A Flower To Auroville Mother-81
Lobster claw(Hanging heliconia
Heliconia rostrata)
But in Nature while others
Rounded, trumpeted, rayed
Else common shapes shaped
Strange how you're all claws
Or say clawed tassles rich
Green and gold and red hues
Wonder heavenly smith whose
Art artly hand did so such
Majeatic you stand elegant
With pendulous painted claws
A lobster a sentinel's part
Amid the plantainlike leaves
You make me proud o'flower
Taller in pride and prestige
Beauteous display all over
Will my garden defy as much?
poem by Indira Renganathan
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-80
My garden is lighted
So is my mind delighted
There you Golden Torch
On rhizome's clutch
Hither thither lantern
Lighting the way certain
Leaves sided alternate
Erect you rise accurate
Rich in soil rich much
Bracts or flowers such?
Based on maroon or red
Red or yellow splashed
Proud bracts prime hued
Next sepals in green-gold
Rachis and pedicel too done
In green-yellow-red heaven
O'Heliconia Golden Torch
In your bliss ever on march
poem by Indira Renganathan
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On The High Price Of Fish
Cocoa-nut naught,
Fish too dear,
None must be bought,
For us that are here:
No lobster on earth,
That ever I saw,
To me would be worth
Sixpence a claw.
So dear madam, wait
Till fish can be got
At a reas'nable rate
Whether lobster or not;
Till the French and the Dutch
Have quitted the seas,
And then send as much
And as oft as you please.
poem by William Cowper
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lobster trap
my mind cool in seawater
and the fateful lobster
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Fingernails
Babies have fingernails
Children have fingernails
Teenagers have fingernails
Adults have fingernails
Senior Citizens have fingernails
Dead people have decaying fingernails
Kittens have claws
Kitties have claws
Felines have claws
Cats have claws
Seniors Catizens have claws
Dead cats have decaying claws
Hotwheels have wheels
Vespas have wheels
Slugbugs have wheels
Hummers have wheels
Oldsmobiles have wheels
Dead car parts have decaying wheels
But most importantly, I have fingernails, a cat, and a car.
poem by Gerald Flippinhanger
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The Lobster
Here at the Super Duper, in a glass tank
Supplied by a rill of cold fresh water
Running down a glass washboard at one end
And siphoned off at the other, and so
Perpetually renewed, a herd of lobster
Is made available to the customer
Who may choose whichever one he wants
To carry home and drop into boiling water
And serve with a sauce of melted butter.
Meanwhile, the beauty of strangeness marks
These creatures, who move (when they do)
With a slow, vague wavering of claws,
The somnambulist¹s effortless clambering
As he crawls over the shell of a dream
Resembling himself. Their velvet colors,
Mud red, bruise purple, cadaver green
Speckled with black, their camouflage at home,
Make them conspicuous here in the strong
Day-imitating light, the incommensurable
Philosophers and at the same time victims
Herded together in the marketplace, asleep
Except for certain tentative gestures
Of their antennae, or their imperial claws
Pegged shut with a whittled stick at the wrist.
We inlanders, buying our needful food,
Pause over these slow, gigantic spiders
That spin not. We pause and are bemused,
And sometimes it happens that a mind sinks down
To the blind abyss in a swirl of sand, goes cold
And archaic in a carapace of horn,
Thinking: There's something underneath the world.
The flame beneath the pot that boils the water.
poem by Howard Nemerov
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If the Advertising Man Had Been Gilbert
Never mind the slippery wet street--
The tire with a thousand claws will hold you.
Stop as quickly as you will--
Those thousand claws grip the road like a vise.
Turn as sharply as you will--
Those thousand claws take a steel-prong grip on the road to prevent a side skid.
You're safe--safer than anything else will make you--
Safe as you would be on a perfectly dry street.
And those thousand claws are mileage insurance too.
--From the Lancaster Tire and Rubber Company's advertisement in the Saturday Evening Post
Never mind if you find it wet upon the street and slippery;
Never bother if the street is full of ooze;
Do not fret that you'll upset, that you will spoil your summer frippery,
You may turn about as sharply as you choose.
