Two Are Together
Two are together, I tell you,
A slope of a vowel, are a corner;
Grass short as a garden,
Bracken
Uncoiling,
Foxgloves, water
Descending,
Quartz in a stone.
This corner:
Mountain-ash (ferns
Up in air).
Then over an edge
This single
Blue wedge of a mountain;
This comfort, you tell me,
Contentment,
Compassion.
This wild-mint-scented scene
And wild roses
And wrinkle of water descending
Tending to laughter;
Together, then
After.
poem by Geoffrey Grigson
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Related quotes
Take The Water To The Mountain
Take the water to the mountain;
Take the river to the sea.
Let the forest be salvation
Long before it needs to be.
Take the water to the mountain;
Let your body flow upstream.
Let it cascade off your shoulders;
Be the body of your dreams.
Take the water to the mountain;
Let the sun shine on your ground.
You decide your every movement;
Let the water to the land.
Take the water to the mountain;
Cross the great divide of love.
Give to nature all you can give;
Let the mother know your heart.
Take the water to the mountain;
Lets become alive again.
Holy water, holy mountain,
Holy river, holy tree.
Pica!
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Take The Water To The Mountain
Take the water to the mountain;
Take the river to the sea.
Let the forest be salvation
Long before it needs to be.
Take the water to the mountain;
Let your body flow upstream.
Let it cascade off your shoulders;
Be the body of your dreams.
Take the water to the mountain;
Let the sun shine on your ground.
You decide your every movement;
Let the water to the land.
Take the water to the mountain;
Cross the great divide of love.
Give to nature all you can give;
Let the mother know your heart.
Take the water to the mountain;
Lets become alive again.
Holy water, holy mountain,
Holy river, holy tree.
Pica!
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hayeswater
A region desolate and wild.
Black, chafing water: and afloat,
And lonely as a truant child
In a waste wood, a single boat:
No mast, no sails are set thereon;
It moves, but never moveth on:
And welters like a human thing
Amid the wild waves weltering.
Behind, a buried vale doth sleep,
Far down the torrent cleaves its way:
In front the dumb rock rises steep,
A fretted wall of blue and grey;
Of shooting cliff and crumbled stone
With many a wild weed overgrown:
All else, black water: and afloat,
One rood from shore, that single boat.
poem by Matthew Arnold
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Water On The Brain
(hicks / clarke / nash)
Ive just come in from out of the rain
Its wet outside the water runs down a drain
I go to bed cause my heads full of pain
And drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
Outside the window theres a pipe wearing thin
It lets the water do a dance on a tin
I try to sleep but its making a din
And drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
Water on the brain water on the brain
Water on the brain water on the brain
Drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
I toss and turn and my patience is weak
Go to the bathroom door and I take a peak yeah
The bath tap has started a leak
And drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
Drip drip its driving me wild
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On The Mountain Slope
On that very high mountain slope grass did cling
to our bare feet, some branches scraped us,
where we overlooked fishermen at sea,
where their boat suddenly rose up and down.
Below big waves washed against the hill,
I did not trust the cliff, the mountain side
and right there you firmly grasped my hand,
when the heaven became bluer than your eyes.
Did our open eyes deceive us right there?
or did somebody walk on the water,
as if the sea is an open grass field,
to the boat that was rocking up and down,
before Him the whole sea was wide open;
what a wondrous type of occurrence.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Blue Mountains
Above the ashes straight and tall,
Through ferns with moisture dripping,
I climb beneath the sandstone wall,
My feet on mosses slipping.
Like ramparts round the valley's edge
The tinted cliffs are standing,
With many a broken wall and ledge,
And many a rocky landing.
And round about their rugged feet
Deep ferny dells are hidden
In shadowed depths, whence dust and heat
Are banished and forbidden.
The stream that, crooning to itself,
Comes down a tireless rover,
Flows calmly to the rocky shelf,
And there leaps bravely over.
Now pouring down, now lost in spray
When mountain breezes sally,
The water strikes the rock midway,
And leaps into the valley.
Now in the west the colours change,
The blue with crimson blending;
Behind the far Dividing Range,
The sun is fast descending.
And mellowed day comes o'er the place,
And softens ragged edges;
The rising moon's great placid face
Looks gravely o'er the ledges.
poem by Henry Lawson
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We’ll go to the mountain, you and I
We’ll go to the mountain
that overlooks the sea
climb up one of its peaks
and from high
where it almost
touches the clouds
on Helderberg Mountain view
the dark blue sea,
see trees lined in rows.
