Parc Monceau
A wooden boat upon a sea of sand
stands beached, unfathomed by the fiercest storm,
beside the train, beneath the bees which swarm
furled flaglike round the Cherry close at hand
whose branches full two hundred years have fanned, -
whose perfumed petals in pink uniform
pattern the path in puzzle-picture form.
Upon the play boat, children, hand in hand
heedless of Time’s march, unruly play,
re-enacting pirate roles. Life’s farce
around them they ignore, nor cares display,
impervious to ciphered hour-glass.
Beside the playground, blinkered adults pass,
obey the sign: - “No walking on the grass! ”
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
This Is A Boat
this is a boat and it is in my hand
the hand is the sea
and my fingers keep it wavy
this is the boat and it is wooden
and it is loaded unevenly on its left side
and so it leans on the heavy
edge like it is a man
with a shorter left foot
and walks like the
floor is uneven
and imperfect
this is my body and it has become an ocean
and the boat sails on without the sun
my eyes the moon and stars
and they are closed
this is the darkness where the boat sails
and this is the silence
of its journey
this is my mind
and everything: the boat, the sea, the ocean
the tilting, the weight of the load,
things exist because i let them so
this is my hand and this is the sea of waves
these emotions
this is the mouth speaking
without any sense at all like a woman nude
running for life away from the atomic bomb
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A New Day
Come quick. Give me your hand.
Let us go walking on the white sand.
We must go early before the sun's high
for then comes the time when our feet will fry.
We can find shells and smooth sea-glass
after the waves wash up, then pass.
All of our cares we will leave behind,
nothing but sand and sun on our mind.
And if we are quick there just may be
dolphins swimming in the open sea.
If we don't dawdle we'll wet our toes
to enjoy the day as the sun glows.
The sparkle of sand like crystals aglow
makes your heart quicken and then you'll know
that all of your cares have faded away
'cause you took my hand to face the new day.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Slow Boat To China
Lets take a slow boat to china. leave from south carolina
Lets take our time and go the long way
On a junk boat to thailand with your hand in mine hand
I sure hope we got something to say
Well, this old boats go no sail so wont you please hold our mail-
For awhile
Thanks anyway pal but the suez canal -
Aint our style
Lets take a slow boat to china and maybe well find a
New way to play those same old games
The stars just might show us and the captain will know us
Shake our hands and call us by our first names
Well send a postcard to grandpa of a vase or rickshaw-
He dont care
Well buy mom a kimono or maybe well just phone her -
When were there
Well drink sake at night beneath the soft harbor lights-
On the bay
Well build house on the hill next to shangri-li bill -
And well stay
Lets take that slow boat to china (lets go)
Slow boat to china (real slow)
Slow boat to china (lets go)
Slow boat to china (real slow)
Lets go real slow
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Remember
Remember
Remember
Remember
Remember
"walking in the sand"
Seems like the other day
My baby went away
She went away across the sea
It's been two years or so
Since i saw my baby go
And then this letter came for me
Oh it said that we were through
She's found somebody new
Oh baby's gone what can i do
Remember
Remember
Remember
Remember
"walking in the sand"
(remember)
Hey i remember
("walking in the sand")
"walking in the sand"
(remember remember)
("walking in the sand")
Walking hand in hand
("walking in the sand")
"walking in the sand"
(remember remember)
("walking in the sand")
Walking hand in hand
("walking in the sand")
Ahhhhh
Ahhhhhhh
Ahhhhhhhhh
Ahhhhhhhhh
I want to know
What ever happened to
The little girl i once knew
She said that she'd be true
(remember)
(remember)
Remember
Hey i remember
("walking in the sand")
"walking in the sand"
(remember remember)
("walking in the sand")
Walking hand in hand
(remember remember)
("walking in the sand")
"walking in the sand"
(remember remember)
("walking in the sand")
Walking hand in hand
(remember)