For those myriad claws will grip the road and keep the car from skidding,
And your steering gear will hold it fast and true;
Every atom of the car will be responsive to your bidding,
AND those thousand claws are mileage insurance too--
Oh, indubitably,
Those thousand claws are mileage insurance too.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Hold Her In Your Hand
You got to walk a little slower when youre with her
Take the time to be tender, thats the plan
You got to stand a little taller while her world falls to pieces
Only then can you hold her in your hand
You got to live for every moment that she gives you
Make the one in a million understand
You got to stand a little taller while her world falls to pieces
Only then can you hold her in your hand
Now too many faces have come down between us
And I was the fool to be
And I cant deny you the wide open spaces
As long as she stops loving me
You got to stand a little closer when you hold her
Make her feel like a woman , understand
You got to stand a little taller while her world falls to pieces
Only then can you hold her in your hand
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Flower
She's a standout in a ground full of weeds...
Tall-lithe stem-ever so green-
Dew covered leaves glisten in between-
A brillant blossom ablaze in this Pastoral scene;
A beauty so elegant-so very rare--
Filling the landscape that once was so bare...
With colours and perfumed aromas so very fair...
If you look very closely-They're simply everywhere;
Planted in the sod by Gods own hand--
For He 'tis the Creator of this green-natured land...
Such a Regal Beauty in the Garden-she stands--
He's given us this Flower-so very grand;
The Essence
June 16,2010
poem by Theodora Onken
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A Picture Of Our Little Garden
The sand mound on the left,
And the colourful Zinnias edging it;
With profuse Asters adjacent,
And the triangular red bricks bordering it;
The wide windows artistic grille,
Below are the bright Cannas to the right;
The pale blue curtain over the window sill,
Over looking the blooming Hollyhocks bright;
The dense green leaves of the Radish,
With intermittent Balsams red and white;
The long stalked nodding Cosmos' swish,
All enchant and cheer the mind and sight.
The smooth and slender butterflies,
Both diurnal and crepuscular;
Of various hues fly, sit and rise,
Flit from flower to another flower.
Their wings are held vertically at rest,
Then when they bask in the sun they out-stretch:
Butterflies are Nature's beauteous best,
They to our hearts joy and delight fetch.
The yellow Sunflowers standing tall,
With the tender Jasmine climber to the fore;
Their white fragrant flowers allure all,
The picture perfect garden all of us adore.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Caged Love
My love is caged
Like a wild beast
I see you walk by and growl
Deep within my throat
These bars that separate us
Will not be forever
One day I shall be free
To have my way with you
I stretch my claws for someday
I will claw you
I lick my fangs for someday I will
Bite your neck and thrash you
I shall stalk you
And crouch in shadows
With only yellow-green eyes
Will you see in the reflection of your light
I shall leap and pin your
Helpless arms with my my paws
I will look into your eyes and growl
You will feel my hot breath upon your neck
I will bite you, then taste your flesh
My claws will rip you
Bite after bite rip after rip
It will be my pleasure
My love is a caged love
But I will have my treasure
These bars cannot hold forever
Someday my love shall be free
poem by Midnights Voice
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The Holly-Tree
O reader! hast thou ever stood to see
The Holly-tree?
The eye that contemplates it well perceives
Its glossy leaves
Ordered by an Intelligence so wise
As might confound the Atheist's sophistries.
Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen,
Wrinkled and keen;
No grazing cattle, through their prickly round,
Can reach to wound;
But, as they grow where nothing is to fear,
Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear.
I love to view these things with curious eyes,
And moralize;
And in this wisdom of the Holly-tree
Can emblem see
Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant rhyme, -
One which may profit in the after-time.
Thus, though abroad, perchance, I might appear
Harsh and austere;
To those who on my leisure would intrude,
Reserved and rude;
Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be,
Like the high leaves upon the Holly-tree.
And should my youth - as youth is apt, I know, -
Some harshness show,
All vain asperities I, day by day,
Would wear away,
Till the smooth temper of my age should be
Like the high leaves upon the Holly-tree.
And as, when all the summer trees are seen
So bright and green,
The Holly-leaves their fadeless hues display
Less bright than they;
But when the bare and wintry woods we see,
What then so cheerful as the Holly-tree? -
So, serious should my youth appear among
The thoughtless throng;
So would I seem, amid the young and gay,
More grave than they;
That in my age as cheerful I might be
As the green winter of the Holly-tree.
poem by Robert Southey
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Strayed Crab
This is not my home. How did I get so far from water? It must
be over that way somewhere.
I am the color of wine, of tinta. The inside of my powerful
right claw is saffron-yellow. See, I see it now; I wave it like a
flag. I am dapper and elegant; I move with great precision,
cleverly managing all my smaller yellow claws. I believe in the
oblique, the indirect approach, and I keep my feelings to myself.
But on this strange, smooth surface I am making too much
noise. I wasn't meant for this. If I maneuver a bit and keep a
sharp lookout, I shall find my pool again. Watch out for my right
claw, all passersby! This place is too hard. The rain has stopped,
and it is damp, but still not wet enough to please me.
