Beneath The Moss
Entrenched at the back of my head
The moss got thicker
The moss got greener
And the moss got dense
Now it's a part of my natural landscape
They say it's sad
For the merchant of flowers that i used to be
But I love the way it never changes
Fixed and firm
With some wild flowers and fern
But one day
On its crust
Came across a scar
Deep like the ocean
And clear like the blue sky
Anxiously I peeped in for a while
Looked for some Enterprise
Tried to Entertain
Hoped to Enthrall
And Enthrone
with a hidden Enthuse
But found none
There ain't no valley of flowers down there
But moss
I was back with a disappointment
No longer before I found them all
Lined up alphabetically like slaves
With explanations right next to each other
Enterprise, entertain, enthrall, enthrone, enthuse and so on
On page 330 of The Advanced Learner's Dictionary
Lying beside my bed
I know I'm falsely convinced and morose
But I love the way it grows on its own
Fixed and firm
With some wild flowers and fern
poem by Falky Flakes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The moss that loves the stone
It is the moss that loves the stone
Most. No matter what or when, the
Moss somehow manages to stay
Even without a why, they say.
But the moss keeps on sticking
To the body of the stone that
Keeps its nonminding stiffness.
It is cold, it is hard, it is unfeeling
At all. It is the moss that keeps its
Love. It sticks with it, rain or shine.
It rolls with it. It stays with it even
In the desert, even it if means its
Own death. It is the moss that sticks
To the stone. It is its true lover.
In the river, the water has ordered
The moss to leave. It ordered the stone
To crush it. The moss cannot be
Removed. It covered the stone.
It is loving it whole.The stone has
Become the moss, and the stone
Is gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spanish Moss
Let go darlin
I can feel the night wind call
Guess Id better go
I like you more than half as much
As I love your spanish moss
Spanish moss hangin down
Lofty as the southern love weve found
Spanish moss
Keeps on followin my thoughts around
Georgia pine and ripple wine
Memories of savannah summertime
Spanish moss
Wish you knew what I was sayin
So Im rollin north thinkin
Of the way things might have been
If she and I could have changed it all somehow
Spanish moss hangin down
Lofty as the sycamore youve found
Spanish moss
Keeps on followin my thoughts around
Georgia pine and ripple wine
Kisses mixed with moonshine and red clay
Spanish moss
Wish you knew what I was sayin
So Im rollin north thinkin
Of the way things might have been
If she and I could have changed it all somehow
Let go darlin
I can feel the night wind call
The devil take the cost
I like the way your kisses flow and I love your spanish moss
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flowers Galore
Are there not flowers like the rose,
Those look prettier and smell better?
Yet, people do not prefer them,
Nor nurture them in tonnes for use.
Are there not flowers in the wild,
With gorgeous looks and perfumes great,
Whose birth is known to herds that graze?
God only knows why they are there!
Are there not flowers hidden well,
In forests deep and dense and dark,
But are found rarely like orchids,
Those look so splendid to the eye?
Are there not flowers raised in fields
Or found in meadows, lawns so green,
And sold as garlands for deities,
Or strewn on tombs and cemeteries?
And yet, some cannot even bud
Or blossom into flowers big;
While some get trampled under feet,
A few adorn altars of God!
Galore are flowers that we see,
Whose hues, shapes, sizes vary much;
God makes each petal, leaf and bud
With beauty that no words can tell.
Each one bears witness to God’s pow’r,
And smiles with freshness with each shower;
Each one is beautiful a flow’r;
And decks the planet earth’s bower!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-19-2008
poem by John Celes
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To Know Without Knowing
Red moss, crimson as blood of a slaughtered calf,
I knew I had seen it before but could not recall
where or when. Like seeing a landscape painting
knowing I had been there before, long time ago.
In the valley of cobblers children ran barefoot on
summer grass and they scented of wildflowers
unpasteurized milk and healthy, innocent laughter.
I know this to be true but don’t know why?
I think of reindeers would they eat red moss used
as they are to the grey variety? Sun keeps shining
like Spanish blood orange with a wicked cold.
The good earth is dry, waits for rain…plenty of it.
