Grass Roots' Glass Parody Witter Bynner Spectra Current Version
All flesh is grass
and all its goodness like the flower of the field
The grass withers, the flower wilts
and the word of our God stands forever
Indeed, the people are grass.
Isaiah 40
Death ripe reaps, mower, Man, grass in life's fields,
no blade but to His blade wraith ghost soon yields.
Swiftly, surely, sharpened scythe shall pass
To gather tithe in time with Time's hour glass.
So little's garnered, strength that fond youth wields
soon sinks, who thinks winks ink earthquakeproof bields
finds loss in toss, soon tossed aside, morass
awaits sass lass, rank mocking rank, race, class.
Though each would sow
fresh seeds to show
true traces flow,
through/in/ on grow
in ALL all know
alas we pass
but once through farce
before Time's crow
thrice calls, with no
reprieve and so
weeds overgrow...
All bravado
winds staccato
turn tornado
away soon blow
breath's ribboned bow,
'mid worms below
life's strife trace race stow.
So, Mower, mow,
sweep all who weep,
would keepsakes keep,
with final coup de grâce.
(14 February 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
The Mower's Song
My Mind was once the true survey
Of all these Medows fresh and gay;
And in the greenness of the Grass
Did see its Hopes as in a Glass;
When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
But these, while I with Sorrow pine,
Grew more luxuriant still and fine;
That not one Blade of Grass you spy'd,
But had a Flower on either side;
When Juliana came, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
Unthankful Meadows, could you so
A fellowship so true forego,
And in your gawdy May-games meet,
While I lay trodden under feet?
When Juliana came , and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
But what you in Compassion ought,
Shall now by my Revenge be wrought:
And Flow'rs, and Grass, and I and all,
Will in one common Ruine fall.
For Juliana comes, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
And thus, ye Meadows, which have been
Companions of my thoughts more green,
Shall now the Heraldry become
With which I shall adorn my Tomb;
For Juliana comes, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
poem by Andrew Marvell
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Ay Me, Ay Me, I Sigh the Scythe A-field
Ay me, ay me, I sigh to see the scythe a-field;
Down goeth the grass, soon wrought to wither'd hay:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that beauty needs must yield,
And princes pass, as grass doth fade away.
Ay me, ay me, that life can not have lasting leave,
Nor gold take hold of everlasting joy:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that time hath talents to receive,
And yet no time can make a suer stay.
Ay me, ay me, that wit can not have wished choice,
Nor wish can win that will desires to see:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that mirth can promise no rejoice,
Nor study tell what afterward shall be.
Ay me, ay me, that no sure staff is given to age,
Nor age can give sure wit that youth will take:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, that no counsel wise and sage
Will shun the show that all doth mar and make.
Ay me, ay me, come, Time, shear on and shake thy hay,
It is no boot to balk thy bitter blows:
Ay me, alas! ay me, alas, come, Time, take everything away,
For all is thine, be it good or bad, that grows.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Scythe Song
MOWERS, weary and brown, and blithe,
What is the word methinks ye know,
Endless over-word that the Scythe
Sings to the blades of the grass below?
Scythes that swing in the grass and clover,
Something, still, they say as they pass;
What is the word that, over and over,
Sings the Scythe to the flowers and grass?
Hush, ah hush, the Scythes are saying,
Hush, and heed not, and fall asleep;
Hush, they say to the grasses swaying;
Hush, they sing to the clover deep!
Hush—’t is the lullaby Time is singing—
Hush, and heed not, for all things pass;
Hush, ah hush! and the Scythes are swinging
Over the clover, over the grass!
poem by Andrew Lang
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Soccer
Soccer
Have you ever been on a soccer field?
Well if you haven't it’s the m amazing thing
It’s like being in heaven but on grass
When the grass is just cut and the potato bugs are jumping in the air it gives you energy to have fun
And if you have been on a field then you know how the freshly cut grass
stings your nose and enlightens your heart to give you extra strength to
play soccer harder than you ever have in your life. That is what it’s like being on a soccer field!
By: Isaiah Bess
poem by Isaiah Bess
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The Tuft of Flowers
I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.
The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the levelled scene.
I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.
But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been,—alone,
"As all must be," I said within my heart,
"Whether they work together or apart."
But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a bewildered butterfly,
Seeking with memories grown dim over night
Some resting flower of yesterday's delight.
And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.
And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.
I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;
But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,
A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.
I left my place to know them by their name,
Finding them butterfly-weed when I came.
The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,
Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him,
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.
The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,
That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,
And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;
But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;
And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.
"Men work together," I told him from the heart,
"Whether they work together or apart."
poem by Robert Frost
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Leaves Of Grass
The leaves of grass will not pass on
Though the millstones grind them into dust
For the earth shall give life to them
But only the grass will grow once more
And the brave must fall to honor the names
Of the ones who have gone before
And the earth shall give new life to them
But only the grass will grow once more
If people could look into each others eyes
What a wonderful place this world would be
All strife would end, we could start again
And dreams like these must not pass on
But the brave keep falling to honor the names
Of the ones who have gone before
And the earth shall give new life to them
But only the grass will grow once more
And the brave keep falling to honor the names
Of the ones who have gone before
And the earth shall give new life to them
But only the grass will grow once more
The leaves of grass will not pass on
Though the millstones grind them into dust
For the earth shall give new life to them
But only the grass will grow once more
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Magic Lies In Silence Of Grass and In Your Voice
I am barefoot walking in the grass of morning,
The dew drops are comforting my feet,
I felt relieved by my stress and grief,
When i heard your voice in the grass rustling.
