Emma Goldman
How should they appraise you, who walk up close to you as to a mountain, each proclaiming his own eyeful against the other's eyeful.
Only time standing well off shall measure your circumference and height.
poem by Lola Ridge
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The Verdicts [Jutland]
Not in the thick of the fight,
Not in the press of the odds,
Do the heroes come to their height,
Or we know the demi-gods.
That stands over till peace.
We can only perceive
Men returned from the seas,
Very grateful for leave.
They grant us sudden days
Snatched from their business of war;
But we are too close to appraise
What manner of men they are.
And, whether their names go down
With age-kept victories,
Or whether they battle and drown
Unreckoned, is hid from our eyes.
They are too near to be great,
But our children shall understand
When and how our fate
Was changed, and by whose hand.
Our children shall measure their worth.
We are content to be blind . . .
But we know that we walk on a new-born earth
With the saviours of mankind.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Verdicts
Not in the thick of the fight,
Not in the press of the odds,
Do the heroes come to their height,
Or we know the demi-gods.
That stands over till peace.
We can only perceive
Men returned from the seas,
Very grateful for leave.
They grant us sudden days
Snatched from their business of war;
But we are too close to appraise
What manner of men they are.
And, whether their names go down
With age-kept victories,
Or whether they battle and drown
Unreckoned, is hid from our eyes.
They are too near to be great,
But our children shall understand
When and how our fate
Was changed, and by whose hand.
Our children shall measure their worth.
We are content to be blind . . .
But we know that we walk on a new-born earth
With the saviours of mankind.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Life can be so surreal
When he first clapped eyes on her
you could have heard the clapping
in the next ballroom.
Then his eyes danced.
They disengaged themselves gracefully
as from a group of friends,
cut and coiled their stalks
as if some umbilical cord,
and danced.
They danced at eye-height, which seemed
appropriate, considering;
you'd have thought they'd danced together
all their lives, they danced so well together.
They danced the quickstep first, then
the foxtrot; then a sparkling jive. At
the end, they bowed to her, respectfully,
yet in a way as if they knew the score,
had an eye or two to the future.
Then, quite simply, they returned,
picked up where they had left off.
No hint of what had gone on, except perhaps
a whiter shade of white around their irises,
and still clearly lit up from their first fill of her;
for she was, we all agreed, an eyeful.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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God Suddenly Remembered Me
God suddenly remembered me!
++
God was walking alone;
Suddenly HE remembered me-
'Where is the guy?
Not seen for a long long time! '
Dispatched a mild misery to me-
HE saw a man in the distance
Fast approaching, beating his heart,
Lips aflutter chanting his name
And eyeful of begging tears!
God said, ' he had come! '
With a twinkle in his eyes
And a smile snaking on lips!
-S.Chandra Kalaadhar
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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The Mindfulness
Eat while you eat; it is mouthful.
See while you see; it is eyeful.
Hear while you hear; it is earful.
Touch while you touch; it is handful.
When you do these you're mindful.
Being mindful is the joy of life.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Never measure the height of a mountain until you have reached the top. Then you will see how low it was.
quote by Dag Hammarskjold
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0146 Contemplation's Metaphysical
The height and depth and length and breadth of God -
that's what is promised to contemplatives:
and God, the sphere whose centre's everywhere
and whose circumference is nowhere found:
geometry without coordinates
and integral beyond all integers,
description of the indescribable -
can this reveal the measure of godliness?
God's height: the soul, which knows but upward flight;
God's depth: the depthless deep of human heart;
God's breadth: the mind with limits beyond sight;
God's length: how long He'll wait, while we're apart;
this does but limn the sphere which yet awaits
the soul and heart and mind which contemplates.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Measure Of Men
what is the measure of one man
is it the measure of one's strength
I think not
is it the measure of one's stature such as height
I don't think so
is it how wealthy one is
not even close
or is it how much power one possesses over another
not impressive
can a measure of a man be measured with a yardstick
well it can but that park doesn't show he's a man
the tolerance of a man for another man hitting him
can be measured with a ruler
the tolerance of a man for another man attacking his country
can be measured with a grain of salt
the tolerance of a man for another man hitting the one's he loves
now that can only be measured within a whisper
you can only measure a individual man or woman
with how big their heart is and
what qualities lie within that heart
such as dignity for what he works for
such as a stable household for his famly
compassion for people in need
the understanding of what's right and what's wrong
the pride of not what he has done but what
his wife and child has done
the sweat
the blood
and the tears he spars
to keep his marriage from falling apart
once you find a way to measure those things then
and only then will you be able to say
that is
because that is certainly
the real measure of all men
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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A Simple Song
a song
as simple as the birds
no pride
not waiting for any appraise
i do want to sing like the bird
i want it to be my language
my talk and my voice
no pride..no appraise
poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
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As to judging our own time, and thereby gaining some basis for a judgment of future possibilities, we are doubtless not only too close to it to appraise it but too much formed by it and enclosed within it to do so.