Remember
("walking in the sand")
Remember
Remember
"walking in the sand"
Remember
Remember
"walking in the sand"
Remember
Remember
"walking in the sand"
Remember
Remember
"walking in the sand
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Remember "Walking In The Sand"
Remember
Remember
Remember
Remember
"Walking In The Sand"
Seems like the other day
My baby went away
She went away across the sea
It's been two years or so
Since I saw my baby go
And then this letter came for me
Oh it said that we were through
She's found somebody new
Oh baby's gone what can I do
Remember
Remember
Remember
Remember
"Walking In The Sand"
(Remember)
Hey I remember
("Walking In The Sand")
"Walking In The Sand"
(Remember remember)
("Walking In The Sand")
Walking hand in hand
("Walking In The Sand")
"Walking In The Sand"
(Remember remember)
("Walking In The Sand")
Walking hand in hand
("Walking In The Sand")
Ahhhhh
Ahhhhhhh
Ahhhhhhhhh
Ahhhhhhhhh
I want to know
What ever happened to
The little girl I once knew
She said that she'd be true
(Remember)
(Remember)
Remember
Hey I remember
("Walking In The Sand")
"Walking In The Sand"
(Remember remember)
("Walking In The Sand")
Walking hand in hand
(Remember remember)
("Walking In The Sand")
"Walking In The Sand"
(Remember remember)
("Walking In The Sand")
Walking hand in hand
(Remember)
Remember
("Walking In The Sand")
Remember
Remember
"Walking In The Sand"
Remember
Remember
"Walking In The Sand"
Remember
Remember
"Walking In The Sand"
Remember
Remember
"Walking In The Sand
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Boat By The Silent Pond
a boat stays on the silent pond
beneath the trees with wide branches
it is tied
not so tight
any child can let it loose
and release it and soon
it will go and
we wonder
what is it that it is waiting for
and for whom shall
this boat go
there is this ride that each shall take
no one wants to take it earlier
always one says later
later
there is no hurry
the children have grown and they wear
faces like yours
they go away and you are left alone
with the person you love
you have a conversation
time goes like a stranger
the friends you know have either grown old
or have died and their coffins pass by your house
you remember
memories and you smile at the youth you once had
you remember the boat
the child in you has loosened it
you pick up on what was easily forgotten
you cope up
you say you want the ride now
it is dark
and the silence spreads on the paddle
the ripples exude the essence of the journey
you hold a hand
and you sit comfortably without worry
it is time to go.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Where The Children Used To Play
The old farm-home is Mother's yet and mine,
And filled it is with plenty and to spare--,
But we are lonely here in life's decline,
Though fortune smiles around us everywhere:
We look across the gold
Of the harvests, as of old--
The corn, the fragrant clover, and the hay;
But most we turn our gaze,
As with eyes of other days,
To the orchard where the children used to play.
O from our life's full measure
And rich hoard of worldly treasure
We often turn our weary eyes away,
And hand in hand we wander
Down the old path winding yonder
To the orchard where the children used to play.
Our sloping pasture-lands are filled with herds;
The barn and granary-bins are bulging o'ver;
The grove's a paradise of singing birds--
The woodland brook leaps laughing by the door;
Yet lonely, lonely still,
Let us prosper as we will,
Our old hearts seem so empty everyway--
We can only through a mist
See the faces we have kissed
In the orchard where the children used to play.
O from our life's full measure
And rich hoard of worldly treasure
We often turn our weary eyes away,
And hand in hand we wander
Down the old path winding yonder
To the orchard where the children used to play.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Ferry
DRAW close the curtains, and shut out
The spring's green glow and glitter;
The resurrection-life of spring
To me brings no fresh blossoming;
I'm wearied of the flowers about--
The London sparrows' twitter.
If I could dream--if I could see
Once more the slow smooth river,
The narrow path she used to tread,
The sunlight on her little head,
The white fire of the hawthorn tree--
But I shall see them never.
