The world is like a little marsh filled with mint and white hawthorn.
quote by Mary MacLane
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Down At The Marsh
Down at the marsh
weavers rock up and down,
down at the marsh
your lips are soft against mine
when a big dog barks far away
and your right knee has lost some skin
down at the marsh.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Across The Door
THE fiddles were playing and playing,
The couples were out on the floor;
From converse and dancing he drew me,
And across the door.
Ah! strange were the dim, wide meadows,
And strange was the cloud-strewn sky,
And strange in the meadows the corncrakes,
And they making cry!
The hawthorn bloom was by us,
Around us the breath of the south
White hawthorn, strange in the night-time
His kiss on my mouth!
poem by Padraic Colum
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The Falconer Of God
I flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying.
I said, “Wait on, wait on, while I ride below!
I shall start a heron soon
In the marsh beneath the moon—
A strange white heron rising with silver on its wings,
Rising and crying
Wordless, wondrous things;
The secret of the stars, of the world’s heart-strings
The answer to their woe.
Then stoop thou upon him, and grip and hold him so!”
My wild soul waited on as falcons hover.
I beat the reedy fens as I trampled put.
I heard the mournful loon
In the marsh beneath the moon.
And then, with feathery thunder, the bird of my desire
Broke from the cover
Flashing silver fire.
High up among the stars I saw his pinions spire.
The pale clouds gazed aghast
As my falcon stooped upon him, and gript and held him fast.
My soul dropped through the air—with heavenly plunder?—
Gripping the dazzling bird my dreaming knew?
Nay! but a piteous freight,
A dark and heavy weight
Despoiled of silver plumage, its voice forever stilled—
All of the wonder
Gone that ever filled
Its guise with glory. O bird that I have killed,
How brilliantly you flew
Across my rapturous vision when first I dreamed of you!
Yet I fling my soul on high with new endeavor,
And I ride the world below with a joyful mind.
I shall start a heron soon
In the marsh beneath the moon—
A wondrous silver heron its inner darkness fledges!
I beat forever
The fens and the sedges.
The pledge is still the same—for all disastrous pledges,
All hopes resigned!
My soul still flies above me for the quarry it shall find!
poem by Stephen Vincent Benet
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When I was a child
When I was a child
I saw fireflies,
fly passing secretly at night.
The world was full of wonderful things
and there were trees
with bird nests and eggs
of white and pink and blue
and with spots on them.
I could shoot a true shot with my kettie
and the blue fishing rod
took carp, blue kurper, yellowfish
and catfish from streams.
Doves or fish fillets
from glowing wood embers,
tasted delicious
and the world was a great place.
At the marsh plovers jumped up and down
and like wounded birds, as if with a broken wing
tried to entice you away from their nests
Aloe and protea bushes were all over the kopjes
and prickly pear, wild peach, mispil and stamvrugte
were everywhere on the ridges.
The world of a child faded away with time.
But when I went back as a adult;
a highway runs right through the hillocks
and there are houses where there was marsh
and the streams are full of rubbish and litter
and I see how progress has destroyed nature.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Three Roads
There is a town in Ireland,
A little town I know;
Its girls have tender Irish eyes
Beneath their brows of snow;
And in the field around it
The Fairy Hawthorns grow.
O, the Hawthorn is a Queen
And the daughter of a King,
And amidst her branches green
The sweet brown thrushes sing.
And from that little city
Three roads forever run
And on those roads the people,
The father and the son,
The mother and the daughter,
Walk till the day is done.
O, the Hawthorn is a Queen
And the daughter of a King,
And amidst her branches green
The thrushes sadly sing.
One road runs to the seaport
Where stately vessels lie -
American, Australian -
The weeping exiles cry,
Farewell to Grave and Hearthstone!
Dear Ireland - good-bye!
O, the Hawthorn is a Queen
And the daughter of a King,
And amidst her branches green
'Farewell!' the thrushes sing.
One road it is a red, red road -
That road to England goes;
The battle-drums are sounding,
The trump of battle blows;
And Ireland's sons go forth to fight
Against Red England's foes.
O, the Hawthorn is a Queen
And the daughter of a King,
And within her heart of green
The mournful thrushes sing.
One road it is a quiet road;
They travel it full slow,
Their eyes are filled with sorrow,
The silent folk who go
To where the Stones of Silence
Are shining, row on row.
O, the Hawthorn is a Queen
And a Lady fair and grand,
And the thrushes sing the keen
Of the Dead - in Ireland.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Snow White: Sonnet 3
Snow White and the dwarfs
Did a line of Sugar Boogers
While sitting in the forest
Which was full of Candy Sugars
Snow White took an apple
Which was filled with Gin
She drank it down with Snow filled Snapple
And fell on a big, fat pin
This is why Snow White lies
Under the Big C
From now on in the sky she flies
Over the Mojo key
Snow White died in vain
Because she did a lot of Cocaine
(4/4/07)
poem by Stacey Gibbs
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Remembrance
As a child I saw the sun
hanging over the marsh,
when it caught the first red rays.
In that marsh land
long-tailed widow-birds
glided deeper into the reeds.
Plover’s pretending
to have broken wings,
tried to entice me away
from their nests.
In life’s marsh
there were enemy soldiers
that was stone-dead,
while I had hidden deeper
into the reeds.
Groups of enemy patrols
cut past following the river,
to find my comrades and I.