I’ll spread a blanket
from where you’ll face
into the breeze
which will play
with your auburn hair
and maybe we’ll catch
some wild doves in the trees
up there
and see them frolic and
count the houses
along the golden shore
and wait for some time
and then some more.
We’ll have a picnic
and eat some roasted chicken
and potato salad
if you want,
and drink some fresh water
from a mountain spring
and have some apple pie
if we brought some along
and later have some champagne
and you’ll be mine
and I will be yours
and when we are done
we will go home again
while we watch the beach,
the ocean and the sky
and down we’ll walk
just you and I.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Mountain Woman
They lived together in a dirty old shack
At the edge of the black rocky mountain
And they drank mountain dew and they lived on the food
That they grew at the side of the mountain
Shes a mountain woman, hes her mountain man
They [? ] down the valley
Shes a mountain woman, hes her mountain man
Uneducated but theyre happy
Mountain woman couldnt read nor write
But she knew good from evil, she know wrong from right
When the government tried to buy her water rights
Her intuition was her only guide
Shes a mountain woman, hes her mountain man
They [? ] by the valley
Shes a mountain woman, hes her mountain man
Uneducated but theyre happy
Spend my life with my mountain woman
Were uneducated by were happy
The civil servant used compulsory purchase
To acquire the [? ] for the nation
Theyll dig up the land, theyre gonna make a dam
And build a hydroelectric power station
And now she lives on the 33rd floor
Of a man-made concrete mountain
She got an elevator and refrigerator
And an automobile to run around in
Fast talkin lawyers from the government
Went and beat proud mountain woman down
Hey mountain woman, take your mountain man
They took your land and flood your valley
Spend my life with my mountain woman
Theyre uneducated by theyre happy
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lake, The Fountain
by the lake so still so calm
sky-blue cloud-white
more sky than water this autumn day
the air so still above
there a tree leans over the water
as if in thanks
and here a gathering of stones
awaits the offhand lapping of the wavelets
bringing out the many colours of the stones
that remember mountains edging the horizon
with light and shadow through the day
over there a fountain plashes over worn carved stone
fed by a mountain waterfall wild fountain tamed
throwing up a million new-mined diamonds
droplets sparkling like a chandelier
the sun catches turning air and water
into unceasing dance of somehow joy
the still lake the dancing fountain
telling with water two stories
stillness in joy
joy in stillness
as two white-robed nuns who whisper laughing
laughing whisper
in the cool of the evening
beside the fountain
before prayer
and holy silence
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Some Questions for Me...
perhaps i am too serious as a mountain
unmoved by the grief of those
clouds drifting
seeking comfort in the air that now
dominates them
because they have no direction
where to go
and no reason why they are going there
i am too serious, people are damned
and they do not make a sound
about this mountain that does not move and keep
on numb
and unfeeling and indifferent to what is happening
to the river
the snails and the squirrels and rats
and grass
perhaps i am dead
perhaps i am another senseless mountain
not knowing why i am here
perhaps i have become a stone
a grain of sand
a gasp of air
perhaps i have become another meaningless cloud
hanging upon
my side...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In A Garden
Gushing from the mouths of stone men
To spread at ease under the sky
In granite-lipped basins,
Where iris dabble their feet
And rustle to a passing wind,
The water fills the garden with its rushing,
In the midst of the quiet of close-clipped lawns.
Damp smell the ferns in tunnels of stone,
Where trickle and plash the fountains,
Marble fountains, yellowed with much water.
Splashing down moss-tarnished steps
It falls, the water;
And the air is throbbing with it.
With its gurgling and running.
With its leaping, and deep, cool murmur.
And I wished for night and you.
I wanted to see you in the swimming-pool,
White and shining in the silver-flecked water.
While the moon rode over the garden,
High in the arch of night,
And the scent of the lilacs was heavy with stillness.
