Stanzas to Cynthio
As o'er the sands the youthful Cynthio strayed,
Moist from the wave he saw a pebble shine,
While, with its borrowed lustre charmed, he said
"Henceforth this sparkling treasure shall be mine."
But when his hand had dried the glistening prize,
Wond'ring he found the pebble beamed no more!
Then, having viewed it with disdainful eyes,
He, frowning, whirled it to its native shore.
Suppress thy fruitless rage! and on thy heart
Let this, sweet boy, a moral truth impress,
To blunt the power of Disappointment's dart,
And make the dangerous sway of Fancy less.
As o'er the pebble's form the waves had shed
In silver dews a soft attractive power,
So Fancy's hand delights in youth to spread
Delusive colours on the future hour.
Moist from her pencil tempting scenes arise;
On common life, romance's tints she lays;
Till cold Reality her hand applies,
And at the touch each flattered form decays.
Ingenuous boy, warned by experience, now
The pebble's charms shall tempt thine eyes no more;
Would that my verse, my Cynthio, could bestow
A shield to guard thee against Fancy's power!
poem by Amelia Opie
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Related quotes
Pebble Justice
he picks up a pebble
and throws it into the sea
from a cliff
he asks: this is not a place
for pebbles
so this is not a pebble
i will return it to the sea
and be with the sands
and shells and
waves and winds
and seaweeds
and crabs
does he not wonder at all
if he has the power to decide where a pebble must be?
sometimes people assume so much
behaving like a god
must he think a little deeper and realize
that what is proper for the people is not proper for a pebble
that pebbles too have minds of their own
and who know if the same pebble to thinks
that the cliff is not the place of man
assuming to be its own god?
must he be considerate enough that pebbles too have
their own invisible feet
and well developed brains
and that when the man throws it into the sea
on the ground only of
impropriety
that the pebble may have objected it vehemently and could have
used its own hidden powers
but only that it did not show it
by reason of pity that this man
is so dumb
and so limited
in the flesh of its
own selfish
understanding?
does he not know that a pebble too demands respect
have privacy
and soon shall take its
inevitable revenge?
'bury mankind! they have thrown us away
without our consent' that is their clamor now
in their own
Pebble Court using their Pebble law
to be judged later
by their Pebble Magistrates.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Finding A New Pebble
Meeting you is like
Finding a new pebble
Out at sea. I don’t
see
Any similarity
with
The rest
i say
you're unique
And
no one
Believes this pebble
in my hand is
Something significant
In fact
Everyone does
Not really mind
At all
Saying it is
Nothing but a
A very ordinary
pebble
But in my heart
It isn’t
It is something
That
Amazes me
with its texture
of solidity
and
metallic color
it has
Changed the way
i look
At all the pebbles
on the
shore
you lied.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Pebble In My Shoe
a pebble in my shoe
i want it removed
a pebble in my shoe
a disturbance
in my mind
a pebble in my shoe
an enemy
in my feet
yet wait
let me recall
a grain of sand
inside the clam
a pearl
in my hand
once a pebble
in my shoe
let me walk again
let me remember
the pearl
in the clam
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ambition
what i hold inside my pocket is just a pebble.
it is all that i have now.
i take it again put it on the table and look at its face closely
you know that it has no eyes
or hands or feet, i let it stay there as though there is only one pebble
in this universe of sands, i listen.
i let time stop for a while.
i look at the sky tonight and there are so many stars.
they are so distant you know that and you feel that
i take the pebble back in my pocket,
there will be no exchange, it is enough for my anchor
it is now my own rock.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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About You Then
YOU WERE a pebble
on the road
it was muddy
and it rained, and
i picked you from
that unspeakable
mess, and
i kept you warm in
my hand
even talked to you
and i polished you
and people
adored you until
you transformed into
a star
and you acquired
light
and speed and you
found your place in the
skies
at night you shine
like any other
star
you are so distant
and
untouchable
my palms miss you
my eyes can
only have the look
my heart
can only have
that lightness
when you were once
a pebble
inside my
hold.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Epigram III.
A Heated Fancy, or Imagination,
May be mistaken for an Inspiration -
True; but is this Conclusion fair to make,
That Inspiration must be all mistake?
