Out in the Garden
Out in the garden,
Out in the windy, swinging dark,
Under the trees and over the flower-beds,
Over the grass and under the hedge border,
Someone is sweeping, sweeping,
Some old gardener.
Out in the windy, swinging dark,
Someone is secretly putting in order,
Someone is creeping, creeping.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Survival
In the dark shaded border
World turns upside down
Though everything’s in order
And black is never brown!
Supposedly in order
But really in mess
The dark shaded border
Never shows its true face!
Mischief is a fun, lies sacred
Throats are slit for a small chunk of bread
It’s a savage race, the stakes are too close
Friends this moment turn into foes!
In the dark shaded border
Disorderliness is order
Money and muscle thrive
In a blind zeal to survive!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shot In The Dark
Out on the street Im stalking the night
I can hear my heavy breathing
Paid for the kill but it doesnt seem right
Something there I cant believe in
Voices are calling from inside my head
I can hear them I can hear them
Vanishing memories of things that were said
They cant try to hurt me now
But a shot in the dark one step away from you
A shot in the dark always creeping up on you
Taught by the powers that preach over me
I can hear their empty reason
I wouldnt listen I learnt how to fight
I opened up my mind to treason
But just like the wounded and when its too late
Theyll remember theyll surrender
Never a care for that people who hate
Underestimate me now
But a shot in the dark one step away from you
A shot in the dark not a thing that you can do
A shot in the dark always creeping up on you
But just like the wounded and when its too late
Theyll remember theyll surrender
Never a care for the people who hate
Underestimate me now
But a shot in the dark one step away from you
A shot in the dark not a thing that you can do
A shot in the dark always creeping up on you
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Japanese lullaby
Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,--
Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes;
Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging--
Swinging the nest where her little one lies.
Away out yonder I see a star,--
Silvery star with a tinkling song;
To the soft dew falling I hear it calling--
Calling and tinkling the night along.
In through the window a moonbeam comes,--
Little gold moonbeam with misty wings;
All silently creeping, it asks, "Is he sleeping--
Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?"
Up from the sea there floats the sob
Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore,
As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning--
Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more.
But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings,--
Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes;
Am I not singing?--see, I am swinging--
Swinging the nest where my darling lies.
poem by Eugene Field
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I don't trust or love anyone. Because people are so creepy. Creepy creepy creeps. Creeping around. Creeping here and creeping there. Creeping everywhere. Crippity crappity creepies.
quote by Vincent Gallo
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Crane
White
swinging
alone
against
the dark green pine trees
(09-01-'97)
poem by Sangnam Nam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Broomstick Rhythm
As youre sweeping
Autumn leaves up
You are sweeping
My fallen heart up with em
As youre sweeping
Autumn leaves up
You are sweeping
In swish-back broomstick rhythm
Youre dressed in red
Your hair [would had a] brush on fire
To make leaves dress up dead
Ordered to parade
Swayed by broomstick rhythm
Hey!
As youre sweeping
Winter snow up
They have fallen
For you so please forgive em
As youre sweeping
Winter snow up
You are sweeping
In swish-back broomstick rhythm
Youre dressed in white
There is no; why dont we surrender
And in envy of you
Melting drips will rush
Brushed in broomstick rhythm
Hey! hey!
As youre sweeping
Summer dust up
See a squirrel
In homage making rhythms
As youre sweeping
Summer dust up
You are sweeping
In swish-back broomstick rhythm
Youre dressed in blue
The sky and sun a hue more paler
Than the glow in your heart
I bask in your rays
Days of broomstick rhythm
As youre sweeping
Springtime rain up
You are sweeping
My tears up for [i live em / a living? ]
As youre sweeping
Springtime rain up
You are sweeping up
What there remains
Of fears I earn
Upon giving my heart
Away to somebody
For good
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ecclesiastes
UNDER the fluent folds of needlework,
Where Balkis prick'd the histories of kings
Once great as he, that were as greatly loved,
Solomon stooped, and saw the dusk unfold
Over the apple orchards like a flower.
'O bloom of eve,' he said, 'diviner loss
Of all light gave us, dove of the whole world,
Bearing the branch of peace, the dark, sweet bough,–
Endure a little longer, ere full night
Comes stark from God and terrible with stars,
Eternal as He or love.