Every time that the sun
hanged new over the reeds,
the enemy became less
and the chance to catch us diminished
and mosquitoes swarmed around me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Unprecedented Weather
Weather Gods did relent
After bright morning
Hell bent
Succour to those
Who created space
For the show
To mint the mint
And no more
Kids with naked heads
And office goers on foot tread
Worst in store
For fairer sex
Braving the tempest
And beast in man.
poem by Sanjay Mehta
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Marshes
The bog and marsh condemn you,
Eternal is this gain of your few
Who wear a costume of colours,
Inward is the feeling of counsellors.
They advise and lecture on weather
That superbly displays youth and feather.
We are experts too bold of the marsh,
In this is knowledge to drain - so harsh!
poem by Naveed Akram
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Alarming Cake
My alarm hastens with a cake,
Knuckled by tables, the mint is fine,
Mint echoes, differing with the dessert.
Vegetables are sceptical, not consenting,
They are agitators, intolerant themselves;
Engraved on the plate, a turnip is fun and rejoicing.
The level of food spluttering
Angers my laughing face,
A propellant is detected by the eye.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A World Yet Saved
When | you look at me...
...here's what I see:
a world without hate,
a world without fear,
a world without hunger and sickness and sin.
a world full of love,
a world full of cheer,
a world full of plenty and healing and joy.
When | God looks at us...
...here's what He sees:
a world stained with bad,
a world stained with wrong,
a world stained with blood debt of many a man.
a world filled with filth,
a world filled with soot,
yet a world saved by naught but the blood of Jesus.
A Dirty Mind
it is just a lamp
you can turn it off
anytime
be agile
know what you want
and what you don't
know when to stop
when to switch it on
know how to unplug
and plug it
it is all in the mind
do not force it
come to me
let us be there
hold my hand
gently like a marsh floating in the water
let us see the world
without our minds on
let the worlds see us
as part of its garden
flowers with white petals
bees without stings
molting snakes
helpless to the kiss of the worms
what do you really want from me?
what?
i am naked
do not dress me up
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One hour of life, crowded to the full with glorious action, and filled with noble risks, is worth whole years of those mean observances of paltry decorum, in which men steal through existence, like sluggish waters through a marsh, without either honor or observation.
quote by Walter Scott
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One hour of life, crowded to the full with glorious action, and filled with noble risks, is worth whole years of those mean observances of paltry decorum, in which men steal through existence, like sluggish waters through a marsh, without either honour or observation.
quote by Walter Scott
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The World Is In Pain
This world was once as bright as gold
With happy people young and old
But then as the people tell
To the evil goodness began to sell
The world wasn’t as bad as it is
With people’s tears coming out as rain
It wasn’t filled with darkness
It wasn’t like today - The World Is In Pain
And as the darkness began to prevail
So says the story tellers tale
From bad to worse, and worse to worst
It felt as if the whole world would burst
The world wasn’t filled with all sorts of crimes
With all the people going insane
The world wasn’t filled with killers and bandits
It wasn’t like today - The World Is In Pain
Now evil is ruling and angels are dieing
No truth is there and the people are lying
And as the truth is overpowered by lie
Over all places the dark clouds fly
The world wasn’t filled with lies
With search of truth ending in vain
The world wasn’t filled with darkness
It wasn’t like today - The World Is In Pain
poem by Vidushi Khera
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The Ferry
DRAW close the curtains, and shut out
The spring's green glow and glitter;
The resurrection-life of spring
To me brings no fresh blossoming;
I'm wearied of the flowers about--
The London sparrows' twitter.
If I could dream--if I could see
Once more the slow smooth river,
The narrow path she used to tread,
The sunlight on her little head,
The white fire of the hawthorn tree--
But I shall see them never.
Only the boat in dreams I steer
Among the tufted rushes,
I see her white gown through the grass,
That thrills with love to feel her pass;
Only in dreams again I hear
Those unforgotten thrushes.
Sometimes in dreams I see her stand,
Her hand held out, and making
The sweet unreal so vivid seem,
I only know it is a dream
When I reach out to take her hand,
And find no hand for taking.
So once she stood; and I--too weak
To dare to say, 'I love her'--
I dropped her hand, and took the oar
And rowed her to the farther shore;
I had my chance, and did not speak,
And chances now are over.
How dark the room has grown!--yet no,
The sky is blue above me;
This is the boat--the hawthorn tree
Is showering blossoms down on me;
And she is here as long ago,
And she has learned to love me!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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After
Oh, the littles that remain!
Scent of mint out in the lane;
Flare of window; sound of bees; —
These, but these.
Three times sitting down to bread;
One time climbing up to bed;
Table-setting o’er and o’er;
Drying herbs for winter’s store;
This thing; that thing;—nothing more.
But just now out in the lane,
Oh, the scent of mint was plain!
poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese
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White Mint Flavour
Smell of spring is coming
warm green fields and dark earth
Lazy days are candies in our pockets
I taste your white mint flavour
going through my breath
poem by Ilaria Boffa
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A man in all the world's new fashion planted, that hath a mint of phrases in his brain.
quote by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Distant View Of England From The Sea
Yes! from mine eyes the tears unbidden start,
As thee, my country, and the long-lost sight
Of thy own cliffs, that lift their summits white
Above the wave, once more my beating heart
With eager hope and filial transport hails!
Scenes of my youth, reviving gales ye bring,
As when erewhile the tuneful morn of spring
Joyous awoke amidst your hawthorn vales,
And filled with fragrance every village lane:
Fled are those hours, and all the joys they gave!
Yet still I gaze, and count each rising wave
That bears me nearer to my home again;
If haply, 'mid those woods and vales so fair,
Stranger to Peace, I yet may meet her there.
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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