For The Sake Of Progress
We wander down the paths,
we used so long ago, when we were young,
before the world we now know.
Down the country lanes, shaded and narrow,
by fields of wheat and marrow.
By sunlight, by moonlight, we lazed on our way.
Passed the green lands we did not stray.
Years have descended on us and our pleasures there,
it made a waste land of our garden fair.
Air is more darker.
Factories belch smoke here and there.
No more the soft white clouds, or birds on the wing.
Just black pools of floating fish,
while greasy faces smirk.
The green of fields are replaced,
for the green greed of crispy notes.
No longer postcard pictures,
but sewers up turned towards the sky.
The faces are not happy, their scorn is waste and wild.
Another of natures landmarks, scared black every row.
For the sake of progress,
or at least they tell us so.
2 June 1981
poem by David Harris
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Related quotes
How Green
How green is your valley
How lush is your path to your garden of love
Is it overshadowed by the cross of persecution
How green is your memory
Is it poverty and ruin choked with weeds of despair
Is it blossoms of peace and pleasures
Beyond which there is none to compare
How green is your table
Is it filled with delights of wicked consumption
Is it dangled on meat from the hook in your lair
From that insidious malicious sinister dare
Money
How green
How green
How green
How green is your tomorrow
How green is your eternity
How green
Or is it black and white
poem by Gary Revel
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You Can't Have Everything
The Queensland sun shines early in the morning
And keeps on burning hotter through the day
And though the Parklands watered by the sprinklers
Through the pale green patches of brown through gray.
But I know of a Land of natural greeness
Where Spring doesn't often come till early May
Though birds from early April on nest building
In that green Country half a World away.
I close my eyes I hear the dipper singing
And wild flowers bloom along the mountain stream
And chaffinch pipes his happy notes to April
And grass is growing and fields look lush and green.
Here in the Gold Coast in deep south of Queensland
The lorikeets and noisy miners sing
They have only known the warmth of the sub tropics
Where Winter's warmer than the northern Spring.
In distant Land above the bracken mountain
The lark is piping in the morning sky
Till lost to view he soars towards gathering rain clouds
And singing ever singing as he fly.
In South Queensland the rain is always welcome
And sun shine all year round and wild birds sing
But I know of a Country green and wetter
Which goes to prove you can't have everything.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Across the Green Fields
Across the green fields
Up on the bluffs
High into the sky
A place I didn’t realize existed
Montana
Yes green
Once in a drought
It now is green from pounding rain.
God’s country again
It looks like a different place
No brown desert prairies
No desolate fields
It’s green now
A beautiful velvety green.
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Green, Green, and More Green
There is green everywhere,
even in peoples' hair.Some
on hands, some on shirts.
There is green everywhere!
Green, green, and more green.
I think I'm going crazy over green.
If you don't wear green you get pinched,
then you'll start to itch.
So many people are obsessed with green.
Green Spring, green air.Green feet, green wheat, green meat.
Green isn't very neat!
poem by Autumn Howard
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Years Ago
THE old dead flowers of bygone summers,
The old sweet songs that are no more sung,
The rose-red dawns that were welcome comers
When you and I and the world were young,
Are lost, O love, to the light for ever,
And seen no more of the moon or sun,
For seas divide, and the seasons sever,
And twain are we that of old were one.
O fair lost love, when the ship went sailing
Across the seas in the years agone,
And seaward-set were the eyes unquailing,
And landward-looking the faces wan,
My heart went back as a dove goes homeward
With wings aweary to seek its nest,
While fierce sea-eagles are flying foamward
And storm-winds whiten the surge’s crest;
And far inland for a farewell pardon
Flew on and on, while the ship went South—
The rose was red in the red-rose garden,
And red the rose of your laughing mouth.
But no word came on the wind in token
Of love that lasts till the end; and so
My heart returned to me bruised and broken,
From you, my love, of the long ago.
The green fields seemed in the distance growing
To silken squares on a weaver’s loom,
As oversea came the land-wind blowing
The faint sweet scent of the clover bloom.
