En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Mabel Osborne

Your red blossoms amid green leaves
Are drooping, beautiful geranium!
But you do not ask for water.
You cannot speak! You do not need to speak --
Everyone knows that you are dying of thirst,
Yet they do not bring water!
They pass on, saying:
"The geranium wants water."
And I, who had happiness to share
And longed to share your happiness;
I who loved you, Spoon River,
And craved your love,
Withered before your eyes, Spoon River --
Thirsting, thirsting,
Voiceless from chasteness of soul to ask you for love,
You who knew and saw me perish before you,
Like this geranium which someone has planted over me,
And left to die.

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-42

Wallich Geranium(Geranium wallichianum)
Geranium Buxton Blue(Geranium wallichianum 'Buxton Blue')
Roundleaf Geranium(Geranium rotundifolium)
Small Geranium(Geranium pusillum)
Trailing Geranium(Geranium procurrens)
Meadow Cranesbill, Meadow Geranium(Geranium pratense)
Black Eyed Geranium(Geranium ocellatum)
Nepal Geranium(Geranium nepalense)
Himalayan Geranium(Lilac Cranesbill, Geranium himalayense)
Don's Geranium(Geranium donianum)

Alike and similar somewhat, somewhat
Hey, geraniums, such halcyon breeze
You colour along with dulcet delight
While the Himalayas proudly greets
In acceptance welcoming me thereat
How do I thank you in great words
When I'm wordless with wonder-heart

O'Wallich of rose-pink and red-purple
O' Buxton Blue of opal or angel-blue
O'Roundleaf Geranium of pale purple
O'Small Geranium of rosy pink hue
O'Trailing Geranium of pinkish purple
Of leaves similar, hairy sparse so true
So true mercy hearts hearty yours all

O'Meadow Geranium purplish red and white
O'Black Eyed Geranium black eyed purple
O'Nepal Geranium wild and small and white
O'Himalayan Geranium blue and beautiful
O'Don's Geranium pinkish purple and sweet
Of herbs and veins similar and beautiful
So true mercy hearts hearty yours sweet

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Archibald Higbie

I loathed you, Spoon River. I tried to rise above you,
I was ashamed of you. I despised you
As the place of my nativity.
And there in Rome, among the artists,
Speaking Italian, speaking French,
I seemed to myself at times to be free
Of every trace of my origin.
I seemed to be reaching the heights of art
And to breathe the air that the masters breathed,
And to see the world with their eyes.
But still they'd pass my work and say:
"What are you driving at, my friend?
Sometimes the face looks like Apollo's
At others it has a trace of Lincoln's."
There was no culture, you know, in Spoon River,
And I burned with shame and held my peace.
And what could I do, all covered over
And weighted down with western soil,
Except aspire, and pray for another
Birth in the world, with all of Spoon River
Rooted out of my soul?

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Seth Compton

When I died, the circulating library
Which I built up for Spoon River,
And managed for the good of inquiring minds,
Was sold at auction on the public square,
As if to destroy the last vestige
Of my memory and influence.
For those of you who could not see the virtue
Of knowing Volney's "Ruins" as well as Butler's "Analogy"
And "Faust" as well as "Evangeline,"
Were really the power in the village,
And often you asked me,
"What is the use of knowing the evil in the world?"
I am out of your way now, Spoon River,
Choose your own good and call it good.
For I could never make you see
That no one knows what is good
Who knows not what is evil;
And no one knows what is true
Who knows not what is false.

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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The River

Last Sunday
I spent a whole day
with a beautiful river
trying to feel close
to each being, each thing,
even to become one with everything
that surrounded me.
In some way,
I learned from the natural
flow of water
what it means not to look back.
I should remember that river
every time I need to forget the past.
And it helps me to not mind much the now...
Why? Well don't you see how
"Now" is going into the Past fast?
So, the river taught me to aim forward.
It may last.
I tried to follow it
with my eyes towards the horizon.
And maybe there is where
River called my soul.
I believe I had the feeling
of sweet water loving me
more than anybody else
(as if I'd ever be loved much, lol.
So I have learned never to ask for love.
For my soul, that may be
as shameful as begging for money) .
But I have thanked the river
with my entire heart
for letting me in,
for washing my soul clean
and I gave it all the love
I could gather,
the river loved me back,
so much that "it"
(calling so because
of my indecision
of calling a he or a she)
almost let me to become one with.
I felt no more sadness
nor earthly pain
or hunger for eyes
to watch me dearly,
for arms to hug me kindly,
for smiles as gifts for me.
My selfishness stopped…
I had everything flowing,
I was melted into
zillion of water drops running
with the river, gliding
into the horizon…
For a moment
I believed that's it!
The horizon!
If you ever feel unloved
go to a river,
discharge your pains
and watch how it becomes
The horizon
... Feel you are one
with the river
and your going forward
no matter what.
To a place
where everything
is equally loved
and cared for.
I can only suppose now,
human could touch the horizon,
I know I can be the horizon,
are we the horizon?
Or maybe only a river
touching the horizon...
A river of love...
could I ever hope to be it?
For each creature,
each form of life
to drink me,
so I could be part of them,
and then them,
to be part of me
totally free
to walk or swim
with all rivers
into the sea
our Mother.
Mother to sing us lullabies
to hold from
small spark of stars...
Then scattered away
for another moment
of connection...
Full awareness.

