Acon
Bear me to Dictaeus,
and to the steep slopes;
to the river Erymanthus.
I choose spray of dittany,
cyperum, frail of flower,
buds of myrrh,
all-healing herbs,
close pressed in calathes.
For she lies panting,
drawing sharp breath,
broken with harsh sobs.
she, Hyella,
whom no god pities.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
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Related quotes
Choose
A blade held in one hand
A pen held in the other
Now I must decide
I must choose one or another
A gund sits in my left hand
A phone lies in the right
Should I try to ask for help
Or just give up the fight
One path cloaked in darkness
One is bright with life
Do I choose the easy one
Or continue through the strife
Some say we are nothing more
Than the choices that we make
That where we are going
Comes from the steps we take
Peolpe cry out for advise
Untill they lose their voice
They are all wasting their breath
It comes down to their choice
I have come across that point
I'm panting scarce of breath
Now I must make up my mind
Do I choose Life or Death?
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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On The Water
The sound of bank and water is all I hear,
The sad resignation of a weeping spring
Or a rock that hourly sheds a tear,
And the birch leaves' vague quivering.
I do not see the river bear the boat along
The flowering shore flits past, and I remain;
And in the watery depths that I skim,
The reflected blue sky flutters like a curtain.
Meandering in their sleep, you might say the waters
Waver, no longer sure where the bank lies:
And the flower thrown in hesitates to choose.
And like this flower, all that man desires
Can settle on the river of my life,
Without teaching me which way my wishes lie.
poem by Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On a Baby Buried by the Hawkesbury
A grace that was lent for a very few hours,
By the bountiful Spirit above us;
She sleeps like a flower in the land of the flowers,
She went ere she knew how to love us.
Her music of Heaven was strange to this sphere,
Her voice is a silence for ever;
In the bitter, wild fall of a sorrowful year,
We buried our bird by the river.
But the gold of the grass, and the green of the vine,
And the music of wind and of water,
And the torrent of song and superlative shine,
Are close to our dear little daughter.
The months of the year are all gracious to her,
A winter breath visits her never;
She sleeps like a bird in a cradle of myrrh,
By the banks of the beautiful river.
poem by Henry Kendall
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Lotus Flower
On the shoreline of a murky swamp, a
Lotus flower blooms through the dirty water.
The contaminated springs slowly sway
Down the slothy, nonexigent river—
Crusted and caked by a blue-green algae,
Browned by the erosion of stagnation.
How could such filth come to rightfully be
The host of this beautiful creation?
How does its life rise from the putrescence,
Sprouting against the harsh forces of death?
It challenges both wit and common sense
By drawing its photosynthetic breath.
Yet, it remains resilient and strong,
Defiantly alive—as it belongs.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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The Herb Of Grace
Find some freckled fern seed to sprinkle in your shoes
And you may step invisible down the peopled street,
Or curve about the apple boughs like swallows if you choose,
Lifted by the elfin wings that tingle in your feet.
Oh, you may cull a-many sweets with fern seed iin your shoe!
But leave alone the rue--
Little boy, little girl,
Leave alone the rue!
Keep the downy dittany and storms will bring you calm,
Fill a vervain pillow for a thought-grieved head;
Cherish balm whene'er you can, there's none too much of balm,
And never stop for rosemary, 'twill follow where you tread.
Taste the scarlet love-apple, if youth will drive you to,
But leave alone the rue--
Fair lass, fine lad,
Leave alone the rue!
Mix tansy in your Easter cake and earn a placid year,
For though you cross the Little Folk they cannot then offend;
Give a spray and take a spray of ivy from your dear,
But pay with coin for parsley, or its price will be a friend.
Wear a four-leafed clover and the charm will win you through;
But leave alone the rue--
Grave man, wise woman,
Leave alone the rue!