Night, and the water, and you in your whiteness, bathing!
poem by Amy Lowell
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Purple Heather
(Intro not in English)
Oh the summer time is gone
And the leaves are sweetly turning
And the wild mountain thyme
Blooms across the purple heather
Will you go, lassie. go
If you will not go with me
I will never find another
To pick wild mountain thyme
All along the purple heather
Will you go, lassie, go
Lassie, go
I will build my love a tower
by the cool crystal waters
And I'll cling to her forever
Like the ivy to the heather
Will you go, lassie, go
*And we'll go together
To pick wild mountain thyme
All along the purple heather
Will you go, lassie, go
Lassie, go
(Not in English)
Will you go, lassie, go
(*Repeat)
And we'll all go together
Tp pull wild mountain thyme
All across the purple heather
Will you go, lassie, go
Lassie, go
Lassie, go
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At The Balcony
from here
i see the blue sea and the old bamboo raft floating in the water
over there is a mountain of stone
with patches of green resistant grass
the coconut trees are tall and thin
and the wooden boats are docked
the men are drinking their tequilas
away from their masters and the owners of their fates
the women are doing their laundry on the river
and the children are splashing in the shallow water
some dogs waggle their tails afraid of the water
i am alone here with a camera on hand
my cell phone is turned off
i am out of reach, i am not lost, i am trying to find a way
back into my heart
feeling what my soul wants to say
i feast on the view that this balcony is giving me
i savor what God is giving freely.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Buddhist speaks: a man listens, drinks
‘The burning flames of anger have parched the stream of my being.
The thick darkness of illusion has blinded my intelligence.
My consciousness drowns in torrents of desire.
The mountain of pride has flung me into the nether worlds.
The driving blizzard of envy has dragged me into samsara.
The demon of belief in the ego has me firmly by the throat.’
(Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche)
[samsara = the flow of the world] ]
*
Oh Dilgo! You too? And you,
high in the snowy mountains, in a thriving monastery,
surrounded by devotion, love, study, meditation, prayer…
what hope for me and us, if this is what you find in you?
Then I remember your serene and smiling face,
untrammelled, unaffected, giving, and compassionate;
your first thought, before and after meditation
and the seeking of those light-clouded inner worlds,
compassion for the world; as you in turn were taught..
what hope for me and us, what can we do –
but, read this… not with self-loathing, but compassion,
the compassion that brought you, too, to write…
and I recall how snow, hanging from a mountain ledge,
forms drops of water sparkling in the sun and mountain air;
now and then, they drop; join together in a trickle;
a little way below, a mountain stream
gurgles, laughs upon its way;
makes a channel in the rock, splashes from the overhangs;
further down below (silent and still from up here, but for
a single bird, wheeling, gliding, in the lower air)
down below – a mighty river plans to form;
how pure its water tastes.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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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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The Far Field
I
I dream of journeys repeatedly:
Of flying like a bat deep into a narrowing tunnel
Of driving alone, without luggage, out a long peninsula,
The road lined with snow-laden second growth,
A fine dry snow ticking the windshield,
Alternate snow and sleet, no on-coming traffic,
And no lights behind, in the blurred side-mirror,
The road changing from glazed tarface to a rubble of stone,
Ending at last in a hopeless sand-rut,
Where the car stalls,
Churning in a snowdrift
Until the headlights darken.
II
At the field's end, in the corner missed by the mower,
Where the turf drops off into a grass-hidden culvert,
Haunt of the cat-bird, nesting-place of the field-mouse,
Not too far away from the ever-changing flower-dump,
Among the tin cans, tires, rusted pipes, broken machinery, --
One learned of the eternal;
And in the shrunken face of a dead rat, eaten by rain and ground-beetles
(I found in lying among the rubble of an old coal bin)
And the tom-cat, caught near the pheasant-run,
Its entrails strewn over the half-grown flowers,
Blasted to death by the night watchman.
I suffered for young birds, for young rabbits caught in the mower,
My grief was not excessive.
For to come upon warblers in early May
Was to forget time and death:
How they filled the oriole's elm, a twittering restless cloud, all one morning,
And I watched and watched till my eyes blurred from the bird shapes, --
Cape May, Blackburnian, Cerulean, --
Moving, elusive as fish, fearless,
Hanging, bunched like young fruit, bending the end branches,
Still for a moment,
Then pitching away in half-flight,
Lighter than finches,
While the wrens bickered and sang in the half-green hedgerows,
And the flicker drummed from his dead tree in the chicken-yard.
