has planted.
They can choose to ripen, or to stay raw!
They can choose to rot, or to stay ripe!
But, every fruit stands the test of time.
In the end, Ripe with truth and love,
Victory is imminent.
Rotten with deception and hatred,
Destruction waits:
The fruits from the tree of life
poem by Timothy muggaga
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The Passion Fruits
there were too many passion
fruits in the garden
of my Papa
it is a vine that climbs
atop trees
covering them
they all fall this summer
these ripe passion fruits that most of our neighbors
know nothing about
how they taste what is their use
&
as a consequence of that ignorance
no one takes a passion fruit
for a cold refreshing juice this summer
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Void
By Samuel Sweetnam
Cold is the Void
That is what we are not
That is where we are to go
That is what we are to become
Dark is the void
That steals the night
That fills the heart
Of the greedy man
Black is the void
That hides the lost
That feeds the beast
That hunts the good
The void is cold
The void is dark
The void is black
The void is torture
If the void is all
We are to become
Then what is left
Is there no hope?
For one small child
Born one dark night
Among the void
Consuming the night
He brought the life
He brought the hope
Some two thousand years ago
He brought us light
So remember this
My dear friend
Of the babe born
On Christmas morn
He brought the Warm
He brought the light
He brought the Love
Among the night.
poem by Samuel Sweetnam
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Ban The Void
Ban the void.
Tch.
Ban the void.
Tch, tch.
Ban the void.
Tch.
Ban the void.
Tch, tch.
Grandma stopped baking cakes.
Tch.
Ban the void.
Tch, tch.
Brought me my first heartbreak.
Tch.
Ban the void.
I told her I couldn't take it.
She 'had' to bake another cake for me!
Tch.
Ban the void.
She said she was going on strike!
Tch.
Ban the void.
And even though I didn't like it!
Tch.
Ban the void.
She's not gonna cook in the kitchen,
She's itching to do something else to please!
Tch
Ban the void.
Tch.
Ban the void.
She brought herself a brand new car.
Tch.
Ban the void.
Tch, tch.
And drove to wherever she wanted.
Tch.
Ban the void.
She said she had her own special needs.
And will come and go whenever that need pleases!
Tch.
Ban the void.
I got so annoyed...
And I tried to stop that void deep down in me!
Oh...
Ban the void!
I couldn't go to sleep!
I dreamt of grandma's baking,
And it teased me!
I even cried my eyes.
But grandma's sweet potato pie kept creepin'.
Oh...
Ban the void!
Ban the void!
Oh...
Ban the void.
Grandma loved her brand new car.
And never got one ticket,
For her speedin'!
Ban the void.
Tch.
Ban the void.
Tch, tch.
Ban the void.
Oh...
Dedicated To:
In loving memory...
Clara Louise Countryman Pertillar
'Miss you, grandma! '
Love,
Larry
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Oranges
Oranges
Oranges
Oranges and graphic design
The Chopping Block spends their time
Growing oranges
Oranges
Then working on graphic design
The Chopping Block works all the time
They work the day shift
They work the night shift
They work the graveyard shift
Oranges
Oranges
Oranges and graphic design
The Chopping Block spends their time
Growing oranges
Picking oranges
Then working on graphic design
The Chopping Block works all the time
All the time
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There is a Garden in Her Face
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heav'nly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may buy
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds filled with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt, with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
poem by Thomas Champion (1619)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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There Is A Garden In Her Face
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heav'nly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may buy,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still,
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.
poem by Thomas Campion
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Personally, I'd never seen a graphic novel. I knew they existed because friends of mine like Jonathan Ross collect them and some very literate and intelligent people really rate the graphic novel as a form.
quote by Stephen Fry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eatting Fruits
Eat fruits
Eat...
Every day...
Each
Break fast...
Lunch...
Dinner...
Eat...
Fruits...
Fruits is
Good for health...
Fruits is
Good for Taste
Fruits is
Good for mind...
Fruits is
Good for god...
So...
Fruits is
Good for hole and
Hoe body...
Any fruits...
Any time...
Eat eat eat...
Avoide all all
Disease...
Thats all...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Become A Poet (For Patti)
some hearts are born hungry,
with a hunger that makes
mountains tremble, and trees fall.
some souls are born thirsty,
with a thirst that makes
rivers run dry, and clouds weep
without aching tears.
some spirits are born reaching,
from beneath the earth
to the realm of the sky,
touching, always daring to touch.
some beings are born to love,
and love so much so hard,
that the void left by the flood
cannot be filled...
and so become a poet!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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By the time the child can draw more that scribble, by the age of four or five years, an already well-formed body of conceptual knowledge formulated in language dominates his memory and controls his graphic work. Drawings are graphic accounts of essentially verbal processes. As an essentially verbal education gains control, the child abandons his graphic efforts and relies almost entirely on words. Language has first spoilt drawing and then swallowed it up completely.
quote by Karl Buhler (1930)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Born To Hand Jive
Before I was born late one night
My papa said evrythings all right
The doctor let my ma lay down
With her stomach bouncin on the rack
cause a bebop stork was about to arrive
Mama gave birth to the hand jive
I could barely walk when I milked a cow
When I was three I pushed a plow
While chopping wood I moved my legs
And started dancing while I gathered eggs
The townfolk laughed
I was only five
Hell out dance em all
Hes a born hand jive
Born to hand jive baby!
Born to hand jive baby!
Now you can hand jive baby
Oh can you hand jive baby
Born to hand jive baby
Born to hand jive baby
Oh yeah! oh yeah! oh yeah!
Born to hand jive oh yeah!
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cherry-Ripe
THERE is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow:
There cherries grow which none may buy
Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy
Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
poem by Thomas Campion
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The virtuous fertilizer
You fertile the soil
And the tree grows well.
Fruits ripe and smell
The wingless unkind human birds in thrill.
They taste the fruits and saliva spill
Afterward throw the seeds ill will.
And the human dignity go through the mill.
* If this rare bird could fly?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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I can think of films that I'm producing right now that are extremely hard-hitting, graphic films, that nobody necessarily wants to see, graphic in terms of violence, of adult content and racial and historical subject matter.
quote by Aaron Eckhart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Faith Of Abundance...
I DO NOT question this universe
about how poverty arises,
I do not have exclamations for
the system,
I LIVE here and I breathe
each molecule of air,
I am sent, and I am
situated, this place, I have
received and I have not worked
for what i am surrounded
THIS OPULENCE, this
body, this mind,
THESE ARE ALL given
I HAVE NO investment,
i am a fact, and there are theorems,
i am here,
I WATCH, I LISTEN A lot
i sleep and wake up and the table of the world is ready
the house opens its windows
and so are the doors
My feet are taking me to the river
my hands bathe me
The trees shade me
and the ripe fruits fall beside me
I have cooked rice within my reach
I have roasted chicken on my hand
ALL GOD GIVEN
I AM THE CHILD OF GOD
and I HAVE not worked at all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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