Lovelier than wealth is laughing potentilla's gold,
Eyebright is beautiful and kind to eyes that weep;
Rich herbs of healing the wild glens hold
With hemlock and foxglove for those sick for sleep.
Surely there are flowers enough and strong leaves too!
Must you gather rue?
Poor things, poor things,
Leave alone the rue!
Come the aged creeping, each with wreaths for his own grave,
Dried roses, laurel leaves, wisps of dead grass,
Young-eyed forget-me-nots that old tears lave,
Heartsease, and love-lies-bleeding, bare thorns, alas!
Choice of life's harvesting that tells the tale true!
And all carry rue,
Evergreen, bitter green,
All carry rue!
poem by Elsie Cole
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In A Breath
Life is only one breath after another,
We are the ones who control our breaths, not oneanother.
A breath is all it takes,
To make a breath.
In a breath you could stop,
In a breath you could drop,
In a breath anything could happen,
In a breath anything could happen.
Life is the journey down a pathway,
Of which stones are breaths that show you the way.
A path to eternity, to forever.
Where you shall stay forever and ever.
In a breath you could die,
In a breath you could fly,
In a breath anything could happen,
In a breath anything could happen.
Tomorrow is yet a turn,
A turn you may not reach, but only a breath can determine,
You don't know when your final turn comes.
You do not know what you will become.
In a breath you could win,
In a breath you could sin.
In a breath anything could happen,
anything could happen.
Life is but a breath,
Air is but a breath,
In life you will find the truth,
And find air is the proof.
In a breath you could find nothing,
In a breath you could find everything,
In a breath anything could happen,
In a breath anything could happen.
You travel down a river,
Where bubbles are breaths and you are the giver.
The giver of ripples, of currents,
Of which for endurence.
In a breath you could loose,
In a breath you could choose.
In a breath anything could happen
In a breath anything could happen.
Follow the river of dreams to the sea.
This is eternity you will see.
Breath avery breath,
As if it were your last breath.
In a breath you could sail.
In a breath you could fail.
In a breath anything could happen,
anything could happen.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Lies
If I could turn the page
In time then Id rearrange just a day or two
Close my, close my, close my eyes
But I couldnt find a way
So Ill settle for one day to believe in you
Tell me, tell me, tell me lies
Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
(tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies)
Oh, no, no you cant disguise
(you cant disguise, no you cant disguise)
Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
Although Im not making plans
I hope that you understand theres a reason why
Close your, close your, close your eyes
No more broken hearts
Were better off apart lets give it a try
Tell me, tell me, tell me lies
Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
(tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies)
Oh, no, no you cant disguise
(you cant disguise, no you cant disguise)
Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
If I could turn the page
In time then Id rearrange just a day or two
Close my, close my, close my eyes
But I couldnt find a way
So Ill settle for one day to believe in you
Tell me, tell me, tell me lies
Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
(tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies)
Oh, no, no you cant disguise
(you cant disguise, no you cant disguise)
Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
(tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies)
Oh, no, no you cant disguise
(you cant disguise, no you cant disguise)
Tell me lies
Tell me sweet little lies
(tell me, tell me lies)
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blooming Pleasures
Blooming Pleasures
By Lori Triggs
Copyrighted 2006
My flower was grown with buds
Waiting to bloom by a man.
My flower was deflowered with
Blooms opened fertilized its seed.
My flower was defiled by
My ex love for he forgot to
Love, compassion with attention.
My flower was debloomed and
Felt wilted with no buds.
My flower was grown with
New buds by a new man, who cares,
Gives love, compassion with attention.
My flower was deflowered again
By the new man the first day we met.
My flower sowed its seed
3 times at the Hyatt March 10th,
After being out of the Robert Wood Johnson
Hospital emergency room for Cardiology.