poem by Elena Sandu
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The Paroo

It was a week from Christmas-time,
As near as I remember,
And half a year since, in the rear,
We'd left the Darling timber.
The track was hot and more than drear;
The day dragged out for ever;
But now we knew that we were near
Our camp - the Paroo River.
With blighted eyes and blistered feet,
With stomachs out of order,
Half-mad with flies and dust and heat
We'd crossed the Queensland border.
I longed to hear a stream go by
And see the circles quiver;
I longed to lay me down and die
That night on Paroo River.

The "nose-bags" heavy on each chest
(God bless one kindly squatter!),
With grateful weight our hearts they pressed -
We only wanted water.
The sun was setting in a spray
Of colour like a liver -
We'd fondly hoped to camp and stay
That night by Paroo River.
A cloud was on my mate's broad brow,
And once I heard him mutter:
'What price the good old Darling now? -
God bless that grand old gutter!"
And then he stopped and slowly said
In tones that made me shiver:
"It cannot well be on ahead -
I think we've crossed the river."
But soon we saw a strip of ground
Beside the track we followed,
No damper than the surface round,
But just a little hollowed.
His brow assumed a thoughtful frown -
This speech did he deliver:
"I wonder if we'd best go down
Or up the blessed river?"

"But where," said I, " 's the blooming stream?'
And he replied, 'we're at it!"
I stood awhile, as in a dream,
"Great Scott!" I cried, "is that it?
Why, that is some old bridle-track!"
He chuckled, "Well, I never!
It's plain you've never been Out Back -
This is the Paroo River!"

poem by Henry Lawson
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And With This Thirsting Craved

With a thirsting craved.
And a hunger of desire...
They believed,
In achieving.
And needed this done...
To satisfy,
What they felt inside.

With a discipline uncommon,
They met and rid themselves...
Of obstacles.
And affirmed success,
Would be theirs!
Or they would not rest.
With this thirsting craved.

And with this thirsting craved,
Everyday there were dues to pay.
And naysayers with nothing positive to say...
But would not get in the way of those who craved.
Those who stayed focused night and day, praying!
Until nothing but Sun would beam from their faces!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Green River

Take me back to the Green River
Let my troubles roll on down
Take me when the leaves are falling
That's when my baby's love was still around
My memories take me to the Green River
How plain was the picture in my mind
Autumn leaves were paint in the water
Love was shining in your eyes
How I long for us to return
To the love we had back then
Darling, I'll be waiting a lifetime
For you to take me back again
How I miss the sound of the water
Gently flowing past the trees
How I miss your tender kisses
The way you once loved me

song performed by by Dixie Chicks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spoonful

By willie dickson
Could be spoonful of diamonds
Could be spoonful of gold
But I want a spoon ot your precious love
To satisfy my soul
Chorus
Men lies about it
Some are wild about it
Some dies without it
Everythings right about spoonful
That spoon,that spoon,that spoonful
That spoon,that spoon,that spoonful
Could be spoonful of coffee
Could be spoonful of tea
But I want a spoon of your precious love
Thats good enough for me
Chorus
Men lies about it
Some are wild about it
Some dies without it
Everythings right about spoonful
That spoon,that spoon,that spoonful
That spoon,that spoon,that spoonful
.
Could be a spoonful of water
Searching from the desert sand
But just a spoon of that fortifies
Saved you from another man
Chorus
Men lies about it
Some are wild about it
Some dies without it
Everythings right about spoonful
That spoon,that spoon,that spoonful
That spoon,that spoon,that spoonful

song performed by by Allman Brothers Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Betrothed

You have put your two hands upon me, and your mouth,
You have said my name as a prayer.
Here where trees are planted by the water
I have watched your eyes, cleansed from regret,
And your lips, closed over all that love cannot say,

My mother remembers the agony of her womb
And long years that seemed to promise more than this.
She says, "You do not love me,
You do not want me,
You will go away."

In the country whereto I go
I shall not see the face of my friend
Nor her hair the color of sunburnt grasses;
Together we shall not find
The land on whose hills bends the new moon
In air traversed of birds.

What have I thought of love?
I have said, "It is beauty and sorrow."
I have thought that it would bring me lost delights, and splendor
As a wind out of old time . . .

