Divineness
A tiny teacup
Reveals an abstract future
From the clinging leaves.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Related quotes
Teacup Cat
The teacup cat
Why do people call me a teacup cat?
Why do people use me as a toy cat?
Why do people keep me in their hat?
I don’t want to be a tiny cat.
I don’t want to be scared of rat.
I want to be a normal cat.
I just want to be a proud cat.
poem by Davesh Rajeev
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I Want To Live On An Abstract Plain
Ive had it with this town
I never saw those shifting skies
I never saw the ground
Or the sunset rise
I want to live on an abstract plane
Im building a frame
A place to put my ten-yard stare
Thinking of that paint
Painted in plein-air
I want to live on an abstract plane
I need a new adress
I want some new terrain
Is it north or south?
I want to live on an abstract plain
I could sit on the roof
On top of that abstract house
See my abstract view
An abstract mouse
I want to live on an abstract plane
I need a new adress
Tell me Im not insane
Is it up or down?
I want to live on an abstract plane
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Contrary Theses (II)
One chemical afternoon in mid-autumn,
When the grand mechanics of earth and sky were near;
Even the leaves of the locust were yellow then,
He walked with his year-old boy on his shoulder.
The sun shone and the dog barked and the baby slept.
The leaves, even of the locust, the green locust.
He wanted and looked for a final refuge,
From the bombastic intimations of winter
And the martyrs a la mode. He walked toward
An abstract, of which the sun, the dog, the boy
Were contours. Cold was chilling the wide-moving swans.
The leaves were falling like notes from a piano.
The abstract was suddenly there and gone again.
The negroes were playing football in the park.
The abstract that he saw, like the locust-leaves, plainly:
The premiss from which all things were conclusions,
The noble, Alexandrine verve. The flies
And the bees still sought the chrysanthemums’ odor.
poem by Wallace Stevens
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Reflections Of Fire # 2
waiting for the snow
the cleansing frozen stillness
where spirits inhabit fossils
and the earth spins
naked and complete
in each turn.
this old body's worn out!
the turtle leaves its shell,
grows wings, flies into darkness.
lying again at the Mother's breasts,
watching her touch the wind
and create forms!
snow, tiny flakes
falling, defying gravity,
clinging to the windowpane
each a tiny lifetime
melting without a whimper,
melting into the light!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Unconscious
I’m blind, I’m stubborn
I don’t need anybody else
But somehow, I don’t know
I’m unconsciously clinging for warmth
I’m tough, I’m strong
I could run my world alone
But somehow, I don’t know
I’m unconsciously clinging for attention
I want to go, I want to disappear
I don’t want to live in this world again
But somehow, I don’t know
I’m unconsciously clinging for hope
I’m filthy, I’m unworthy
Everybody calls me a sinner
But somehow, I don’t know
I’m unconsciously clinging for love
I’m fool, I’m hopeless one
All doors are closed for me
But somehow, I don’t know
I’m unconsciously clinging for dream
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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A Spider (for children of all ages)
Little creature, creep and crawl,
Clinging to my bedroom wall!
My mother would have been dismayed,
My sister would have been afraid,
But here I lie in my cosy bed
And do not want a spider dead.
You're making progress, slow but sure,
Heading for the bedroom door,
But suddenly I see you fall
Curled up in a tiny, tiny ball!
Trust me, I will let you be,
I know you'll do no harm to me!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Clinging Back
When you see a man come walking down through George Street loose and free,
Suit of saddle tweed and soft shirt, and a belt and cabbagetree,
With the careless swing and carriage, and the confidence you lack—
There is freedom in Australia! he’s a man that’s clinging back.
Clingin’ back,
Holdin’ back,
To the old things and the bold things clinging back.
When you see a woman riding as I saw one ride to-day
Down the street to Milson’s Ferry on a big, upstanding bay,
With her body gently swaying to the horse-shoes’ click-a-clack,
You might lift your hat (with caution)—she’s a girl who’s clinging back.
Clinging back,
Swinging back.
To the old things and the bold things clinging back.
When you see a rich man pulling on the harbour in a boat,
With the motor launches racing till they scarcely seem to float,
And the little skiff is lifting to his muscles tense and slack,
You say “Go it” to a sane man. He’s a man that’s clinging back.