I say my heart works fine,
But I might need a hip or joint replacement.
poem by Lori Triggs
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I Picked A Flower
I picked a flower from a bush
And I loved it so
Put it in a vase next to my bed
But how was I to know
That the flower cried for its bush
That the bush cried for its flower
But how was I to know
That the flower would die in an hour
The flower withered away
And I put it inside my book
Because I loved the flower so
But how was I to know
That the flower gasped for breath
That it was facing death
But how was I to know
That the flower so badly wanted to go
And I kept the flower close to me
So that every day I could see
But how was I know
That the flower that I had loved so
Had always hated me
That there was pain I couln't see
And how was I to know?
poem by Shobhita Singh
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Rip
It can't be the passing of time that casts
That white shadow across the waters
Just offshore.
I shiver a little, with the evening.
I turn down the steep path to find
What's left of the river gold.
I whistle a dog lazily, and lazily
A bird whistles me.
Close by a big river, I am alive in my own country,
I am home again.
Yes: I lived here, and here, and my name,
That I carved young, with a girl's, is healed over, now,
And lies sleeping beneath the inward sky
Of a tree's skin, close to the quick.
It's best to keep still.
But:
There goes that bird that whistled me down here
To the river a moment ago.
Who is he? A little white barn owl from Hudson's Bay,
Flown out of his range here, and, if he wants to,
He can be the body that casts
That white shadow across the waters
Just offshore.
poem by James Arlington Wright
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Still Standing On You Feet?
When first I came to Jesus
The river was ankle deep
It cooled me in the day time
Yet still I was upon my feet
I went further down the river
And to my knees I went in deep
I could see a little clearer
Yet still I was upon my feet
I traveled down still further
And in the river went waist deep
Now I felt the river pulling
Yet still I was upon my feet
I decided to go deeper
Fully abandoned, no retreat
I was swept into the river
No longer standing on my feet
Now the river takes me
In the way that I must go
No longer do I choose the path
It's in the river that I flow
Now everywhere the waters go
It brings healing to the land
And now the Lord can use me
For I no longer stand.
poem by Frank McEleny
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Spring has broken
Spring has broken!
Spring has broken!
Spring has broken!
I can feel it in the air,
I can feel it within me,
The rays of morning sun is warming,
The cold freezing world is now behind,
And the burst of renewals are everywhere seen,
The new buds are peeping,
And the cherry blossoms will soon be bursting,
Leave this sadness behind and breath the freshness in.
See again the birds are chirping,
and the little playful squirrels are jumping.
Spring has broken!
Spring has broken!
Spring has broken!
Again this renewal of life must begin.
poem by Spiritual Seeker
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Glad To Be Alive
you woke up with a broken heart
but you found no broken limbs
you searched for healing
but found nothing
you cried out hard
and i could see you sad
you woke up weary
but you still got teary
searching for hope
down the steep slope
you yearned for a drink
before you went shrink
Glad to be alive
for another flame to shine
settled you've got time
to raise the broken pieces
happy you have the chance
to dive into the pool of choice
poem by Timothy muggaga
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Song (Sylvia The Fair, In The Bloom Of Fifteen)
Sylvia the fair, in the bloom of fifteen,
Felt an innocent warmth as she lay on the green:
She had heard of a pleasure, and something she guessed
By the towsing and tumbling and touching her breast:
She saw the men eager, but was at a loss
What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close;
By their praying and whining,
And clasping and twining,
And panting and wishing,
And sighing and kissing,
And sighing and kissing so close.
"Ah!" she cried, "ah, for a languishing maid
In a country of Christians to die without aid!
Not a Whig, or a Tory, or Trimmer at least,
Or a Protestant parson, or Catholic priest,
To instruct a young virgin that is at a loss
What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close;
By their praying and whining,
And clasping and twining,
And panting and wishing,
And sighing and kissing,
And sighing and kissing so close."