A rarer odour to me it carried,
In subtle delicate way to tell
Of you, ere you and the world were married—
The lilac-odour you loved so well.
Again, I saw you beneath the blooms of
Those lilac-trees in the garden old.
Ah me! each tree is a mark for tombs of
Dead dreams and memories still and cold.
And Death comes there with his breath scent-laden,
And gathering gently the blossoms shed
(In guise of Autumn, the brown-browed maiden)
With your and my dead buries his dead.
O, fairer far than the fair ideal
Of him who imaged the foam-born Queen
In foam-white marble—a dream made real—
To me were you in those years, I ween.
Your lips were redder than night-shade berries
That burn in borders of hedgerowed lanes,
And sweeter far than the sweet wild cherries
The June sun flushes with crimson stains.
And gray your eyes as a gray dove’s wings were—
A gray soft-shadowing deeps profound,
Where thoughts that reached to the heart of things were,
And love lay dreaming though seeming drowned.
Twin-tulip-breasted like her the tread of
Whose feet made music in Paphos fair,
The world to me was not worth a thread of
Your brown, ambrosial, braided hair.
Mayhap you loved me at one time truly,
And I was jealous, and you were proud;
But mine the love of the king in Thule,
Till death; and yours—sleeps well in shroud.
So night came down like a sombre raven,
And southward ever the ship was borne,
Till glad green fields and lessening haven
Grew faint and faded like ghosts at morn.
As fields of Heaven eternal blooming,
Those flowerful fields of my mother-land
In midnight visions are still perfuming
All wild waste places and seas of sand.
And still in seasons of storm and thunder,
In strange lands under your land and mine,
And though our ways have been wide asunder,
In calm and tempest and shade and shine
Your face I see as I saw the last time—
As one borne space-ward on wings of light,
With eyes turned back to a sight of past time,
Beholds for ever that self-same sight.
But scorn has died on your lips, and through you
Shines out star-bright an immortal grace,
As though God then to His heaven drew you,
And sent an angel to take your place.
I plucked one rose from the tree you cherished,
My heart’s blood ebbing has kept it red,
And all my hopes with its scent have perished;
Why mourn them now—are the dead not dead?
And yet, God knows, as this rose I kiss, you
May feel the kisses across the sea;
And soul to soul for the larger issue
Your soul may stand with the soul of me,
Unknown to you—for the strings of Being
Are not so easily snapped or torn;
And we may journey with eyes unseeing
On paths that meet in the years unborn.
Farewell, dear heart. Warm sighs may sever
Ripe lips of love like a rose-leaf curled,
But you remain unto me for ever
The one fair woman in all the world.
poem by Victor James Daley
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In The Fields By The Sullane
In the fields by the Sullane that flows through Macroom
The wildflowers of Nature are now in full bloom
And the ageing migrant remembers today
The place where he lived in as a boy near a town far away.
His soul mate and the best friend he ever did know
His Aussie wife passed on a few years ago
Their grandchildren teenagers and time ticking on
And his best Seasons to the forever long gone.
To the young mind the far off hills always look green
And he left friends and family when he turned nineteen
The wanderlust in him for the big World out there
From the fields by the Sullane he would live elsewhere
Forty eight years out of Macroom in time quite a span
In this Southern Country a gray haired ageing man
The years telling on him the years never lie
Far from the Sullane he is destined to die.
To this Southern Land his best years he did give
And on his retirement pension he now has to live
The passing of time has left him walking slow
The one from the fields where Sullane waters flow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Mangees, Mangees, Mangees...
A new order is ours,
A new birth to the old
And we have ceremony.
A garden with no green,
White flowers grow on a bed of
Yellow sunlight.
The cliched regiment of red and white stripes
Have lost any meaning - black and blue drift
Into the past.
The long lost past.
Everything's gone green.
Growth, loving laughter with no emotion.
Carefree happiness lost in decaying childhood
While living childhood has tears
Brimming on every eye.
Buttercups flow everywhere -
Drifting in memories,
Floating on ponds,
Singing around my head.
Sunlight illuminates even the eve
linger by my side today.