But there is only the evening here,
And the sound of willows
Now and again dipping their long oval leaves in the water.

poem by Louise Bogan
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Sinking..

Down in the water
By the edge of the river
where I ponder my life
just how did I get to this

Down in the water
By the edge of the river
where the waterfall of dreams
sweeps away what’s left to the abyss

Down in the water
by the edge of the river
where time stands still
Just only forever.

Down in the water
by the edge of the river
where I buried all
that was ever childhood

Where I let it go,
where it bends and meanders,
twisting along as the years went past.
Seemingly calm, but screaming beneath the surface
were its hidden whirlpools, a sweeping current

Down in the water,
I left the edge of the river,
as I looked down
for my soul at the bottom.

Deep in the water
Swept away by the river

I drowned in life,

......sinking forever.

poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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Come Out with Me

There's sun on the river and sun on the hill . . .
You can hear the sea if you stand quite still!
There's eight new puppies at Roundabout Farm-
And I saw an old sailor with only one arm!

But everyone says, "Run along!"
(Run along, run along!)
All of them say, "Run along! I'm busy as can be."
Every one says, "Run along,
There's a little darling!"
If I'm a little darling, why don't they run with me?

There's wind on the river and wind on the hill . . .
There's a dark dead water-wheel under the mill!
I saw a fly which had just been drowned-
And I know where a rabbit goes into the ground!

But everyone says, "Run along!"
(Run along, run along!)
All of them say, "Yes, dear," and never notice me.
Every one says, "Run along,
There's a little darling!"
If I'm a little darling, why won't they come and see?

poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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Spoonful

By willie dixon
Could fill spoons full of diamonds,
Could fill spoons full of gold.
Just a little spoon of your precious love
Will satisfy my soul.
Men lies about it.
Some of them cries about it.
Some of them dies about it.
Everythings a-fightin about the spoonful.
That spoon, that spoon, that spoonful.
That spoon, that spoon, that spoonful.
That spoon, that spoon, that spoonful.
That spoon, that spoon, that spoonful.
Could fill spoons full of coffee,
Could fill spoons full of tea.
Just a little spoon of your precious love;
Is that enough for me?
Chorus
Could fill spoons full of water,
Save them from the desert sands.
But a little spoon of your forty-five
Saved you from another man.
Chorus
Cats squirrel (traditional)
(instrumental)

song performed by by Cream
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Richard Bone

When I first came to Spoon River
I did not know whether what they told me
Was true or false.
They would bring me an epitaph
And stand around the shop while I worked
And say "He was so kind," "He was wonderful,"
"She was the sweetest woman," "He was a consistent Christian."
And I chiseled for them whatever they wished,
All in ignorance of its truth.
But later, as I lived among the people here,
I knew how near to the life
Were the epitaphs that were ordered for them when they died.
But still I chiseled whatever they paid me to chisel
And made myself party to the false chronicles
Of the stones,
Even as the historian does who writes
Without knowing the truth,
Or because he is influenced to hide it.

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Spoonful

By willie dixon
Could fill spoons full of diamonds,
Could fill spoons full of gold.
Just a little spoon of your precious love
Will satisfy my soul.
Men lies about it.
Some of them cries about it.
Some of them dies about it.
Everythings a-fightin about the spoonful.
That spoon, that spoon, that spoonful.
That spoon, that spoon, that spoonful.
That spoon, that spoon, that spoonful.
That spoon, that spoon, that spoonful.
Could fill spoons full of coffee,
Could fill spoons full of tea.
Just a little spoon of your precious love;
Is that enough for me?
Chorus
Could fill spoons full of water,
Save them from the desert sands.
But a little spoon of your forty-five
Saved you from another man.
Chorus

song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The River That Murmurs

I will ask the river, that flows serene
I will speak to the sky
I will ask the river that murmurs

Not to ask me why
I cannot speak for myself.
That time has long since passed me by.

The river can murmur and sing
Unspent by passion: my voice
Will break like a terribly taut string.

My words will be grammatically and academically
Twisted (like that leafless tree) , unfortunately!
I want the river to speak, to speak
Alone, alone with thee.

The river can, softly and without tears
Tell you my dreams and my fears
I know you will listen:
And while city lights in the water glisten

You wont see the tears that shine on my face
No, that is a serious, sentimental place
That only I know;
Flow, river, flow.

Flow, river flow.
Speak to the only love I know.
Daybreak approaches soon
You and he by the light of the moon
Will murmur whilst I -
Will wait for you to bring me his reply.

poem by Rani Turton
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Harmosan

Now the third and fatal conflict for the Persian throne was done,
And the Moslem's fiery valor had the crowning victory won.

Harmosan, the last and boldest the invader to defy,
Captive overborne by numbers, they were bringing forth to die.

