Nimal
Two scions sprung among the fennels of the countryside
They bid their own welcome because fennels say little to scions
These scions were of a sturdy stock themselves
Though new compared to the old stiff necked forrest
They were wise beyond their years
The scions grew as the seasons passed
Some slender stalks bowed their heads and withered
Others rigidly weathered the storms of cloud and stream
One day in the spring the fennels of the highest stalk
Noticed a shadow of leaf and trunk across their tethers
The scions had grown rapdily as the days had passed
The scions were tall, evergreen and entwined
They would never bow their heads as the fennels
Or become uprooted by cold rivulets
They had grown intrepid and wise
Knowing that
Persistence is the mother of success
And passion is her handmaiden.
poem by George Murdock
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Related quotes
At the Wedding-March
God with honour hang your head,
Groom, and grace you, bride, your bed
With lissome scions, sweet scions,
Out of hallowed bodies bred.
Each be other’s comfort kind:
Déep, déeper than divined,
Divine charity, dear charity,
Fast you ever, fast bind.
Then let the March tread our ears:
I to him turn with tears
Who to wedlock, his wonder wedlock,
Déals tríumph and immortal years.
poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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The Scions of Spring
The iron gates lay broken,
The fire bricks scattered and pitched
Where once the setting’s fierce roar
now silence.
Once while the chimneys billowed the stench and smoke of slaughter.
In the background the sounds of trains and shouting men.
Fierce dogs strained at tethers from urine stained alcoves.
While jack boots thudded on brick paved causeways,
behind the panic of bare feet and ragged breath,
the rutting continued.
like salmon swimming up the sweet stream, the rutting went on,
behind shipping crates, in mountains of excelsior, and beneath the points
of fixed bayonets, in straw heaps of barns and sheds.
Years after the grates lay frozen and the stench of the dead night
gave way to the lilt of peach blossoms, we lay on a plaid blanket together,
staring into each other’s eyes, conjuring the scions of spring,
caught in the gyre of the helix.
poem by George Murdock
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Apathy
Oh ye of little faith
Denying the grqce of forgiveness
Erasing your compassion
And turning in the opposite
Direction of your compass
Who goes there in your Head?
In needier times you shined
And your opened arms were there
Shelter was given
And love was aware
Singled out now from the masses
More a bleached out cartoon character
With no sense of humor
Serious to a fault
As if falling into deep ravines of clamor
Only to find more disheveled scions
Where is your humanity?
Your gusto?
Your character?
You know-the warmth of our
Days in the sun?
Once so perfect
Now flawed
Cold to
Absolute stoic
Like a monolith
In the deepest chill
Of winter
Frozen solid
Forever
Dedicated to:
Sheltered
poem by Theodora Onken
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A Rhapsody To Urana
We know of Uranus, God to The Sky
Declaimed by Hellenic Invaders of Thessaly
Yet history forgets the true Sky Deity
The lovely Urana, Sky Goddess of equanimity
Her name's eponymy, `Queen of The Mountains`
`Queen of Summer`, `Queen of The Winds`
`Queen of The Oxen`, `Queen of Sky Rains`
Orgiastic Queen, of mid-summer din
I flout the Aryan Decree of Varuna
Who claimed to Father, the north of Greece
The indigo blue in The Sky of Urana
Belongs to The Ladies of peace
We, Fantast scions, of Delphi's roots
Bemused by Pythoness Epithia
Staid are we, who know the truth
Of the Lady Sky...............Urana
poem by Steve Trimmer
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To The Storyteller
Spin us a tale, tell us a rhyme,
What happened “Once upon a time”?
Give us a ballad, sing us a lay
Of kings and princes far, far away.
Spin us a yarn, tell us a story
Of battles and kingdoms and warriors’ glory
Of princesses cursed, awaiting a kiss
Of lands full of laughter, beauty, and bliss
Of forests enchanted and wild bright lions
Of adventures braved by daring young scions
Of war and of peace, of love and of hate
Of apples in Eden that Adam once ate
Of sparrows in flight and fish in the sea
Of volcanic eruptions and mountains’ majesty
Tell us! Tell us! Please – tell us all!
Hurry, do hurry! Speak swiftly and clear
For our bedtimes draw ever and ever so near –
Spin us a tale, tell us a rhyme,
What happened “Once upon a time”?
poem by Sophia White
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Tales Of Arabia
YES, friend, I own these tales of Arabia
Smile not, as smiled their flawless originals,
Age-old but yet untamed, for ages
Pass and the magic is undiminished.