I lie down on grass and i could feel its silence,
I close my eyes and i enjoyed your voice,
The smell of grass was taken on the wings of wind,
Magic lies in silence of grass and in your voice.
Is amazing how much miracle stays in a blade of grass,
Opening my eyes i saw above the sky,
There was your face among the clouds smiling,
I had the feeling that i want to hug the sky.
I'm gonna miss you all the days of life,
And even when death will take my last breath,
Last thing i'll do passing to eternity,
I'm gonna miss you.
Winter will come, grass will fall asleep,
I 'll not hear the grass rustling anymore,
Only my memories with you will be always alive,
Rustling in my mind as grass did.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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G.flower
The grass
was very happy
butttefly sitting...
at a time grass
think a flower....
a grass flower...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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September Grass
Well, the suns not so hot in the sky today
And you know I can see summertime slipping on away
A few more geese are gone, a few more leaves turning red
But the grass is as soft as a feather in a featherbed
So Ill be king and youll be queen
Our kingdoms gonna be this little patch of green
Wont you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Wont you lie down with me now
September grass
Oh the memory is like the sweetest pain
Yeah, I kissed the girl at a football game
I can still smell the sweat and the grass stains
We walked home together. I was never the same.
But that was a long time ago
And where is she now? I dont know
Wont you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Wont you lie down with me now
September grass
Oh, september grass is the sweetest kind
It goes down easy like apple wine
Hope you dont mind if I pour you some
Made that much sweeter by the winter to come
Do you see those ants dancing on a blade of grass?
Do you know what I know? thats you and me, baby
Were so small and the worlds so vast
We found each other down in the grass
Wont you lie down with me right here
September grass
Wont you lie down with me now
In this september grass
Lie down
Lie down
Lie down
Lie down
(repeat)
Wont you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Wont you lie down here now
In this september grass
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Grass Flower
He was all the more a grass flower,
How can he gather any fame?
But he was not the one to accept his defeat,
And made, success his only aim.
He succeeded in establishing his strong base,
Comprising his hard work and determination,
His struggle in life made him a man successful,
And the day came when he was crowned with GOLD CARNATION.
But oh Lord Jesus!
This cruel world can’t see a man rising,
In this ever changing human race,
He was badly suppressed by the world,
But he was still standing due to, in HIM his faith.
Though he was considered a meadow flower,
But not taking himself as a looser, he worked hard,
And now this grass flower was totally ripened,
And now he became a precious GOLDEN FLOWER
poem by Himanshu Saxena
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Dent de Lion Sonnet
Dandelion in French means Lion's teeth,
Enchants among the buttercups and grass.
New sprouts shout daily 'whate'er come to pass,
Triumphant see us garland, golden wreath
Destiny will show we grow beneath
Each blade, and never fade, for lad and lass
Learn dreams earned from seeds blown, desires surpass
Imagination as on lawn and heath
Outside we're pride, abide, true joy bequeath,
Never fail to flourish, but, alas
SONgs few are sung to us while orchid, rose,
NET praise in verse and prose which, dandy, flows.'
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Through the field I See
A field of green grass awaits me.
I have been on this grass before and it brought suffering and
anguish.
I wait for the pure colors of pink and red to cover all of the
envious grass.
In this field of colors I have not experienced.
Many a people, hand in hand, take this path of red and pink.
Through many a people take the field of grass choosing the
poison of which they will drink.
poem by Stephen Howard
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A Song Of Riches
What will you give to a barefoot lass,
Morning with breath like wine?
Wade, bare feet! In my wide morass
Starry marigolds shine.
Alms, sweet Noon, for a barefoot lass,
With her laughing looks aglow!
Run, bare feet! In my fragrant grass
Golden buttercups blow.
Gift, a gift for a barefoot lass,
O twilight hour of dreams!
Rest, bare feet, by my lake of glass,
Where the mirrored sunset gleams.
Homeward the weary merchants pass,
With the gold bedimmed by care.
Little they wise that the barefoot lass
Is the only millionaire.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Barley Grass
Wavin' corn upon the hillside,
Twinklin' daisies on the rise,
Mystic bushes across the ranges,
Wattle in its spring-time guise,
Stately gums that mark the twinin's
Of the ole creek - let 'em pass.
Leave me here to lie, a-lazin'
In the noddin' barley grass.
Barley grass was noddin', noddin'
'Long the dear ole township track
Where, in school days, we were ploddin':
Four mile there an' four mile back.
Teacher, on the summer mornin's,
Called us, scoldin', from the class,
An' we wasted precious moments
Pickin' out the barley grass.
Barley grass insinuatin',
In a summer long ago,
Gained a girl maternal ratin',
Made a chap a holy show.