Then exclaimed the noble captive: "Lo! I perish in my thirst;
Give me but one drink of water, and let then arrive the worst!"

In his hand he took the goblet, but awhle the draught forbore,
Seeming doubtully the purpose of the foemen to explore.

Well might then have paused the bravest -- for around him angry foes
With a hedge of naked weapons did that lonely man enclose.

"But what fear'st thou?" cried the caliph; -- "is it, friend, a secret blow?
Fear it not! -- our gallant Moslem no such treacherous dealing know.

"Thou mayst quench thy thirst securely, for thou shalt not die before
Thou hast drunk that cup of water -- this reprieve is thine -- no more!"

Quick the satrap dashed the goblet down to earth with ready hand,
And the liquid sand for ever, lost amid the burning sand.

"Thou hast said that mine my life is, till the water of that cup
I have drained; then bid thy servants that spilled water gather up!"

For a moment stood the calph as by doubtful passions stirred --
Then exclaimed: "For ever sacred must remain a monarch's word.

"Bring another cup, and straightway to the noble Persian give:
Drink, I said before, and perish -- now I bid thee drink and live!"

poem by Richard Chenevix Trench
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See what you like

There should never be "what" and "if"
We are only green leaf or leaves
Hear what we feel an act as not deaf
Feel to the pulse and say very brief

Love is to care
Love is to dare
Love is to be fare
Spread the fragrance in the air

Eyes may speak
But legs may feel weak
You may know it well
I have nothing more to tell

I loved it all
Waited for your sweet call
You were there in my dream
I always longed for you to swim

I lack the words
But look always forward
I feel warmth and her gentle touch
I never knew love will be as such

I missed her not for the beauty
But I considered it as my duty
Love demands sacrifice
Not words but with full promises

She may be far and away
But I see in her clear way
She guides me from the distance
What a luck and beautiful golden chance!

I may hold her whenever time comes
Offer all praises and heartily welcome
She may be for me and forever
I shall not doubt it any more

Not all people may be lucky
Whatever they want and get it easy
I must be thankful to her and almighty
Who have blessed me with such a fine beauty?

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Down in the deep water..

Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where I ponder my life
Just how did I get to this

Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where the waterfall of dreams
Sweeps away what’s left to the abyss

Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where time stands still
just only forever.

Down in the deep water
By the edge of the river
Where I buried all
That was ever my childhood

Where I let it go,
Where it bends and meanders,
Twisting along as the years went past.
Seemingly calm, but screaming beneath the surface
Were its hidden whirlpools, a sweeping current

Down in the deep water,
I left the edge of the river,
As I looked down
For my soul at the bottom.

Deep in the deep water
Swept away by the river

I drowned in life,

......Sinking forever.

poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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Water of life

Crystal drops falling from the sky
Bringing life to the dry
Growing plants reach for the sky as they start growing on high
It cures your thirst and cleans the dirt
Water does not choose who is rich or poor, hate or love
It comes from the heavens above sent to us from God with love…

Water in a glass, water in your bath, shower, water in the sea, water in a dam, water in a river and even water in a mother’s womb.

The realization that water is important becomes disrespected
Everyone goes on with everyday life while the water is being infected.

Water may bring life but it can also cut through cities and towns like a knife.
Tsunamis, floods it does not choose who to struck but when it comes you know your...

Take a moment and think to yourself
What water means to your health

Say thank you and stand up for what you believe in as this is one of the only sources of life that cannot be taken away.

poem by Reinette J.v Rensburg
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No More Music

The Porch was blazoned with geranium bloom;
Myrtle and jasmine meadows lit the lea;
With rose and violet the vale's perfume
Languished to where the hyacinthine sea
Dreamed tenderly . . . "And I must go," said he.

He spoke in that dim, ghostly voice of his:
"I was a singer; then the Was . . . and GAS."
(I had to lean to him, no word to miss.)
"We bought this little café nigh to Grasse;
With sun and flowers my last few days will pass.

"And music too. I have my mandolin:
Say! Maybe you can strum on your guitar . . .
Come on - we two will make melodious din,
While Madame sings to us behind the bar:
You'll see how sweet Italian folk-songs are."

So he would play and I would thrum the while;
I used to there every lovely day;
His wife would listen with a sunny smile,
And when I left: "Please come again," she'd say.
"He seems quite sad when you have one away."

Alas! I had to leave without good-bye,
And lived in sooty cities for ayear.
Oh, how my heart ached for that happy sky!
Then, then one day my café I drew near -
God! it was strange how I was gripped with fear.

So still it was; I saw no mandolin,
No gay guitar with ribbons blue and red;
Then all in black, stone-faced the wife came in . . .
I did not ask; I looked, she shook her head:
"La musique est fini," was all she said.

poem by Robert William Service
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