Thus, friend, the tales of the old Camaralzaman,
Ayoub, the Slave of Love, or the Calendars,
Blind-eyed and ill-starred royal scions,
Charm us in age as they charmed in childhood.
Fair ones, beyond all numerability,
Beam from the palace, beam on humanity,
Bright-eyed, in truth, yet soul-less houris
Offering pleasure and only pleasure.
Thus they, the venal Muses Arabian,
Unlike, indeed, the nobler divinities,
Greek Gods or old time-honoured muses,
Easily proffer unloved caresses.
Lost, lost, the man who mindeth the minstrelsy;
Since still, in sandy, glittering pleasances,
Cold, stony fruits, gem-like but quite in-
Edible, flatter and wholly starve him.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Thankless Scions
Grandma was in isolation
She was in an isle of distress
The children whom she fed
With the blood turned milk
In her breasts
Have all flown and vanished
And she left abandoned
With the linings all over
In mind and skin
Heralding the arrival
Of the frail old December
Of the life, the end of the span!
The marvelous culture
Of a house- hold adorned
With grandma and grandpa
With children and grand children
Went into oblivion!
The grandma and grandpa
Is a hindrance to their children
Is a bad omen to scions
And an inconvenience
To the young and dynamic!
Grandma and grandpa
Are ignored and caged
As of a dog or parrot
And fed like a slave
Tied to a pole in chains!
The thankless sons and daughters
Never care the sufferings
And sacrifices of Ma and Papa
And they want to be alone
As being youthful in spirit
And are eager to enjoy
The spring of life
Where they hate the face of autumn!
Grandma, Grandpa, Ma and Papa
Are omen of autumn
That they never wish to sight!
The young whose blood
Rushes with the fuel of Ma's milk
Forget that the green leaves
Will turn yellow
And wither away
And an autumn is is hibernation
To embrace them tomorrow!
poem by Vadakkumpurath Ramesan
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The World’s Justice
If the sudden tidings came
That on some far, foreign coast,
Buried ages long from fame,
Had been found a remnant lost
Of that hoary race who dwelt
By the golden Nile divine,
Spake the Pharaoh's tongue and knelt
At the moon-crowned Isis' shrine-
How at reverend Egypt's feet,
Pilgrims from all lands would meet!
If the sudden news were known,
That anigh the desert-place
Where once blossomed Babylon,
Scions of a mighty race
Still survived, of giant build,
Huntsmen, warriors, priest and sage,
Whose ancestral fame had filled,
Trumpet-tongued, the earlier age,
How at old Assyria's feet
Pilgrims from all lands would meet!
Yet when Egypt's self was young,
And Assyria's bloom unworn,
Ere the mythic Homer sung,
Ere the gods of Greece were born,
Lived the nation of one God,
Priests of freedom, sons of Shem,
Never quelled by yoke or rod,
Founders of Jerusalem-
Is there one abides to-day,
Seeker of dead cities, say!
Answer, now as then, THEY ARE;
Scattered broadcast o'er the lands,
Knit in spirit nigh and far,
With indissoluble bands.
Half the world adores their God,
They the living law proclaim,
And their guerdon is-the rod,
Stripes and scourgings, death and shame.
Still on Israel's head forlorn,
Every nation heaps its scorn.
poem by Emma Lazarus
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-91
Butterfly bush(Summer lilac,
Buddleja davidii)
You were then a stranger
Just charming attractive
By the hillside farther
When I passed adventive
Was it your purplish blue
Was it your convened make
Was it butterflies accrue
Was it your scented shake
I'd say them together all
Bushy with elliptic leaves
slender stalks grown tall
In awe hurrayed 'who's this? '
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Storms Have Passed
the days are getting cloudy for me,
storm clouds over my head,
so dark, i can barely see,
the storms have passed by me.
the swetness of life, has passed me by,
of my life, the storms have went,
and i look forward to when i die,
the storms have passed me by.
of the Lord, i'll meet and see,
to be with Him, ever more,
and there, i'll never need to plea
the storms have passed by me.