Tomorrow become a forest
Put the world in a teacup
- it wouldn't notice.
But we'll change seats forever
And the dishes will always be clean
Tea for two
I am one
Are you -
happy?
(7 July 1982)
poem by Jeff Hobbs
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Alankar(Decor) -40
A Visit To My Village(Chaucerian Roundel)
Till my last ken it was green, green alone
Looked just for God's tread carpeted sacred
Or an attire godly live emerald
Much a velvet thought even now I'm prone
To feel the heaven for me descended
Till my last ken it was green, green alone
Such be, changing are not people alone
Even the paddy fields to houses changed
Last trip here to say there were all paved
'Till my last ken it was green, green alone'
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Abstraction Fo The Word Chirp....
i hear birds chirping
early morning
on those trees
clouds arrive, light
spreads,
green becomes too green
in the fields of
life,
i hear birds chirping
sweet to my ear
i give it priority
abstract. delet morning
move out clouds from the picture
double click green fields
focus on life
delet birds
add volume to chirping
it is all chirping now
just chirping
chirping chirping
the essence of chirp.
i have abstracted it from
everything else.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In Our Daydreams
In our daydreams, we wander
to places of our hearts desire,
green garnished fields stretching
out as far as the eyes can see.
Winding paths with shady trees,
soft flowing streams where the may flies play.
To natures touches of beauty
that in our daydreams lay.
13 March 2011
poem by David Harris
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A Highly-Colored Romance
Ben Green was a New-Hampshire boy,
Who stood full six feet two:
A jovial chap this same Ben Green,
Though he had oft been blue.
He loved a girl named Olive Brown,
Who lived near Bixby's pond,
And who, despite her brunette name,
Was a decided blonde.
"A Highly Colored Romance."
A pink of rare perfection she,
The belle of all the town;
Though Ben oft wished her Olive Green,
Instead of Olive Brown.
And she loved Ben, and said that nought
Should mar their joy serene;
And, when she changed from Olive Brown,
'Twould surely be to Green.
She kept her word in-violet,
And vowed, ere she was wed,
Although when Brown she had Be(e)n Green.
When Green she'd be well read.
But, ah! her young affections changed
To Gray, a Southern fellow;
And Green turned white the news to hear,
Though first it made him yell, oh!
Says he, " How can you lilac this,
When you vowed to be true?
I'll take your fine young lover, Gray,
And beat him till he's blue."
Then Olive Brown to crimson turned,
And said, "Do as you say:
The country long has wished to see
'The Blue combined with Gray.'"
Ben Green to purple turned with rage,
And black his brow as night;
While on the cheek of Olive Brown
The crimson changed to white.
"O cruel Olive Brown!" says Ben,
"I've been dun-brown by you:
Let this 'Grayback' his steps retrace,
And take Greenback, — oh, do!"
Poor Olive Brown, what could she say,
To sea-Green look so sad ?
And so she rose, and said to him,
"I'll go and ask my dad."
. . . .
The years rolled by: Ben's raven locks
For silver did not lack;
And Olive, with her hair of gold,
Was glad she took Greenback.
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Green.
Green are the valleys
green are the fields
green are the forests and long rolling hills
green like the shamrock and eyes with a smile
green as old Ireland
The emerald isle.
poem by Charles M. Moore
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I fancy I Can See You Old Duhallow
I fancy I can see you old Duhallow
The swallows o'er your fields wing to and fro
And cows from wintering houses out on pasture
And birds are whistling on the green hedgerow.
I lay upon the bracken slopes of Clara
I see the Kerry hills beyond Rathmore
A skylark sing above the silent mountain
His song bring back to me the joys of yore.
You wear your green cloak of the Spring Duhallow
And your beauty from the mountain side I see
From Millstreet to Kanturk on towards Newmarket
Kiskeam to Cullen and up to Knocknagree.
I often think about you green Duhallow
You were the first great love I ever knew
But many others loved you better than I
And they feel quite content to live with you.