My eyes are good, though small; my shell is tough and tight.
In my own pool are many small gray fish. I see right through
them. Only their large eyes are opaque, and twitch at me. They
are hard to catch but I, I catch them quickly in my arms and
eat them up.
What is that big soft monster, like a yellow cloud, stifling
and warm? What is it doing? It pats my back. Out, claw. There,
I have frightened it away. It's sitting down, pretending nothing's
happened. I'll skirt it. It's still pretending not to see me. Out of
my way, O monster. I own a pool, all the little fish that swim in it,
and all the skittering waterbugs that smell like rotten apples.
Cheer up, O grievous snail. I tap your shell, encouragingly,
not that you will ever know about it.
And I want nothing to do with you, either, sulking toad.
Imagine, at least four times my size and yet so vulnerable... I
could open your belly with my claw. You glare and bulge, a
watchdog near my pool; you make a loud and hollow noise. I
do not care for such stupidity. I admire compression, lightness,
and agility, all rare in this loose world.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Beauty
LIBERAL Nature did dispence
To all things Arms for their defence;
And some she arms with sin'ewy force,
And some with swiftness in the course;
Some with hard Hoofs, or forked claws,
And some with Horns, or tusked jaws.
And some with Scales, and some with Wings,
And some with Teeth, and some with Stings.
Wisdom to Man she did afford,
Wisdom for Shield, and Wit for Sword.
What to beauteous Woman-kind,
What Arms, what Armour has she'assigne'd?
Beauty is both; for with the Faire
What Arms, what Armour can compare?
What Steel, what Gold, or Diamond,
More Impassible is found?
And yet what Flame, what Lightning ere
So great an Active force did bear?
They are all weapon, and they dart
Like Porcupines from every part.
Who can, alas, their strength express,
Arm'd when they themselves undress,
Cap a pe* with Nakedness?
poem by Abraham Cowley
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The Peppercorn Tree
Such a nice work of Nature and pretty for to see
And pleasant for to scent it's leaves the peppercorn tree
To look at not unlike the weeping willow it's branches hanging down
A thing of natural beauty in a garden of the town,
The beautiful peppercorn trees have a style of their own
And only natural beauty in Nature's World known
Had i the gift of poetry of Nature i would write
Of things such as the rich green peppercorn tree lovely in the noon sunlight
It never loses it's leaves it is an evergreen
Such lovely things in Nature we take for granted to be seen
The strong though pleasant peppercorn like aroma blown out by the freshening breeze
That blow up from the coastal lands through the peppercorn trees
Such a nice work of Nature or so 'twould seem to me
It does have it's own beauty the peppercorn tree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Little Rich Boy
Dont read marx
Hes a clean cut guy
Just the dream
On a tv eye
If you swim
In the dark
You lose a hand
When you feed the shark
Little rich boy, shes gonna find you
Little rich boy
Little rich boy, those claws will blind you
Just a little rich boy
She got hooks
In your veins
Feel the pleasure
Kill the pain
Drop a pearl
See the dragon fly
Crack the diamond
Do you still feel high?
song performed by by Asia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter Roses
My garden roses long ago
Have perished from the leaf-strewn walks;
Their pale, fair sisters smile no more
Upon the sweet-brier stalks.
Gone with the flower-time of my life,
Spring's violets, summer's blooming pride,
And Nature's winter and my own
Stand, flowerless, side by side.
So might I yesterday have sung;
To-day, in bleak December's noon,
Come sweetest fragrance, shapes, and hues,
The rosy wealth of June!
Bless the young bands that culled the gift,
And bless the hearts that prompted it;
If undeserved it comes, at least
It seems not all unfit.
Of old my Quaker ancestors
Had gifts of forty stripes save one;
To-day as many roses crown
The gray head of their son.
And with them, to my fancy's eye,
The fresh-faced givers smiling come,
And nine and thirty happy girls
Make glad a lonely room.
They bring the atmosphere of youth;
The light and warmth of long ago
Are in my heart, and on my cheek
The airs of morning blow.
O buds of girlhood, yet unblown,
And fairer than the gift ye chose,
For you may years like leaves unfold
The heart of Sharon's rose
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Hanging Garden
Creatures kissing in the rain
Shapeless in the dark again
In the hanging garden
Please don't speak
In the hanging garden
No one sleeps
In the hanging garden
In the hanging garden
Catching haloes on the moon
Gives my hands the shapes of angels
In the heat of the night
The animals scream
In the heat of the night
Walking into a dream . . .