In A Windowpane
I looked into a windowpane
Last evening in a city far away
I was feelin sad and blue
I wondered then if I should really stay
Wanting someone to be with me in the light of this uncertain time
Waiting by the window for the man inside
To please make up his mind
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
Never knowing never feeling anything
Will you live your whole life through never knowing what to do
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
I walked along the roadway to a fountain
Where lovers come to meet
A hobo walked up to me, I could tell
He didnt have enough to eat
He said, good sir you look so kind
And though the years have stripped me to the bone
It seems I am the better man
For in this place Ive never walked alone
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
Never knowing never feeling anything
Will you live your whole life through never knowing what to do
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
Where will you be, my friendly, when your
Telephone aint givin out no calls
And when the seasons come to haunt you
Will you still find springtime in the fall
And when youre on your island
Will you wave at every ship that passes by
And will you feed a hungry man
I thank you, sir,
Now Ill just say goodbye
Dont you be one who passed through but never saw
Never knowing never feeling anything
Will you live your whole life through never knowing what to do
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
Will you live your whole life through never knowing what to do
Will you be one who passed through but never saw
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dead Before Death
Ah! changed and cold, how changed and very cold,
With stiffened smiling lips and cold calm eyes:
Changed, yet the same; much knowing, little wise;
This was the promise of the days of old!
Grown hard and stubborn in the ancient mould,
Grown rigid in the sham of lifelong lies:
We hoped for better things as years would rise,
But it is over as a tale once told.
All fallen the blossom that no fruitage bore,
All lost the present and the future time,
All lost, all lost, the lapse that went before:
So lost till death shut-to the opened door,
So lost from chime to everlasting chime,
So cold and lost for ever evermore.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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I Know I've Grown
I know I've grown.
Had I not...
Mother Nature would not stop me,
Suddenly with her beauty.
And I now am aware,
Of what has been always there.
I know I've grown.
I'm fascinated by a walk in the rain.
If clouds are there,
I do not complain.
And when I get wet,
I get a sense of happiness.
Without feeling 'strange' at all!
I know I've grown.
When I think of obstacles as adjustments.
And it seems as if it was just yesterday,
I struggled against this!
Finding it unbearable to face another challenge.
Today...
I know I've grown.
Since I think of those who passed their judgements,
As gifts received.
And I am able to forgive and let live?
Believing what had been done has its meaning.
Something from that has been retrieved.
And I am relieved by it.
Oh, I know I have grown.
Especially if I can come to smile,
In the face of a known tormentor.
And observing a suspicion,
From them I get!
I am equally as amazed.
And yet...
Not forgetting what was done.
But knowing I have overcomed my anger.
To allow a peace of mind I have found!
And trust me...
The power of that can stun.
And that did not arrive...
As I sat trying to justify my bitterness.
That crap had to go!
And when that was decided,
I knew inside myself...
I had grown to appreciate,
My life with more of an awareness...
Of what Mother Nature shows.
And this has been a blessing.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Warheads
Hey kid,
Wanna have some fun?
Choose a side
And, heres your gun
Brought up,
Knowing right from wrong,
Squash the meek,
Inherit the strong
Just try and,
Cross the line,
Dont even bother
To waste my time
Whats that
Look in your eyes?
Its time I cut you,
Down to size
This world aint
Big enough for two,
And Ive got my
Sights on you
Would you like to be,
Im a warhead
Youre a warhead
A warhead just like me?
Hes a warhead
Shes a warhead
Watch em scream n yell
Would you like to be,
A warhead too
When I blow them
Straight to hell
Ramboy,
Its us and them
Just like your daddy
In vietnam
Monkey see,
Monkey do,
Your boys grown up
Just like you
This world aint
Big enough for two
And Ive got my
Eye on you
Chorus
Ive seen black heads,
White heads,
Red heads,
Dead heads,
Big heads,
Shit heads,
But, theres no heads
Like warheads!
song performed by by Extreme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Now
TAKE as you will, slake, solace, and possess
While Youth, with laughter, scatters tears that fall
Sudden and shaken sometimes at your call;
Pledge me in passion and in gentleness,--
In praise and prayer, I would not give you less,
Be less unconquerably true in all,
Take my young kisses,--my young spirit's thrall,
Forbid not Now's imperishable "Yes"!