I fancy I can see you old Duhallow
In your green groves the wild birds nest and sing
And swallows fly above your fields and meadows
And cuckoo pipes his fanfare of the Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Haunted Garden
In this sad place
Memory hangs on the air
Fragile as Spring snail's tiny shell,
Coming to the sympathetic ear
Gentle as bud's green pulsing in the sun,
Suave as sin in a black velvet glove;
The old faces gaze
Wistfully as birds, among the nodding leaves,
They watch the pleasures they may never share;
And through the twilight hours
Old voices call along the river banks,
And out of the high-walled garden.
Why do they sigh,
The gentle ones in the flowering musk;
And what are the words of the song
The pale stranger sings as he walks
The garden's still, deserted paths,
Like a boy searching for his dog?
poem by Henry Treece
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Sexy Woman
white clouds
blue sea
green long island
on the shallow waters
a woman faces me
white bra
white panty
(two piece)
at the middle
the water touches
the center of her
being
the grass of her earth
is wet
she walks away
dripping
her hair is long and curly
black
she does not own me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Will Take You Home To Millstreet
I will take you home to Millstreet when the may is in her bloom
And the green meads cloked with wildflowers scent of nature's sweet perfume
And the dark winged barn swallows white unders and throat rust brown
Wheel above the lush green pastures bordering Millstreet's country town.
I will take you home to Millstreet to the town by Clara hill
When the dipper sings her sweetest on green bank of babbling rill
And the male snipe late at evening with his wings make goat like sound
As above the silent rush fields he goes flying around and round
I will take you home to Millstreet when soft grass growing breezes blow
And relive again the old days with old friends I used to know
And give a call into the Bush Bar for the dance and the sing song,
I will take you home to Millstreet if with me you'll come along.
Will you come with me my darling to green valleys far away
When the birds in leafy woodlands pipe their sweetest notes of May
To the Land I still call Homeland, to the country of my youth
Ireland, North Cork and Duhallow where my manhood first took
root.
poem by Francis Duggan
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When Life Is Gone
When life is gone
No one remains in this place
Till the end of time
When life is gone
The world will be a desolate wasteland
Where only the dead remain
To soil the green fields of love and light
Forever green
When life disappears
The dead remain
The fields run red with blood
Of wars gone past and wars to be
The fields are green all is gone
All is dead
The fields are gone
The world is gone
poem by kelly Martini
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My Black Home.
In my black home
Sometimes the opposite skin
Is perceived to be supreme
Even than our kin.
In my black home
Leaders see their reigns
Everlasting and forget that
Big ones had come and gone as the rains
That fell yesterday.
In my black home
My brothers desire
Toiling on lands of the white
And on return bring home pastures
So green to get here
If the peaks had made patriotism
Prior to party love
Would it be so?
In my black home
Sometimes my sisters
Are forced to marry
My parents friend.
In my black home
Despite these
There are more natural resources
The gold and green
And the fuel
And for all these I am proud more
Despite the eyesore
In my black home.
poem by Elorm Dogbo
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The Destroyers Of This Earth....
what do get from all these noise
the shouting women
screaming madness
all the commands of men
we get feed with something
that we always like to vomit
in the streets of this
shattering cities
we will be missing what was once there
a running brook, sunshine softly shining on the green fields of wheat
children cheering one another upon their innocent little games
white dogs beside the working men carrying their spades for digging
the women bathing and washing by the river
we are no longer happy people
having sinned destroying what was once green and fresh and alluring
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Rejuvenation Of Nature!
Green, green plants have grown great everywhere!
Rain has irrigated all fields to green by its fall well;
All barren lands have turned into green forests cool;
What a change Nature brings about by its unique spell!
Despite deforestation rain has afforested soon ever;
Nature’s unique way of healing the wounds is fantastic!
Man destroys for material development all resources;
But Nature rejuvenates even dead fields to green pasture!
In the recent trip to South I saw the great wonder of Nature
Everywhere putting me in astonishment by its healing spell!
Helping hand of Nature for rejuvenation man shouldn’t neglect
And turn to the path of afforestation to save global disaster!
All polluting acts man should curtail for natural rejuvenation
To make this world a place of heaven and not hell forever!
poem by Ramesh T A
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