The red moss is a forgotten love story and perhaps
if I sit still long enough and wait I will remember it.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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To Gather Moss And More Of Moss
to gather moss
be a stone
to gather more moss
be a very still stone
be a stone still till the end
of time
you stand still and think
you want to be the moss
rather than a stone
to be all moss
you must betray the stillness
of stone
you must even forget
the importance of
what a moss can be
then you think some more
to be completely this moss
you need to be friendly
to the water and to the river
then you decide to be the water
instead of the moss
to be more than the water
you wish instead to become the river
and so you flow and learn the rush
and become the running river
until what you want really
is just to flow
to rush and run and then
you become nothing
but the motion itself
until you are lost
and then
you become what you are now
lost but real
always flowing, rushing, running
where nobody owns you
not even the river
or the stones or the moss
you have become
this running, this flowing, this being
so real so free
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Owe A Debt To Spring II
Oh, I owe a debt to spring!
She brought me wild flowers and
Hardy daffodils,
Beautiful, velvet, green carpeted hills.
She brought the mist of April showers,
With the promised bloom of May flowers.
Birds came back to sin,
Oh, I owe a debt to spring!
I see the colors of a rainbow dancing
Across the sky,
Spring came in with a lullaby.
I owe a debt to spring for the love
You bring to me, my love, to me!
I shall plant moss roses, dear spring,
To dance at your feet,
Spring time is the best time for nature's
bouquet of happiness complete...
O, I owe a debt to spring, for you, my love,
For you!
Dorothy Alves Holmes
A Poet Who Loves To Sing
poem by Dorothy Holmes
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The River Flows
The river flows and moss grows
And I dangle my feet in the water
The water is cold, but so is my heart
As I sit and just watch time goes by
No place I have to go, no place to be
Time has passed too fast, as fast as the river flows
Who else has sat here and felt this way
Felt pain in their heart and soul
They don't understand, did they ever?
All the hurt down deep in my soul
The leaves sway with the wind
And the chill sets in
I know I must leave, I don't know where
Guess I'll find my way down the road
With tears in my eyes and a broken heart
I'll find my way back to somewhere
The river flows on and the moss will keep growing
Till someone else sits here
And remembers things like I do
And wish I had them all back
I leave in the night, goodbye to the river and moss
May each persons who comes this way
Find a peace inside like I did but on the way
I'll always remember that the river flows on and the moss grows.
Written by Jo Carey
Reflection 0.2
when you arrive here
there is no stone not a single stone
there is no moss not a single hair of a green moss
then there was the pain of waiting
time is always delaying its coming
trains stopped and cars are having flat tires
but you are faithful you keep on waiting you entertain promises
like dear memories or dreams or wishes that come true somehow
and you waited for so long
now this place is filled with stones and moss grow in each body of the stone
the waters spread their territories and land is emaciated
and the house is covered with water and the roof is gone
and there is nobody here anymore and it is only i who remember you and
i tell them about you and they do not believe me
and i feel like i am a ship that just sunk.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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September Flowers
September wild flowers grow free
Purple, yellow, lavender, all beam joy
Fall is starting to turn the sumac
A walk can be such a wondrous trip
The air is crisp and vibrant
Touches of red show in the maples
Geese land in slews and ponds
Oaks seem so noble and strong
Hills filled with lush life
Songs of an autumn moon
Radiant sun brings azure blue
Birch and elm reach for love
Greens of summer still rule
This path has many wild flowers
The lake will soon freeze
Meadows will cover with snow
Rain has made everything vibrant
Moss and pine trees grow mellow
Mushrooms glow with sunlight
Soft breezes make the leaves dance
Blue birds gather on a fallen tree
Squirrels gather their acorns
Great Cottonwoods loom like giants
Old logs, field grass, daisies
I sigh amidst the September flowers
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Flowers
(orbison/dees)
When I was a boy I ran among the flowers
Looking left and right at the bright array
I played through the spring, whiled away the hours
Lingered with the flowers every day
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, along the way
When the summer ends and the storms of life are over
When the winter comes and the petals fall away
They may write it on my stone, he was just a roller
But he stopped to pick some flowers along the way
Flowers, pretty flowers, flowers, lifes bouquet
Flowers, picked some flowers, along the way
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Flowers of the Sea
Tasting the pleasures
Of the ocean currents,
I find pearls
Black and white,
All different to my eyes.
Back and forth
The flowers of the sea,
Totally different.
Giving hidden meanings.