Cupid in shape of a swain did appear;
He saw the sad wound, and in pity drew near;
Then showed her his arrow, and bid her not fear,
For the pain was no more than a maiden may bear;
When the balm was infused, she was not at a loss
What they meant by their sighing and kissing so close;
By their praying and whining,
And clasping and twining,
And panting and wishing,
And sighing and kissing,
And sighing and kissing so close.
poem by John Dryden
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Bring, In This Timeless Grave to Throw
Bring, in this timeless grave to throw,
No cypress, sombre on the snow;
Snap not from the bitter yew
His leaves that live December through;
Break no rosemary, bright with rime
And sparkling to the cruel clime;
Nor plod the winter land to look
For willows in the icy brook
To cast them leafless round him: bring
No spray that ever buds in spring.
But if the Christmas field has kept
Awns the last gleaner overstept,
Or shrivelled flax, whose flower is blue
A single season, never two;
Or if one haulm whose year is o'er
Shivers on the upland frore,
--Oh, bring from hill and stream and plain
Whatever will not flower again,
To give him comfort: he and those
Shall bide eternal bedfellows
Where low upon the couch he lies
Whence he never shall arise.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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What are we? what can we become?
We can be just snails if we want to,
But we can be sparrows too,
We must choose, we cannot just be silent
& undecided
Forever,
If we choose to be snails
Then we will know what we want
We want a river and some palms
To plan our slow travels,
If we choose to be sparrows then
We at least know what to do next,
We shall grow beaks, and wings, and
Soon we need the sharp claws too
To defend ourselves
At least we also know what we need,
Just nests to lay our small eggs,
Twigs of trees to rest upon
Our weary bodies,
We choose what we are
To become what we can be,
We start on that decision, and then
We will see what suits us
To be the best from the rest,
Who still ask
What are we? what can we become?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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66
What are we? what can we become?
We can be just snails if we want to,
But we can be sparrows too,
We must choose, we cannot just be silent
& undecided
Forever,
If we choose to be snails
Then we will know what we want
We want a river and some palms
To plan our slow travels,
If we choose to be sparrows then
We at least know what to do next,
We shall grow beaks, and wings, and
Soon we need the sharp claws too
To defend ourselves
At least we also know what we need,
Just nests to lay our small eggs,
Twigs of trees to rest upon
Our weary bodies,
We choose what we are
To become what we can be,
We start on that decision, and then
We will see what suits us
To be the best from the rest,
Who still ask
What are we? what can we become?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Chattahoochee River
The Chattahoochee River is muddy and deep,
Rolls restless in her bed, and never sleeps.
She churns, whirls, and sometimes creeps,
But the Chattahoochee River never sleeps.
She cascades, crashes, her falls are steep,
So the Chattahoochee River never sleeps.
A child, in innocence, in her water leaps,
Unaware, the Chattahoochee never sleeps.
She snatches him down, his little body to keep,
Cause the Chattahoochee River never sleeps.
He struggles for his life, so tender and meek.
Oh! the Chattahoochee River never sleeps.
She steals his breath, while caressing his cheeks.
Careless Chattahoochee River just never sleeps.
poem by Willie Wilburn Walker
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Sonnet: Choose The Things in Your Life
0 choose your friend who must be good as you;
And choose your spouse better than you; make sure;
And choose the one best as your Teacher too;
And choose ambitions that suit your nature.
0 choose the profession thats truly best;
And choose the hobbies that ne'er interfere;
And choose your Time to begin work, take rest;
And choose your enemies, you surely fear.
0 choose your food that gives extended health;
And choose your garments -comfortable wear;
And choose the honest way to added wealth;
And choose the burden right, body can bear.
0 choose the people who deserve help most;
And choose good principles, yet never boast.
poem by John Celes
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Nobody likes
Nobody likes
A plant
Without flower buds
A flower bud that does not
Bloom in to a flower
A flower
That is not beautiful
Nobody remembers
A flower
That does not have
An aromatic smell
A person
Who does not have a
Charming behavior
Whose deeds do not?
Spread
Aroma in the world
25-02-2012
244-155-02-12
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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