Now no one wakes,
But a lean gardener by my apricots,
Sweeping the withered leaves, the yellowing leaves
Down the wind's road. Perish our years with them,
Our griefs, our little hungers, our poor sins,
Leaves that the Lord hath scattered. He shall quench
The fierce, impetuous torches of the sun,–
Yea, from our dead dust He shall quicken kings,
Unleash new battles, sharpen spears unborn,
Shadow on shadow; but His stars remain
Immortal, and love immortal crowned with them.'
Night came, and all the hosts thereof. He saw
Arcturus clear the doorways of the cloud,
And One that followed with his shining sons,
In the likeness of a gardener that strode
Over the windy hollows of the sky,
And with a great broom drave the stars in heaps,–
The yellow stars, the little withering stars,
Faint drifts along the darkness. New stars came,
Budded, and flowered, and fell. These too He swept,
And all the heavens were changed.
Then Solomon stood
Silent, nor ever turned to the Queen's kiss.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Gloomy Autumn laps friendly
Here I have come again by the order
And I see a lot out of work.
I am so sorry and I would like to help you
As much as I can.
I pluck all withered leaves from the unhappy trees
And provide you much sweeping jobs.
The sleepy factories, they have to double up their productions.(Rakes, Brooms and required tools.)
Certainly they recruit people.
But please do not blame me
As I am bit warmer than earlier.
* To my deceased poor Mom!
Autumn reminds me her wrinkles and Dark-Circled eyes.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Word Storm (The creation of a poem)
I
At first the sky is crystal blue
and the sun hangs high,
in the way that it
always take.
Specks of white clouds appear
and more and more
are creeping near.
The clouds are getting heavy and dark
and suddenly the sky
is filled and the sun
is blanketed out.
II
The screen is blank
and words are sweeping in
till suddenly the image
is near and by itself
become words and lines
and maybe rhymes
and subject and language
and verse structures itself.
Drops of rain
starts to fall
and drops turn into
a blizzard of words,
that finds their mark
and dropp down as sounds
and transforms on paper
to a symphony of words.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The night
The dark shadow
above the window
has her trace
looking away and in
provided you do a sin
see her creeping
make your mind to stay
memorising her in the dark
when on the streets dogs bark
when on trees owls howl
when my heart makes call
see only her forget all
Darkness will provide a clue
How to lend her your eyes
But alas! more than I say
The night has become the day
poem by Vizard Dhawan
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The Linden Avenue
A house of unimagined beauty
Is set in parkland, cool and dark;
Gates with an arch; then meadows, hillocks,
And oats and woods beyond the park.
Here, with their crowns each other hiding,
Enormous linden trees engage
In dusky, quiet celebration
Of their two hundred years of age.
And underneath their vaulted branches,
Across the regularly drawn
Symmetric avenues, grow flowers
In flower-beds upon a lawn.
Beneath the trees, on sandy pathways,
Not one bright spot relieves the dark,
Save-like an opening in a tunnel-
The distant entrance of the park.
But now the blossom-time is starting,
The walled-in linden trees reveal
And spread about within their shadow
Their irresistible appeal.
The visitors, in summer clothing,
While walking on the crunchy sand,
Breathe in unfathomable fragrance
Which only bees can understand.
This gripping scent is theme and subject,
Whereas-however well they look-
The flower-beds, the lawn, the garden,
Are but the cover of a book.
The clustered, wax-bespattered flowers
On massive trees, sedate and old,
Lit up by raindrops, burn and sparkle
Above the mansion they enfold.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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A Swinging Bridge
A swinging bridge,
My, love to you is like the muse of your act;
But the sun will rise on us always.
I love you and you love me,
But to whom is this sun shing up to?
For this life is all about us.
A swinging bridge,
And like the muse of joy!
But the bombs dropping on us now are like,
A paradise with a very dark shadow! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Cross-Roads
The rain beat in our faces,
And shrill the wild airs grew;
The long-maned clouds in races
Coursed o'er heaven's windy blue.
The tortured trees were lashing
Each other in their wrath,
Their wet leaves wildly dashing
Across the forest path.
We did not heed the sweeping
Of storm-bewildered rain;
Our cheeks were wet with weeping,
Our hearts were wrung with pain.