Clinging back,
Swinging back,
To the old things and the bold things clinging back.
When you see two lovers strolling, arm-in-arm—or round the waist,
And they never seem to loiter, and they never seem to haste,
But indifferent to others take the rock or bush-hid track
You be sure about their future, they’re a pair that’s clinging back.
Clinging back,
Holding back,
To the old things and the bold things clinging back.
I, a weary picture writer in a time that’s cruel plain,
Have been clinging all too sadly to what shall not come again,
To what shall not come and should not! for the silver’s mostly black,
And the gold a dull red copper by the springs where I held back.
Clinging back,
Holding back,
To the old things and the cold things clinging back.
But if you should read a writer sending truths home every time,
While his every “point” goes ringing like the grandest prose in rhyme,
Though he writes the people’s grammar, and he spreads the people’s “clack,”
He is stronger than the Public! and he’ll jerk the mad world back.
Yank it back,
Hold it back,
For the love of little children hold it back.
poem by Henry Lawson
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To A Silvereye
I see you almost every day you fly from tree to tree
And I envy you your happiness for you are wholly free
You tiny insect eating bird in olive fawn and gray
And I feel glad so very glad to see you every day.
No boss to order you around to tell you what to do
Wish you were me dear tiny bird and wish that I were you
For you have freedom in your wings the freedom of the sky
And I envy you your happiness dear tiny silvereye.
On garden tree and green hedgerow close to the homes of men
I see you almost every day you and your tiny kin
From garden tree to garden tree and to and fro you wing
And midst the leaves the sunlit leaves you preen and chirp and sing.
I see you almost every day from tree to tree you fly
And I envy you your happiness the freedom of the sky
And I've a wish a secret wish when my turn come to die
That I will come to life again a tiny silvereye.
poem by Francis Duggan
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There Once Was A Tiny Girl
there once
was a tiny girl
who grew up
in this world
there once
was a tiny girl
who cried herself to sleep
every night
there once
was a tiny girl
who wore the same dress
every day
there once
was a tiny girl
who wouldn't go out
and play
there once
was a tiny girl
who would bleed and have bruises
from head to toe
there once
was a tiny girl
who begged
daddy, please no more
there once
was a tiny girl
who the angels
heard her prayer
they came down
and took her
to a better place
where that tiny girl
found love
instead of hate
by: crystal sonier
age: 15
poem by Natalia Anna Joelie
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Valentine's Day
Oh! I wish I were a tiny browny bird from out the south,
Settled among the alder-holts, and twittering by the stream;
I would put my tiny tail down, and put up my tiny mouth,
And sing my tiny life away in one melodious dream.
I would sing about the blossoms, and the sunshine and the sky,
And the tiny wife I mean to have in such a cosy nest;
And if some one came and shot me dead, why then I could but die,
With my tiny life and tiny song just ended at their best.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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I am searching for abstract ways of expressing reality, abstract forms that will enlighten my own mystery.
quote by Eric Cantona
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Follow
Ingulfed in flames,
I'm through with your games.
I'm leaving,
To be free.
I'm leaving,
To get away.
I'm leaving,
To find someone else.
Don't follow,
Unless you're hollow.
I'm through,
With you,
So leave me,
And let me be free.
As the leaves fall,
I walk into a hall.
I'm alone,
Finally.
I find a dark spot,
Where it's not hot.
I sit,
And wait.
Someone comes by,
And says hi.
It's a little girl,
Who is me,
When I was little.
I say hi,
And she says,
'Why are you sitting here? '
Then she leaves.
My present self comes,
And says,
'You've made a mistake.'
And leaves.
My future self never comes.
I get up,
And Find you,
Waiting outside.
I run up to you,
And hug you.
I'm crying,
And you're not lying.
I say sorry,
But you say sorry more.
We get into a car,
And we go home.
That night,
My future self doesn't comes,
The next day,
I told you,
'I don't want to live,
I'm worthless,
I have no future,
And I'm sick.'
You say,
'No you aren't.'
You hug me,
But I leave.
You try to follow me,
But I climb the stairs,
And open the second floor window.
I stand in the window sill.
I look down.
I become scared,
And I get down,
And go into your arms.
I start crying,
As you calm me down.
That night,
My future self comes.
She nods,
And leaves.