A pebble Stone is not a Diamond - true;
But must a Di'mond be a Pebble too?
poem by John Byrom
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Pebbles
pillow of comfort and ease
like pebbles over the waving stream
soothing, authentic and pebbling
my eyes see each pebble
as it glitters beyond the still water(s)
and smiles back at me in awe
each pebble utters a thousand words
with one but different meanings
for one word
a diverse attitude of meaning,
i rise to my body and pebbled
by the waves on the banks of the river
footing towards, to pick a pebble
as i close(d) my eyes to rest
on my pillow...
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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A homeless whisper
Teeth stammering an outstreched hand
It’s the hand of the night the palm so lineless blue
A discourse patterned upon the hooks
Form sky to sky stretching
Remember the time when the night simply pushed me away
Fell down in a homeless whisper amberless flame burning
Verse dived I plunged no pebble no water
Could contain the drop
Endlessly down depths vacuum called
‘The stars are down here’
They shine equally proud of their sky mirrored friends
Shattered in a moon reflection
Knew I went too far
Merely a miracle taken performed
That I ever managed to come back
But here I am to sing
The palm of the hand and the lineless night
The fears burned down within the urns of the past
The plunge the pebble and the water
Sing them all and much much more
To be a dreamed of heaven to a cloud
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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O' Dear Pebble
the elephants cannot walk over you
the birds and the worth of words over you
but in case they do, careful they ought to be
for yours is the flower that blossom
that which no man can see that either
can them that otherwise not known to you
for you is the strength of mine hands
and so it goes the pebble on my palm
that my eyes caught by the pebbles
and caught by the words
you uttered o' dear pebble
the words you made me walk in thought
the answers some i did not
have until on my hand i picked you
the dances on my palm caught me
dancing to the music
i barely could hear
not that i could not
but the rhythm i tell you
was the soul to my heart in talk
and so were that man that walked their path
that man that looks their path
to see where next to foot step
and endorse my foot print
on the yards of the pebbles
as i lifted my head too
in talk to mine with you
but was in thought of memory
since i had long taken you back home
to see you next in the next day
of existence
as i hope to not to die tonight
rather see you before if i do
for i so in dire need to see you
o' dear pebble of my hand
opn12092012/2154
poem: o' dear pebble
poet: onalethuso petruss ntema
book title: the pebbles
© september 2012
book no.10 of 2012
ntema's unique poetry (nup)
email: opncompanies.bw2gmail.com
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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Beach Pebble
Everyone has
at one time or other,
picked up a pebble on the beach,
turned it over in their hands,
sensed something of its uniqueness,
how millions of years have gone to the splitting
and the smoothing of the rock,
to the perfect shaping of the pebble.
Few of us stop and think for longer.
It is a momentary glimpse into an eternal process,
but we dropp the pebble and carry on walking along the beach.
poem by Howlin' Dervish
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Fancy Colours
Going where the orange sun has never died
And your swirling marble eyes shine
Laughing
Burning blue the light
Bittersweet the drops of life
Memories only fading
Fancy colours
Fancy colours
All we ever did see
When were down at the sea
We see things so very clear at the sea
Fancy colours
Fancy colours
All we ever can do
The morning covered with dew
We do things so very fine in the dew
Fancy colours
Fancy colours
All we ever do hear
But whether were here or there
We hear things so very fine when were there
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pebble
Time ia pebble
Life is water
Comeup with pebble
To make life pure
And truthful.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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A Pebble
I toss a pebble in the brook.
I close my eyes then take a look.
I see the ripples in circular form
and watch it increase in size.
When the water becomes still again
I toss another stone.
Being able to do this continuous thing
while I’m all alone
calms my mind and brings me peace.
And I forget for these minutes of time
everything that troubles me.
And I understand that I’m
just like the pebble I throw.
I create an effect that I know
makes ripples on the folks I meet
wherever it is I go.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Know, Celia, Since Thou Art So Proud
Know, Celia, since thou art so proud,
'Twas I that gave thee thy renown.
Thou hadst in the forgotten crowd
Of common beauties lived unknown
Had not my verse extolled thy name,
And with it imped the wings of Fame.
That killing power is none of thine;
I gave it to thy voice and eyes.
Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine;
Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies:
Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere
Lightning on him that fixed thee there.
Tempt me with such affrights no more,
Lest what I made I uncreate.
Let fools thy mystic form adore,
I know thee in thy mortal state.
Wise poets, that wrapped truth in tales,
Knew her themselves through all her veils.
poem by Thomas Carew
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To The Same (Amanda) With A Copy Of The 'Seasons
Accept, loved Nymph, this tribute due
To tender friendship, love, and you:
But with it take what breathed the whole.
O take to thine the poet's soul.
If Fancy here her power displays,
And if a heart exalts these lays-
You, fairest, in that fancy shine,
And all that heart is fondly thine.
poem by James Thomson
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The POWERFULL
I am the power
Below my bower
Are decided
The bullet’s shower
I am the power
If you are rebel
But are capable
I would help you
Like the crow’s pebble
I am the power
If you are weak
My help is bleak
Let you not shriek
Due to oppression
I am the power
All kinds of “cracies”
Are my policies
Brutal use of power
Are my legacies
I am the power
All organizations
Are in collaboration
Always abet me
In all possible fashion
I am the power
Poor are exploited
Rich are invited
For attaining coffers
Looted from the blighted
I am the power
My ostensible fights
For the all human right
Are my devices
That help me flight
I am the power
poem by Akram Saqib
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In The Slight Ripple, The Mind Perceives The Heart
In the slight ripple, the fishes dart
Like fingers, centrifugal, like wishes
Wanton. And pleasures rise
as the eyes fall
Through the lucid water. The small pebble,
The clear clay bottom, the white shell
Are apparent, though superficial.
Who would ask more of the August afternoon?
Who would dig mines and follow shadows?
"I would," answers bored Heart, "Lounger, rise"
(Underlip trembling, face white with stony anger),
"The old error, the thought of sitting still,
"The senses drinking, by the summer river,
"On the tended lawn, below the traffic,
"As if time would pause,
and afternoon stay.
"No, night comes soon,
"With its cold mountains, with desolation,
unless Love build its city."
poem by Delmore Schwartz
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Fancy Colors
Robert Lamm, 1970)
Going where the orange sun has never died
And your swirling marble eyes shine
Laughing
Burning through the light
Bittersweet the drops of life
Memories only fading
Fancy Colours, fancy Colours
All we ever did see
When we're down at the sea
We see things so very bright at the sea
Fancy Colours, fancy Colours
All we ever can do
The morning covered with dew
We do things so very fine at the dew
Fancy Colours, fancy Colours
All we ever do hear
The world wether we're hear or there
We hear things so very fine when we're there
Andr Velloso - Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
[email protected]
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Djolan
Soft was the night, the eve how airy,
When through the big, fat dictionary
I wandered on in careless ease,
And read the a's, b's, c's and d's!
But stop! What is this form I see,
Beginning with a hump-backed d?
I pause! I gasp! I falter there!
It is the djolan, I declare!
It is the djolan, wond'rous word!
The Buceros plicatus bird!
Ne'er, ne'er before had I the bliss
To meet a djolly word like this!
'Twas djust before my dinner hour --
Well, let the djuicy djoint go sour!
Djoyful I read. I djust must see
What this strange djolan word may be!
Ah! ha! It is a noun! A noun!
(A ''name word" as we say in town)
"E. Ind. The native name of the
Year bird." These are the words I see.
"A hornbill with a white tail and --"
The big book trembles in my hand --
"-- plicated membrane at the base --"
Ah, well-a-day! If that's the case!
"-- base of the beak, inhabiting --"
Oh! dictionary, wond'rous thing!
"-- the Sunda Islands ----" Where would we
Without our dictionary be?
"-- Malacca, e-t-c." That's all!
I let the dictionary fall.
I am replete. All is explained.
Knowledge (it's power) is what I've gained!
Soft was the night, the eve how airy,
I read no more the dictionary,
But Oh! and Oh! my heart was stirred
To learn the djolan was a bird!
Submitted by John Martin
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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Somebody told me I should put a pebble in my mouth to cure my stuttering. Well, I tried it, and during a scene I swallowed the pebble. That was the end of that.
quote by Jean Rostand
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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