NOT 'Space Cadets
After it has been discovered
That grasshoppers 'hop'...
That's what they are going to do.
They're going to hop their green butts off!
No need to follow them,
To spy to see if they have other missions...
Other motivations!
They are GRASSHOPPERS!
NOT 'space cadets'!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It’s quiet, very quiet in the veldt
It’s quiet, very quiet in the veldt
even the crickets and grasshoppers
are without sound
and the chopper drones away
leaving me and Johnny
and a few other men
with a Bushmen tracker
to follow a enemy spoor
and suddenly we walk straight in
to a ambush, right into a trap
and Johnny is dead, shot through the head
and three others as well and it feels as if I am in hell
and I am talking to myself
trying to get my bearings while firing at the enemy,
killing some and throwing two grenades
to advice them of my serious intentions
and the enemy shooting stops, as does that
of me and my men and I smell death
and are nauseous to the point of retching
and it’s quiet, very quiet in the veldt
even the crickets and grasshoppers
are without sound.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Ode To The Green Grass Of Summer
green green grass
spreading slowly on the path
of my feet
treaded upon
such green beauty
covering once
this dust, this mud,
this plain expanse
of ugliness
i sing the song
of green green grasess
spreading thinly on
the pavement
grasshoppers
and ants and some worms
yes, the green green grasses
are still their home
patches of earth
from far
you may see
this stitches
of moss
a landscape
of this earth
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A fight between grasshoppers is a joy to the crow.
Different fields, different grasshoppers; different seas, different fish.
If the hill is on fire the grasshoppers are roasted.
Benevolent Tears
Dark clouds scattered everywhere
Dried ponds, rivers, oceans
Par unquenched thirst of million birds, beasts, humans
Cannot bear the agony of nature
Thus a tribute to its melancholy pours down in torrents
Overfills everywhere
Green grass greets the grasshoppers
On green stalks fire red roses brightly dance
Green leaves attached to ripe yellow fruits
Hearts gladden, souls solace
The Descend of ecstasy, gaiety, charm
In the golden farms
The yellow light scattered everywhere
The air of fulfilment, solemnity, tranquility that's rare.
poem by Green Peace
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Sweating
Myriad of grasshoppers were sitting
on the leapless bush
celebrating the earth.
I was never happy
with the anniversary of thirst
eating the memories of green.
His hand rummages
to collect the shrunk berries
from my chest.
Today the sun will step down
in honour of a cloud
who opened a hole in a collider
I am the mother
and I am the father
of a homeless moon.
poem by Satish Verma
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The Ruin
When the last colours of the day
Have from their burning ebbed away,
About that ruin, cold and lone,
The cricket shrills from stone to stone;
And scattering o'er its darkened green,
Bands of fairies may be seen,
Clattering like grasshoppers, their feet
Dancing a thistledown dance round it:
While the great gold of the mild moon
Tinges their tiny acorn shoon.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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The Circus Of The Grasshoppers
this summer grass is tall
and everywhere
the sun is hot and the
clouds are clear
and lo, there you see
the dancing grasshoppers
in a circus of a caucus
sounding of the sounds
of mating.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Ballad of Ducks
The railway rattled and roared and swung
With jolting and bumping trucks.
The sun, like a billiard red ball, hung
In the Western sky: and the tireless tongue
Of the wild-eyed man in the corner told
This terrible tale of the days of old,
And the party that ought to have kept the ducks.
"Well, it ain't all joy bein' on the land
With an overdraft that'd knock you flat;
And the rabbits have pretty well took command;
But the hardest thing for a man to stand
Is the feller who says 'Well I told you so!
You should ha' done this way, don't you know!' --
I could lay a bait for a man like that.
"The grasshoppers struck us in ninety-one
And what they leave -- well, it ain't de luxe.
But a growlin' fault-findin' son of a gun
Who'd lent some money to stock our run --
I said they'd eaten what grass we had --
Says he, 'Your management's very bad;
You had a right to have kept some ducks!'
"To have kept some ducks! And the place was white!
Wherever you went you had to tread
On grasshoppers guzzlin' day and night;
And then with a swoosh they rose in flight,
If you didn't look out for yourself they'd fly
Like bullets into your open eye
And knock it out of the back of your head.
"There isn't a turkey or goose or swan,
Or a duck that quacks, or a hen that clucks,
Can make a difference on a run
When a grasshopper plague has once begun;
'If you'd finance us,' I says, 'I'd buy
Ten thousand emus and have a try;
The job,' I says, 'is too big for ducks!
"'You must fetch a duck when you come to stay;
A great big duck -- a Muscovy toff --
Ready and fit,' I says, 'for the fray;
And if the grasshoppers come our way
You turn your duck into the lucerne patch,
And I'd be ready to make a match
That the grasshoppers eat his feathers off!"
"He came to visit us by and by,
And it just so happened one day in spring
A kind of cloud came over the sky --
A wall of grasshoppers nine miles high,
And nine miles thick, and nine hundred wide,
Flyin' in regiments, side by side,
And eatin' up every living thing.
"All day long, like a shower of rain,
You'd hear 'em smackin' against the wall,
Tap, tap, tap, on the window pane,
And they'd rise and jump at the house again
Till their crippled carcasses piled outside.