'Some one's been to walk with some one
Down the creek-side with a lass.
Fie, it ain't no use denyin'
Tell-tale seeds of barley grass.'
Came a time, when fortune frownin'
Sent a spring in cruel guise:
Wilted corn upon the hillside,
Brown soil barren on the rise,
Droopin' gums along the ole creek
Dry beneath a sky of brass;
An' we longed for just the sight of
One green tuft of barley grass.
But we battle on together,
Her an' me that mockin' spring,
Never losin' faith or doubting'
What the future was to bring.
Watchin', waitin' for the dawnin',
For the time of trial to pass;
An' 'twas her that found one mornin'
That first peep of barley grass.
We don't want no wreath of roses,
We don't want no immortelles,
When the last of us reposes
In the last of earthly spells.
Plant above - we ain't presumin'
To be writ on stone or brass
Just a modest, unassumin',
Simple bit of barley grass.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Would Be The Point
What would be the point,
If a blade of grass
Was not meant to feel,
Its importance?
Would it be inspired to grow?
And to whom and what,
Does it attempt to impress?
Another blade of grass,
That stretches to grow fast
From its seed.
What would be the point,
If no flower bloomed.
To provide the bees,
With no nectar to gather.
To return to a hive.
Does it do this,
To keep itself alive?
What would be the point,
For the trees to exist?
If the leaves that grew from them,
Did not assist in the mixture of air.
That helped us breathe.
Do the trees do this,
To flaunt its deeds?
And what would be the point,
For us to seek love.
If all we did with it was to argue,
Again and again as if to win
Debates,
As to who is more deserving
To appreciate this gift of life?
With a stubbornness to convince,
Who is wrong.
And who is right.
What would be the point,
To argue, fuss and fight
If all of us knew this gift of life,
Was meant.
If not
Who's side of the argument makes sense?
If we all are here,
Getting the same attention.
And perhaps
In getting that attention,
There is envy and jealousy?
And anyone who says they believe with faith
Would observe that God has created abundance.
And those who choose to take and not give,
Seem to the ones self destructing.
At their own expense!
To make what point?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Lady April
Dew on her robe and on her tangled hair;
Twin dewdrops for her eyes; behold her pass,
With dainty step brushing the young, green grass,
The while she trills some high, fantastic air,
Full of all feathered sweetness: she is fair,
And all her flower-like beauty, as a glass,
Mirrors out hope and love: and still, alas!
Traces of tears her languid lashes wear.
Say, doth she weep for very wantonness?
Or is it that she dimly doth foresee
Across her youth the joys grow less and less
The burden of the days that are to be:
Autumn and withered leaves and vanity,
And winter bringing end in barrenness.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Patience Taught By Nature
'O DREARY life,' we cry, ' O dreary life ! '
And still the generations of the birds
Sing through our sighing, and the flocks and herds
Serenely live while we are keeping strife
With Heaven's true purpose in us, as a knife
Against which we may struggle ! Ocean girds
Unslackened the dry land, savannah-swards
Unweary sweep, hills watch unworn, and rife
Meek leaves drop year]y from the forest-trees
To show, above, the unwasted stars that pass
In their old glory: O thou God of old,
Grant me some smaller grace than comes to these !--
But so much patience as a blade of grass
Grows by, contented through the heat and cold.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Poverty's Grass
Arrogance said
We eat Poverty's grass
As Mockery fed
Biased high class
Now the famine
The Suicide breed
Pride is the sin
Destroyed your seed
We may eat grass
But you eat the soil
Your words are brass
And now you recoil
Grass tastes better
That you must know
But Death is the bitter
Seed that you grow
Dried and barren
Your land had become
Our grass can be eaten -
Do you want some?
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Poverty Grass
Wild horses we
Pricked at the wind,
Never to know, alas;
That all the lord of our fortunes bought
For us
Was poverty grass.
Poverty grass
The paupered seed
So sickly poor, alas;
The souls of the great untamed grow weak
Despair
On poverty grass.
And you, my friend,
Grew sick awhile,
And cried and cried, alas;
While I grew fat on a flowering weed
Called pride
And poverty grass.
And when you left
The field to me
I almost died, alas;
For I was left in a fallow field
Piled high
In poverty grass.
Wild horses we
Pricked at the wind,
Never to know, alas;
That all the lord of our fortunes bought
For us
Was poverty grass.
24 January 1980
poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Grass Is Greener
The grass is greener so they say.
We venture to another lawn.
We still don't water and care for that grass.
That grass will be gone.
We focus on what we do not have.
Rather than what we do.
A crazy cycle of wanting more.
A jaded point of view.
Keeping up with the Joneses
A mad and thankless place.
Never stopping to smell the roses.
Running an endless race.
Life passes you by, then it's taken from you.
By a thief walking in the night.
Our wants they steal from all our needs.
Your life's a script you can't rewrite.
So value all it is that you have.
For you truly have been blessed.
Live a life that's full and abundant.
Live a life that is your best.
Grass is greener where it's watered.
With much love and with much care.
If home is where your heart is.
Put your love and your time there.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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