Back and forth
The flowers of the sea,
Totally different.
Always coming new
Giving each their pleasure,
With the blooming shades
Of the watchful sea,
Colors like the rainbow.
Back and forth
The flowers of the sea,
Totally different.
Billows wide and blue
Splitting into dark,
Crossing every surface
Under the ocean,
Under the green blue ocean.
Back and forth
The flowers of the sea,
Totally different.
Mermaids on the rocks,
Sea monsters in the dark,
Knowing every coast,
Swimming to every sea.
Billows wide and blue
Splitting into dark,
Crossing every surface
Under the ocean,
Under the green blue ocean.
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Still
I said I will find what is lowly
and put the roots of my identity
down there:
each day I'll wake up
and find the lowly nearby,
a handy focus and reminder,
a ready measure of my significance,
the voice by which I would be heard,
the wills, the kinds of selfishness
I could
freely adopt as my own:
but though I have looked everywhere,
I can find nothing
to give myself to:
everything is
magnificent with existence, is in
surfeit of glory:
nothing is diminished,
nothing has been diminished for me:
I said what is more lowly than the grass:
ah, underneath,
a ground-crust of dry-burnt moss:
I looked at it closely
and said this can be my habitat: but
nestling in I
found
below the brown exterior
green mechanisms beyond the intellect
awaiting resurrection in rain: so I got up
and ran saying there is nothing lowly in the universe:
I found a beggar:
he had stumps for legs: nobody was paying
him any attention: everybody went on by:
I nestled in and found his life:
there, love shook his body like a devastation:
I said
though I have looked everywhere
I can find nothing lowly
in the universe:
I whirled though transfigurations up and down,
transfigurations of size and shape and place:
at one sudden point came still,
stood in wonder:
moss, beggar, weed, tick, pine, self, magnificent
with being!
poem by Archie Randolph Ammons
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Sorrowing Love
And again the flowers are come,
And the light shakes,
And no tiny voice is dumb,
And a bud breaks
On the humble bush and the proud restless tree.
Come with me!
Look, this little flower is pink,
And this one white.
Here's a pearl cup for your drink,
Here's for your delight
A yellow one, sweet with honey.
Here's fairy money
Silver bright
Scattered over the grass
As we pass.
Here's moss. How the smell of it lingers
On my cold fingers!
You shall have no moss. Here's a frail
Hyacinth, deathyly pale.
Not for you, not for you!
And the place where they grew
You must promise me not to discover,
My sorrowful lover!
Shall we never be happy again?
Never again play?
In vain--in vain!
Come away!
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Travel and society polish one, but a rolling stone gathers no moss, and a little moss is a good thing on a man.
quote by John Burroughs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Primrose
Welcome, pale primrose! starting up between
Dead matted leaves of ash and oak that strew
The every lawn, the wood, and spinney through,
'Mid creeping moss and ivy's darker green;
How much thy presence beautifies the ground!
How sweet thy modest unaffected pride
Glows on the sunny bank and wood's warm side
And where thy fairy flowers in groups are found,
The schoolboy roams enchantedly along,
Plucking the fairest with a rude delight:
While the meek shepherd stops his simple song,
To gaze a moment on the pleasing sight;
O'erjoyed to see the flowers that truly bring
The welcome news of sweet returning spring.
poem by John Clare
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Way Of The Wood
WHERE baby oaks play in the breeze
Among wood-sorrel and fringed fern,
Through the green garments of the trees
The quivering shafts of sunlight burn,
And all along the wet green ride
The dripping hazel-boughs between,
The spotted orchis, stiff with pride,
Stands guard before the eglantine.
Sweet chestnuts droop their long, sharp leaves
By knotted tree roots, mossed and brown,
Round which the honeysuckle weaves
Its scented golden wild-wood crown.
O wood, last year you saw us meet,
For her your leaves and buds were gay,
Your moss spread velvet for her feet.
Your flowers upon her bosom lay.
This year you wear your raiment bright,
As fair as ever yet you wore.
And, none the less, the world's delight
Walks in your ways no more, no more.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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A Song Of Changgan
My hair had hardly covered my forehead.
I was picking flowers, paying by my door,
When you, my lover, on a bamboo horse,
Came trotting in circles and throwing green plums.