But what did it matter if thousands died --
A million wouldn't be missed at all.
"We were drinkin' grasshoppers -- so to speak --
Till we skimmed their carcasses off the spring;
And they fell so thick in the station creek
They choked the waterholes all the week.
There was scarcely room for a trout to rise,
And they'd only take artificial flies --
They got so sick of the real thing.
"An Arctic snowstorm was beat to rags
When the hoppers rose for their morning flight
With the flapping noise like a million flags:
And the kitchen chimney was stuffed with bags
For they'd fall right into the fire, and fry
Till the cook sat down and began to cry --
And never a duck or fowl in sight.
"We strolled across to the railroad track --
Under a cover beneath some trucks,
I sees a feather and hears a quack;
I stoops and I pulls the tarpaulin back --
Every duck in the place was there,
No good to them was the open air.
'Mister,' I says, 'There's your blanky ducks!'"
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Green Grasses
Green beautiful grasses
Where lands the butterflies
Green grasshoppers just hopped
Greedily shining beautifully to be alive
Looking deeply in ones gazing eyes
And don't know how to say goodbye
Or tell ones flesh never to smile freely
With these green grasses
That smiles with a dog tooth
For flesh makes grasses ever green.
Green beautiful grasses
Just doesn't feel right
Growing on a burial ground
Across ones head
Having no yesterday,
And no to-morrow.
Forgetting thoughts, taught, time
Forgetting fortune, life and love
Lying at peace
With grasses growing all over ones head
Green beautiful grasses
Where I lay when I rise to the morning sun
Stretching legs during the burning ray
Forgetting about death or life
Feeling an angel
Angels cherish a background
Looking so beautiful,
A sight to see
A scene to show
How deep is a love….
written by: Onyeche Vincent Onyeka
© 2012
poem by Onyekachukwu Vincent Onyeche
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On Wasted Mornings
the trees are waiting
and the paths are smooth
the flowers start
to bloom
and the sun peeps
with gladness
between the mountains
the ants are busy
and the grasshoppers
sing
the rivers flow
happily to the sea
and here i am
on this wasted morning
composing verses
that no one
reads.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Because The Snake Is Here
i am eating my words
i languish in the jail of my ideas
no woman comes here
for a visit
i am murmuring my sighs
to the bars
in between the hours
i whisper my whimper
to the grasshoppers
on the grass
i look to their feet that jump
for skies
i am at a loss of syllables
my mouth is dry
my hands are trembling
a snake is here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On My Way To Oz
The round green hill tops of Kansas call to me...
There is a kind of insanity in the grasses this day-
As the plain winds gust with no particular destination...
The lakes become a broken grey-rippled with waves;
All of the insects hold on for dear life...
To the bending stems and new poppy blossoms...
Crickets and grasshoppers give way finally to vertigo;
The Kansas Sun is trying to peek out...
From behind a fluffy cumulus cloud---
A few raindrops begin to fall and a Rainbow is formed-
Arched-to the West...
Informing me that i am not that far away from OZ;
September 29,2010
poem by Theodora Onken
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Whatever their motivations, lawmakers on both side of the aisle have certainly discovered that immigration is one of those issues that resonate strongly with the public.
quote by Gwen Ifill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grasshoppers
Grasshoppers go in many a thumming spring
And now to stalks of tasseled sow-grass cling,
That shakes and swees awhile, but still keeps straight;
While arching oxeye doubles with his weight.
Next on the cat-tail-grass with farther bound
He springs, that bends until they touch the ground.
poem by John Clare
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When He's In Love Again
the clouds are so blue
the sea so calm and
the night so serene
the leaves have forgotten
to say a rustle and the
skies are whiter
the mountains silent
the trees tall and dignified
the grasses crawl
with the usual determination
the birds are singing
and the grasshoppers are
jumping
inside him rages a very
sweet storm
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Missions is not the ultimate goal of the church. Worship is. Missions exists because worship doesn't. Worship is ultimate, not missions, because God is ultimate, not man. When this age is over, and the countless millions of the redeemed fall on their faces before the throne of God, missions will be no more. It is a temporary necessity. But worship abides forever.
quote by John Piper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Confidence (misplaced Revised)
man's greed may
boast of finally
consuming the
earth in the
next hundred
years
cutting all the trees
polluting the sea and air
and rivers
exploding its mountains
killing all the
fetus
and whatever hope
for the seeds
annihilated
but the earth knows
everything right
from the start
soon every destruction
is pingponged
back to man
and the earth will be
back to another
thousand years of
silence
sleeping waking
and humming
another grass so green
is spread
butterflies unhampered
whales crowding
the sea
peaceful landscapes
dews and
mildews
birds and grasshoppers
and whales
singing in
perfect harmony
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Things Were Born So Simple Please Do Not Complicate Them
eggs white
a hen keeps them warm
with its feathers
and patience
looking at the busy
worms in the garden
the ants as usual
are not arguing with
the grasshoppers
it is a sunny day
and nothing spoils it
with words
except this one
building stanzas
word upon word
like a tower of babel
expect the scattering
of tribes
of thoughts that
cannot get well
along even with
its own same sound
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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