When I am old, and cold, and wise, and grown
As far beyond as you outstrip me now,--
Nor plead, nor pant, nor challenge nor protest;
Oh, come not then, all these years less your own;
Too old to love, too wise to heed your vow,
Too cold to feel your cold hand upon my breast.
poem by Muriel Stuart
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Charlene-n-Booker 4ever
And the old men, supervising grown grandsons, nephews,
any man a boy given this chance of making
a new sidewalk outside the apartment building where
some of them live, three old men and their wives,
the aging unmarrying children, and the child
who is a cousin, whose mother has sent her here
because she doesn't know what to do with her,
she's out of control, she wants to be a gangsta, and
the old folks talk to her as if she minds them
and already has that respect for their years her mother
finally grew into. The girl who does not look
like them eats and eats and sleeps late, sneaks away
when they are busy, and tonight will write herself
all over the sidewalk while it is still wet but
the old have gone inside, and the grown gone home,
and her mother who is somewhere overseas thinks of
writing her that long long letter, but decides not to.
poem by Forrest Hamer
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The Disenthralled
HE had bowed down to drunkenness,
An abject worshipper:
The pride of manhood's pulse had grown
Too faint and cold to stir;
And he had given his spirit up
To the unblessëd thrall,
And bowing to the poison cup,
He gloried in his fall!
There came a change —the cloud rolled off,
And light fell on his brain —
And like the passing of a dream
That cometh not again,
The shadow of the spirit fled.
He saw the gulf before,
He shuddered at the waste behind,
And was a man once more.
He shook the serpent folds away,
That gathered round his heart,
As shakes the swaying forest-oak
Its poison vine apart;
He stood erect; returning pride
Grew terrible within,
And conscience sat in judgment, on
His most familiar sin.
The light of Intellect again
Along his pathway shone;
And Reason like a monarch sat
Upon his olden throne.
The honored and the wise once more
Within his presence came;
And lingered oft on lovely lips
His once forbidden name.
There may be glory in the might,
That treadeth nations down;
Wreaths for the crimson conqueror,
Pride for the kingly crown;
But nobler is that triumph hour,
The disenthralled shall find,
When evil passion boweth down,
Unto the Godlike mind!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The larvae
the larvae
it has grown
shed its ugly days
crept out of dried brown leaf
in a lovely batik
to start a princely life
crowned with two wings
it has flown high into the sky
as if to announce its glory
it now has honey as food
and flowers as friends
never once in its larvae days
it has thought life would turn out
to be so grand
the man too has grown, shrivelled
and passed away
leaving a world of colourful imagination
as to its existence beyond
perhaps he too now lives a grand life
somewhere.... in a garden
leaving the drab existence behind
like the larvae that leaves its brown leaf
to fly away a glory of nature
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Who is to judge?
Family Heads, are you right to judge?
Political Heads, are you wise to judge?
Religious Heads, are you just to judge?
Judicial Heads, are you true to judge?
Individuals, are you free to judge?
One is right to one’s act.
Each act ends with its fate
As each birth meets its death.
Which birth is not just?
Which act is not just?
Who are you and I to judge?
Time is supreme and beyond us.
08.06.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Jumblies
They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say,
On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,
In a Sieve they went to sea!
And when the Sieve turned round and round,
And every one cried, `You'll all be drowned!'
They called aloud, `Our Sieve ain't big,
But we don't care a button! we don't care a fig!
In a Sieve we'll go to sea!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
They sailed away in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil
Tied with a riband by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast;
And every one said, who saw them go,
`O won't they be soon upset, you know!
For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long,
And happen what may, it's extremely wrong
In a Sieve to sail so fast!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
The water it soon came in, it did,
The water it soon came in;
So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
In a pinky paper all folded neat,
And they fastened it down with a pin.
And they passed the night in a crockery-jar,
And each of them said, `How wise we are!
Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
While round in our Sieve we spin!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
And all night long they sailed away;
And when the sun went down,
They whistled and warbled a moony song
To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
In the shade of the mountains brown.
`O Timballo! How happy we are,
When we live in a Sieve and a crockery-jar,
And all night long in the moonlight pale,
We sail away with a pea-green sail,
In the shade of the mountains brown!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,
To a land all covered with trees,
And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart,
And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart,
And a hive of silvery Bees.
And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws,
And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,
And no end of Stilton Cheese.
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
And in twenty years they all came back,
In twenty years or more,
And every one said, `How tall they've grown!
For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,
And the hills of the Chankly Bore!'
And they drank their health, and gave them a feast
Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
And every one said, `If we only live,
We too will go to sea in a Sieve,---
To the hills of the Chankly Bore!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
poem by Edward Lear
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