We lived near together on a lane in Ch'ang-kan,
Both of us young and happy-hearted.
...At fourteen I became your wife,
So bashful that I dared not smile,
And I lowered my head toward a dark corner
And would not turn to your thousand calls;
But at fifteen I straightened my brows and laughed,
Learning that no dust could ever seal our love,
That even unto death I would await you by my post
And would never lose heart in the tower of silent watching.
...Then when I was sixteen, you left on a long journey
Through the Gorges of Ch'u-t'ang, of rock and whirling water.
And then came the Fifth-month, more than I could bear,
And I tried to hear the monkeys in your lofty far-off sky.
Your footprints by our door, where I had watched you go,
Were hidden, every one of them, under green moss,
Hidden under moss too deep to sweep away.
And the first autumn wind added fallen leaves.
And now, in the Eighth-month, yellowing butterflies
Hover, two by two, in our west-garden grasses
And, because of all this, my heart is breaking
And I fear for my bright cheeks, lest they fade.
...Oh, at last, when you return through the three Pa districts,
Send me a message home ahead!
And I will come and meet you and will never mind the distance,
All the way to Chang-feng Sha.
The Ant Explorer
Once a little sugar ant made up his mind to roam-
To fare away far away, far away from home.
He had eaten all his breakfast, and he had his ma's consent
To see what he should chance to see and here's the way he went
Up and down a fern frond, round and round a stone,
Down a gloomy gully where he loathed to be alone,
Up a mighty mountain range, seven inches high,
Through the fearful forest grass that nearly hid the sky,
Out along a bracken bridge, bending in the moss,
Till he reached a dreadful desert that was feet and feet across.
'Twas a dry, deserted desert, and a trackless land to tread,
He wished that he was home again and tucked-up tight in bed.
His little legs were wobbly, his strength was nearly spent,
And so he turned around again and here's the way he went-
Back away from desert lands feet and feet across,
Back along the bracken bridge bending in the moss,
Through the fearful forest grass shutting out the sky,
Up a mighty mountain range seven inches high,
Down a gloomy gully, where he loathed to be alone,
Up and down a fern frond and round and round a stone.
A dreary ant, a weary ant, resolved no more to roam,
He staggered up the garden path and popped back home.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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In Beautiful Garden
Love blossoms in beautiful garden
Flowers boom in colorful shape even
Some fully spread and some just coming out
This is how the life brings change about
Do the flowers need any show?
Do they need some support to grow?
Not at all as it is natural change
It has taken place with the emergence of age
Flowers have natural tendency to attract
It is argument supported by fact
Whether you like or dislike, it can’t be denied
The real fact remains to be seen and can’t be lied
Flowers too need good environment
Lovely people to look at with nice comments
If nature does not find its lovers
Its importance will not be lost however
It has direct relation with good music
What ever seen and observed is accepted as basic
Think of cool breeze in early morning with bird’s voice
You may definitely dislike the little disturbing noise
It makes you to sink over lost opportunities
There is enough of time to think over its futilities
But some changes are always welcome
They are certain and bound to come
In life you may need partner
It has to happen sooner or later
If that is synchronized to the tune
Life will become sweet with fortune
Garden may look barren without flowers
Land may look deserted without rain showers
It is natural blessings that you got to respond
Your wish and goal definitely corresponds
Life has to be challenging with enterprise
It must move on even with surprises
How a flower can be looked with out fragrance?
Life too will be looked without charm without its presence
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Flowers - Giving It All Away B-side
Renegades and shifting shades
And the lights in your face
And you friends talk lying
But some of them got flowers in their room
When its on and youre falling on every floor
That youre hoping to score
And youre every night ? ? ?
But some of them got flowers in their room
But some of them got flowers in their room
But some of them got flowers in their room
Hear the word that the man on the stairs
Knows your every affair and is holding your hand
And he says some of them got flowers in their room
And he screams in a face
But the smile on the face is cool and its cold
And it reads vacated
And some of them got flowers in their room
And some of them got flowers in their room
And some of them got flowers in their room
And I take someone home and I cant be alone
And theres faces to please and I walk on the knees
Oh you see, I got no flowers in my room
And I laugh with my mouth and I laugh with you
But the joke was a joke that I never really knew
Some of them got flowers in their room
Some of them got flowers in their room
Some of them got flowers in their room
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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