Fall fall fall fall
Into the walls
Jump jump out of time
Fall fall fall fall
Out of the sky
Cover my face as the animals cry
In the hanging garden
In the hanging garden
Creatures kissing in the rain
Shapeless in the dark again
In a hanging garden
Change the past
In a hanging garden
Wearing furs
And masks
Fall fall fall fall
Into the walls
Jump jump out of time
Fall fall fall fall
Out of the sky
Cover my face as the animals die
In the hanging garden
As the animals die
Cover my face as the animals die
In the hanging garden
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Ulla
Ulla, mine Ulla, tell me, may I hand thee
Reddest of strawberries in milk or wine?
Or from the pond a lively fish? Command me!
Or, from the well, a bowl of water fine?
Doors are blown open, the wind gets the blaming.
Perfumes exhale from flower and tree.
Clouds fleck the sky and the sun rises flaming,
As you see!
Isn't it heavenly--the fish market? So?
'Heavenly, oh heavenly!'
'See the stately trees there, standing row on row,--
Fresh, green leaves show!
And that pretty bay
Sparkling there?' 'Ah yes!'
'And, seen where sunbeams play,
The meadows' loveliness?
Are they not heavenly--those bright fields?--Confess!'--
Heavenly!
Heavenly!
Skal and good-noon, fair one in window leaning,
Hark how the city bells their peals prolong!
See how the dust the verdant turf is screening,
Where the calashes and the wagons throng!
Hand from the window--he's drowsy, the speaker,
In my saddle I nod, cousin mine--
Primo a crust, and secundo a beaker,
Hochlaender wine!
Isn't it heavenly--the fish-market? So?
'Heavenly, oh heavenly!'
'See the stately trees there, standing row on row,--
Fresh, green leaves show!
And that pretty bay
Sparkling there?' 'Ah yes!'
'And, seen where sunbeams play,
The meadows' loveliness?
Are they not heavenly--those bright fields?--Confess!'--
Heavenly!
Heavenly!
Look, Ulla dear! To the stable they're taking
Whinnying, prancing, my good steed, I see.
Still in his stall-door he lifts his head, making
Efforts to look up to thee: just to thee!
Nature itself into flames will be bursting;
Keep those bright eyes in control!
Klang! at your casement my heart, too, is thirsting.
Klang! Your Skal!
Isn't it heavenly--the fish-market? So?
'Heavenly, oh heavenly!'
'See the stately trees there, standing row on row,--
Fresh, green leaves show!
And that pretty bay
Sparkling there?' 'Ah yes!'
'And, seen where sunbeams play,
The meadows' loveliness?
Are they not heavenly--those bright fields?--Confess!'--
Heavenly!
Heavenly!
poem by Carl Michael Bellman
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Pads, Paws & Claws
Shes a feline tormentor, not any vaudeville wife
But with a drunk-town lament he leads her a miserable life
But when hes full of that beer-champagne
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws
And if he should wake up in some terrible dive
And he dont know if hes so-so
But hes so surprised hes alive
Come on little honey, let me under your hive
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws
She pads, pads around the bedroom, practicing ways to flirt
He paws, pours another drink and anything in a skirt
Anything wearing a necklace
He thinks of claws scratching his back hes
Going out there hes not coming back
Shes got spider-leg fingers, sharpened whenever he strays
And she carries a bird-purse, with all of her womanly ways
til hes drinking hairspray, she knows that he never would dare
She could be in pictures if she wasnt all covered in fur
Hes coming home now and heres the surprise
You wouldnt believe the lies that he tries
She cut him down to her favourite size
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pads, Paws And Claws
Shes a feline tormentor, not any vaudeville wife
But with a drunk-town lament he leads her a miserable life
But when hes full of that beer-champagne
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws
And if he should wake up in some terrible dive
And he dont know if hes so-so
But hes so surprised hes alive
"come on little honey, let me under your hive"
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws
She pads, pads around the bedroom, practicing ways to flirt
He paws, pours another drink and anything in a skirt
Anything wearing a necklace
He thinks of claws scratching his back hes
Going out there hes not coming back
Shes got spider-leg fingers, sharpened whenever he strays
And she carries a bird-purse, with all of her womanly ways
til hes drinking hairspray, she knows that he never would dare
She could be in pictures if she wasnt all covered in fur
Hes coming home now and heres the surprise
You wouldnt believe the lies that he tries
She cut him down to her favourite size
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws
She pads, paws, pads, paws and claws
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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