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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Abstract Art
I've got nothing.......
I know it's something.......
It can be anything......
It can be everything!
I saw nothing
A stroke means something.
From a pauper to a king
A faucet to a sink? ?
My friend does abstract
When I view
I have to subtract
What I see
And try not to see
What it could be
And cannot be
That is the art
of Abstract.
Wisdom is the abstract of the past, but beauty is the promise of the future.
quote by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How many people make themselves abstract to appear profound. The most useful part of abstract terms are the shadows they create to hide a vacuum.
quote by Joseph Joubert
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tiny Drop
Waste of Tiny, Tiny Water Drops.
Always Trigger my Conscious Thoughts.
A Tiny Water Drop can make a Sapling Laugh
Tiny, Tiny water Drops can get you sweet Pod.
Tiny, Tiny Water Drops can make a Plant to Stand
As a Tree, This can give Shelter to a Lot.
Because of Waste of Tiny, Tiny water Drops
Many lives have become short.
So try to save even tiny water Drop, Which will
Get you Heartily Laugh.
poem by Narendra Kuppan
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Tiny Tots (A Celesian)
Tiny tots,
Who barely walk,
Are off to school
Each day;
Their age is meant
To eat and play,
And sleep whenev’r,
They may.
Tiny tots,
With heavy hearts,
Carry huge books
Their way;
With mothers off
To early work
To help husbands’
Poor pay.
Tiny tots,
Just want more love,
But don’t get it
Some way;
Few get pamper’d
By bad adults,
Who tamper them
Today.
Tiny tots,
Raised in this way
Turn delinquent,
I say;
Their future’s bleak:
Know this adults;
They need more care
All day.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-4-2007
'Celesian' is a new innovative, simple, structured, rhyming poem
With syllables in the order
3,4,4,2a /4,4,4,2a in each stanza
poem by John Celes
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Birds Fly
Birds fly into my windshield
Thoughts fall from my thoughts
This good luck charm hanging off my arm
Was left here by the police
Words fall out of my pockets
And cats dance under my feet
This colorful spell under which I live
Protects me from all I write
And the microscope reveals the scope
Of my very best intentions (best intentions)
Yes, the tiny light shines twice as bright
On the only nice part of me
Birds fly into my windshield
Thoughts fall from my thoughts
This good luck charm hanging off my arm
Was left here by the police
And the microscope reveals the scope
Of my very best intentions (best intentions)
Oh yes the tiny light shines twice as bright
On the only nice part of me
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mouse and the Grouse
The teeny, tiny mouse said to the finely feathered grouse
“I’d like to come and visit you in your lofty, lovely house.”
The finely feathered grouse smiled at the teeny, tiny mouse
And said, “You can’t since I'm saving it for my future spouse.”
The sad teeny, tiny mouse said, as tears started to douse,
“I’m lonely and just wanted to say hello, finely feathered grouse.”
Well, the finely feathered grouse with his lofty, lovely house
Was lonely too since he hadn’t yet found his future spouse.
But how could a mouse so teeny, tiny and a grouse so fine of feather
Ever visit each other and have a talk together?
They had nothing in common and their lives had different starts.
Although one thing was the same; they both had hurting hearts.
No one had ever visited the finely feathered grouse
And he did like friendly words uttered by the teeny, tiny mouse.
As mister mouse gazed aloft, sir grouse returned that smile
And suddenly blurted out, “Come on up and we’ll chat for awhile.”
Overjoyed, the teeny, tiny mouse jumped, but just bumped the tree.
Then tears wet ears to tail as teeny tiny moaned mournfully,
“You can fly free through the air, but alas, I’m earthbound.
There’s no hope since you live in a tree, but my house is on the ground.”
Suddenly, a star from the heavens flashed an idea for these two.
Perhaps they could visit together if both tried something new.
The finely feathered grouse left his lofty, lovely house
And eagerly landed in a bush near the star struck tiny mouse.
In one hop teeny, tiny leapt toward the bush, and I’ve heard tell
That the friendship of grouse and mouse has been doing very well.
(Illustrated book available direct from author)
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Rigpa
rigpa...
universe unfolding,
each breath released....
not clinging,
nor grasping, no tiny deaths!
letting go of...
creating by returning,
life seamless,
not confined to flesh and bone!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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