For where the cross-roads sever,
Parting to East and West,
We bade good-bye for ever,
To what we each loved best.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Autumn Morning at Cambridge
I ran out in the morning, when the air was clean and new,
And all the grass was glittering and grey with autumn dew,
I ran out to the apple tree and pulled an apple down,
And all the bells were ringing in the old grey town.
Down in the town, off the bridges and the grass
They are sweeping up the leaves to let the people pass,
Sweeping up the old leaves, golden-reds and browns,
While the men go to lecture with the wind in their gowns.
poem by Frances Darwin Cornford
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A Windy Day In Early September
The wind keeps the air that bit cooler today it is sixteen degrees
And beautiful pink fluffy blossoms adorn the flowering gum trees
And wattlebirds sing in the sunshine though not very pleasant their song
Their hoarse call is very distinctive once heard you cannot get it wrong.
A windy day in early September in changeable weather of Spring
The white backed magpie the marvellous songster in his territory he sing
At breeding time he is aggressive his own kind not even his friend
And he's been known to attack humans with his wife and his young to defend.
A windy day in early september dark rain clouds tell rain is quite near
And the sun that had briefly been hiding between a break in the clouds re-appear
In one day you can get four Seasons 'tis like that at this time of year
But in early days of September you know that warm weather will shortly be here.
A windy day in early September and rain is beginning to fall
And on the flowering gums and wattles the wattlebirds chatter and call
But gone is the coldness of Winter and fruit trees wear pinkish white flowers
And everywhere looks fresh and greener in the sunshine after the showers.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dont Say No
(a. bell / v. clarke)
Collecting conversation from the silence of the room.
Misguided information, telling lies will never do.
No better known occasion for improving the score.
Paid my contribution, wont play this game no more.
Im done with hesitation, got no stationary blues.
Gonna use my imagination like the way I used to do.
Headlong into passion, a sensational move.
Made the right connection, Im falling for the groove.
Im swinging high and Im swinging low,
And Im getting down and Im to and fro.
And thats the way the party goes.
Im making no mistaking, its a true live picture show.
So forget the final curtain and forget the bit of blow.
Got a lot of combination, its a fusion of love.
Mention intervention been bitten by the blow.
Im swinging high and Im swinging low,
And Im getting down and Im to and fro.
And thats the way the party goes.
Im done with hesitation, got no stationary blues.
Gonna use my imagination like the way I used to do.
Headlong into passion, a sensational move.
Made the right connection, Im falling for the groove.
Im swinging high and Im swinging low,
And Im getting down and Im to and fro.
Aint that the way the party goes?
Im swinging high and Im swinging low,
And Im getting down and Im to and fro.
And thats the way the party goes.
And thats the way the party goes.
And thats the way the party goes.
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Teacher's daughter
We love each other
in the garden of love!
But you touch that fragrant flower
secretly my precious mother!
Is that a dream or reality
Knows only gardener!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beats 4 Da Streets [Intro]
Beats 4 Da Streets [Intro]
Aaliyah Feat/Missy Elliott
[Missy Elliott] (Aaliyah)
Aaliyah, Aaliyah
Wake up
You just now entered
Into the next level
The new world of funk
As we do it one time
Creeping through the fog, dat y'all
(A-A-L-I-Y-A-H)
Creeping through the fog, dat y'all
(A-A-L-I-Y-A-H)
[Aaliyah]
I got the beats for da streets
(A-A-L-I-Y-A-H)
Everything I make is so unique
(A-A-L-I-Y-A-H)
Say hey if you down with me
(Hey L-I-Y-A-H)
If you step to me there's no need
(A-A-L-I-Y-A-H)
[Missy Elliott]
Creeping through the fog, dat y'all
Damn she be the bomb, damn (say what?)
Creeping through the
Creeping through the fog, dat y'all
Wake up
song performed by by Aaliyah
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song For John
On a windy day, lets go on flying.
There may be no trees to rest on,
There may be no clouds to ride.
But well have our wings and the wind will be with us,
Thats enough for me,
Thats enough for me.
On a windy day, we went flying.
There was no sea to rest on,
There were no hills to glide.
We saw an empty bottle rolling down the street
And on a cupboard stand at the corner of the street,
Wrinkled souls piled up like grapefruits.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My motto was always to keep swinging. Whether I was in a slump or feeling badly or having trouble off the field, the only thing to do was keep swinging.
quote by Hank Aaron
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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