Only the boat in dreams I steer
Among the tufted rushes,
I see her white gown through the grass,
That thrills with love to feel her pass;
Only in dreams again I hear
Those unforgotten thrushes.
Sometimes in dreams I see her stand,
Her hand held out, and making
The sweet unreal so vivid seem,
I only know it is a dream
When I reach out to take her hand,
And find no hand for taking.
So once she stood; and I--too weak
To dare to say, 'I love her'--
I dropped her hand, and took the oar
And rowed her to the farther shore;
I had my chance, and did not speak,
And chances now are over.
How dark the room has grown!--yet no,
The sky is blue above me;
This is the boat--the hawthorn tree
Is showering blossoms down on me;
And she is here as long ago,
And she has learned to love me!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Summer fun at the Beach
Summer fun is so grand
It's so fun too play in the sand
Summer time with family is so fun
you get to laugh and play in the sun
Running around on the beach
and for the ocean they try to reach
Summer fun is so grand
all the little kids run and play hand in hand
Get to play with a beach ball
seems like your there all day long
Making sand castles is really grand
just laughing and playing in the sand
Laughing, running, jumping, and jogging
screaming, shell collecting, beach walking and ball hogging
And all this summer fun has just begun,
I hope you read this poem when you done
poem by Attalia Gooden
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Ghost Sutra
Children, children, play on the grounds.
For years will pass and you will feel the bound.
Row your boat down the endless way.
Dreams of dreams covers the grey day.
Conform or die is what we live.
A simple way to lie and give.
They made up stories that they fed.
So play on children you're already dead.
poem by Khembottra Oum
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Hand I Hold
The hand I hold
is the hand of love
when people see me anywhere.
The hand that steadies me
when storm clouds appear.
The hand that wipes away
the tears I want to hide.
The hand I hold
is the hand of love
tender soft and warm.
The hand that mends
and helps time heal
any wanton sore.
The hand that comforts
when tragedies come to pass.
The hand I hold
is the hand of love
and will be with me
until the day I die.
29 January 2011
poem by David Harris
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Ode To The Cherry Blossom
I have grown up with this tree,
as my father had grown with it,
and his father before him.
The cherry blossom tree where I was first exposed to the beauty of nature,
where my baby seat was set upon the picnic blanket in the grass,
and I could watch the petals fall and dance around me and my family.
and they would land in my seat,
and I would play with them.
The cherry blossom tree,
with its long branches,
where I first learned to climb,
and where I got my first broken bone,
after I slipped while pretending to be a monkey.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we had our first play date together.
We ran around and played two person tag,
and two person hide and seek,
and two person leap frog.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we had our first date,
where I picked a blossom and put it in your hair,
and called you my hime,
my princess.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we took shelter from the pouring rain,
and I gave you my jacket to put over your head,
and we ran home to take a bath in our clothes,
Because they couldn’t have gotten wetter anyway.
The cherry blossom tree,
under which we said our vows,
and got married,
and you cried,
and said you felt beautiful,
and I kissed you,
and said you looked beautiful,
and we ran through the blossom petals.
The cherry blossom tree,
where we took our two daughters,
and watched them pick flowers,
and give them to you.
The cherry blossom tree,
where our daughters took their loves,
and probably got caught in the rain,
just as we did.
The cherry blossom tree,
which we would watch from the near by bench,
watch children who were not ours play there,
watch couples who were not us date there.
The cherry blossom tree,
where I go to remember you,
where I sometimes cry for you,
where our daughters cry for you.
I grew up with that cherry blossom tree,
and now as I wait to rejoin you,
my love,
I watch others grow with it too.
poem by Evan Puglisi
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My Other Hand...
the black man's hand,
the poor man's hand.
the Muslim hand, the Jewish hand...
the gay man's hand,
the working man's hand,
the ex-convict's hand,
the farmer's hand, the garbage man's hand...
the Christian's hand, the atheist's hand,
the father's hand, the soldier's hand,
the peacemaker's hand,
the healer's hand, the teacher's hand,
the prodigal's hand, even the murderer's hand...
the victim's hand, the broken hand,
the praying hand, the touching hand...
all, when extended,
feel like my other hand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Giving Tree
Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
the boy.