-- Or to lie naked in sand,
In the silted shallows of a slow river,
Fingering a shell,
Thinking:
Once I was something like this, mindless,
Or perhaps with another mind, less peculiar;
Or to sink down to the hips in a mossy quagmire;
Or, with skinny knees, to sit astride a wet log,
Believing:
I'll return again,
As a snake or a raucous bird,
Or, with luck, as a lion.
I learned not to fear infinity,
The far field, the windy cliffs of forever,
The dying of time in the white light of tomorrow,
The wheel turning away from itself,
The sprawl of the wave,
The on-coming water.
III
The river turns on itself,
The tree retreats into its own shadow.
I feel a weightless change, a moving forward
As of water quickening before a narrowing channel
When banks converge, and the wide river whitens;
Or when two rivers combine, the blue glacial torrent
And the yellowish-green from the mountainy upland, --
At first a swift rippling between rocks,
Then a long running over flat stones
Before descending to the alluvial plane,
To the clay banks, and the wild grapes hanging from the elmtrees.
The slightly trembling water
Dropping a fine yellow silt where the sun stays;
And the crabs bask near the edge,
The weedy edge, alive with small snakes and bloodsuckers, --
I have come to a still, but not a deep center,
A point outside the glittering current;
My eyes stare at the bottom of a river,
At the irregular stones, iridescent sandgrains,
My mind moves in more than one place,
In a country half-land, half-water.
I am renewed by death, thought of my death,
The dry scent of a dying garden in September,
The wind fanning the ash of a low fire.
What I love is near at hand,
Always, in earth and air.
IV
The lost self changes,
Turning toward the sea,
A sea-shape turning around, --
An old man with his feet before the fire,
In robes of green, in garments of adieu.
A man faced with his own immensity
Wakes all the waves, all their loose wandering fire.
The murmur of the absolute, the why
Of being born falls on his naked ears.
His spirit moves like monumental wind
That gentles on a sunny blue plateau.
He is the end of things, the final man.
All finite things reveal infinitude:
The mountain with its singular bright shade
Like the blue shine on freshly frozen snow,
The after-light upon ice-burdened pines;
Odor of basswood on a mountain-slope,
A scent beloved of bees;
Silence of water above a sunken tree :
The pure serene of memory in one man, --
A ripple widening from a single stone
Winding around the waters of the world.
poem by Theodore Roethke
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The waterfall
Carved between two forests
scented with pine and peat,
crystal cold water rushes
across a mountain shelf
over 200 ft deep.
Splashing,
tangling
in tremendous motion
roaring like the raging tide
over flint grey rock it tumbles
thundering downward
running wild
spraying
sparkling
silver
out into the air.
Filling it
full of misty mornings
smelling of pine damp grass.
Leaving a lingering
taste of
iced spring pearls
served in rock crystal glass.
poem by Diana Rosser
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Sometimes it’s as if my childhood days comes back
Sometimes it’s as if my childhood days
comes back to me unexpectedly
where the sheer beauty of things astounds me,
water that lies glistening in a river
how water reflects my face and in wrinkles disguises it
the smell of wild flowers hanging sweet in the air
and the colour and texture catching me
as if I am walking in an overgrown garden
full of singing birds
where I see clouds spread like flakes
covering the bright blue in little pieces
with spots of blue between the white
and it is as if for short moments I can return
to a place and time
full of joy and jolliness
poem by Gert Strydom
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People from a world corner
The worst poverty in the world
The worst discrimination in the world
While people thinking about Global Warming
Corner people thinking how to survive
Corner people struggling one day by one day
While people living in the rocket age
Corner people walking miles to miles for one day survive
Corner people surprising whenever a plane is flying
While people thinking about living on other planets
Corner people crying to get a four feet square area
Corner people watering their blood for a four feet squares area
While people thinking about homosexual marriage
Corner people giving their lives for saving their children
Corner people growing never ever seeing their parents
While people thinking about which food is the best in the world
Corner people running thousand miles to get a few rice
Corner people dying lack of food and water
While people thinking about legalization of prostitution
Corner people not knowing what is the law
Corner people never seeing decided by a just justice
Corner people are not people!
Corner people are not from this world!
I would wonder............
poem by Zaw Myat Htoo
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Moon
lady of the night
so silent in the sky
descending through
the river and sitting on
the marsh
so soft and gentle
as i wade through the water
as i rise and sit on the
bank bathing to your
yellow light.
how i wish she arrives
tonight for another round
of worship
to the moon in the sky
descending and sitting
on the marshes of the
river....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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