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy.'
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.'
'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy.
'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said.
'I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?'
' I have no house,' said the tree.
'The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.'
And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
'Come, Boy,' she whispered,
'come and play.'
'I am too old and sad to play,'
said the boy.
'I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?'
'Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,' said the tree.
'Then you can sail away...
and be happy.'
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.
And after a long time
the boy came back again.
'I am sorry, Boy,'
said the tree,' but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone.'
'My teeth are too weak
for apples,' said the boy.
'My branches are gone,'
said the tree. ' You
cannot swing on them - '
'I am too old to swing
on branches,' said the boy.
'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree.
'You cannot climb - '
'I am too tired to climb' said the boy.
'I am sorry,' sighed the tree.
'I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry....'
'I don't need very much now,' said the boy.
'just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.'
'Well,' said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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A Paper Boat On A Murky River
on your hand is a paper boat
you made last night
on a rainy day like this
you put on a gray rain coat
the river rises
perfect for your scheme
you put the boat gently
on the brown water
white paper boat
carried by this murkiness
your hands push
the paper boat leaves
tonight you sleep on
the wooden floor
it is mahogany brown and you
become the paper boat
sailing inside your dream
the floor becomes the big river
your thoughts become the wind
your eyes become two moons
the room is as dark as the night
the dream is so alive like a mother's song.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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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This Evening
this evening is another lovely evening
i see stars. i think of some memories. sticky ones. sweet ones.
mouthwatering ones between us. in the room dim and cold. warmed by our
two bodies.kisses. hugs. touches. caresses. whispers.
indeed, this is a lovely evening.
i have a glass of mild wine in my hand. an orange. an apple. some spices
of mint and chili. to make me feel hot on this lovely, cold night. the wind blows
from the sea. i hear the waves. but they are sounding so gently
reminding of a boat where we ride. kisses. hugs. touches. caresses.
whispers. making love. the boat stopped in the middle of the ocean.
both of us.
indeed this is a lovely evening. i have another glass of wine. an orange.
some chili. some pepper.
i like it hot. these memories. i have your picture in my hand. your last letter.
i have the picture of you and your husband. and your children. they all have
grown up. your daughter looks just like you. some smiles. hugs. kisses.
embraces. your family on your last wedding anniversary. in maryland.
indeed this is a lovely evening. an honest one.
everything is accepted. everything is true. and i wish you all the happiness.
for indeed this is a lovely evening. with myself. still strong as ever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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At The Port Of Kolambugan
the news is that
another storm is coming
and our boat is still on this port
that we fear
for once there was terror here
a bomb exploded
planted by this unknown terrorist
and many died
the boat was burned
and many bodies still burning
jumped and drowned in the sea
most of them
children and women
i am sensing the colder wind
from the sea
the touch of the
coming storm
i can sense its strength
while i wait
for the decision whether
to go sailing or not
so we can reach the
other island facing us
with a warm welcome
i look for a sign
and see this pigeon
hovering above
my head
as though saying
warning
do not,
i have all the reasons
to listen
we sleep here for the night
we shall let this storm pass
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mother Earth And Father Time Are Angry
Mother Earth and Father Time are walking hand in hand.
They're visiting their children and checking on their land.
They view the worlds destruction everywhere they turn.
They fear their precious children are never going to learn.
''This earth should be their playground with joys beyond belief
yet, all these children seem to know is senseless pain and grief.''
''How do we teach our children to care for such a place?
They may not get the message till we slap them in their face.''
The children are oblivious to even basic rules.
That's why so many people grow up looking like such fools.