quote by Emily Greene Balch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-54
Bateman's Lily(Lilium x maculatum Cv.'Batemanniae',
Lilium elegans var. Batemanniae, Lilium batemanniae)
A rummage for your name big I did
With you in hand everyone I asked
And got finally to know your fame
Hunting stressful me not to blame
Some walkway found you and amazed
Trust mom Sukakshi had more blessed
Spotless with tepals fine smooth you
Leaves long and wide lush bushy true
Oh Lily grouped you with more liliums
Of friends and cousins, awesome rhymes
None can point at one, Oh, so beautiful
Charming for you all truthfully eyeful
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Seduced
Cheerios with bursting cinnamon dust,
Over sliced banana in a bowl of soy milk,
Breakfast is served.
Succulent sautéed shrimp over angel hair,
With melting mozzarella in a white plate,
Lunch is served.
Romaine spinach dressed with vinegarette,
Cherry tomatoes, raisins, pineapple cubes,
Dinner is served.
Then she sensed creamy caramel macchiato,
That’s calling for her not too far from home,
Starbucks is there.
Amaretto Cheesecake with Madeliene Crust,
Staring at her in an eyeful blast of seduction,
She checked in.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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A Flower To Auroville Mother 29
Nagalinga Poo(Cannon Ball Tree, Couroupita guianensis)
Rare you look with protecting serpent multi-tongued
With your leaves serrate in secret guarding
With your fruits in unkempt dangling steadied
With your bold bole outspread in eyeful watching...
All for what oh, perianth pink and red and yellow
Ah, that secret of a cosmic whorl around an axis
In your salving heart so moist centered to glow
Yes, yes Nagalinga, Shiva..Truth of vast cosmos..
And no wonder you're the flower for the Lord
Scented from the providence special and ritual
Soft and soothing lofty for heart and mind
And all surrender, no wonder to you so habitual
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Kenny The Crocodile
A crocodile that lived with many
who everyone knew as Kenny
was shunned by all the others
including his sisters and brothers.
Now Kenny was not one to really care
that his natural stench filled the air.
He thought it totally unnecessary and futile
that they should shun a brother crocodile.
He was forced to leave the muddy pool,
by the long nosed elders who did rule.
After walking and jogging for several days
he rested in the jungle and began to laze.
A keen eyed crocodile hunter close by
espied Kenny out of his one good eye.
He took careful aim and fired his rifle,
expecting Kenny to get an eyeful.
But Kenny rolled over towards the sun,
as the hunter again fired his gun.
He missed again as Kenny charged
at the hunter and his entourage.
Alas poor Kenny fell for a very old trick
and plunged into the hunter’s pit.
When soundly dead the natives jumped in
and relieved him of his valuable skin.
All over the world his patterned skin is bought
by those who give him not a thought.
I wonder if he thought, was it really worthwhile
being born a smelly crocodile.
poem by Orlando Belo
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When I close my eyes
When I close my eyes.
All the evil that you did.
Returns and kills me inside.
I see you standing there.
With your twisted smile.
Luaghing at what you are about to do.
Whenever I close my eyes
All of you are there.
I hear you all the time
I still smell the vile sweat.
Every time I close my eyes.
I relive the pain.
It breaks me a little more.
I wake up stuggling for breath.
I cant close my eyes.
I see your face.
I hear 'it only a game'
I hear it all the time.
'tell any1 and your dead'
I cant close my eyes.
Your there all the time
Niggiling and nawring
A little more day by day.
As time goes by
I still cant close my eyes
Your there all the time.
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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An Encircling Notion
Where do the children play?
Are they happy,
in thoughtful consequence?
A vision's loss,
in technological isolation
Eyeful souls,
keen in tempting stimulation
Serene whispers in simple vision
A power of purpose,
in playful decision
Sleeping memories,
are as braidful* in jade
Born of the stars,
in crimson shade
A fragile universe,
born in youthful success
Binding threads,
in passionate express
Recipients gather,
in guideful self esteem
Children in moonful light,
continue on in secret dream
Where do the children stay?
Are they happy,
in unknown innocence?
poem by Thomas Foreman
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Illuminati's Prayer 'Layers to the Sun Night Dominion
Eagle light, I sun to you; through burning rainbows of the precious holy triangle,
in the eyeful name of faith.
Thanking you, for boldness, tameness, and firmness.
I choose to cloud strong in the stars of your perfections, with all righteousness.
I renounce the fold and toad spirit of fear.
I renounce lameness, coldness and excessive anxiety of king failure,
and I storm up fame, with your delicate power of iron blood.
Blind days, stray nights, and lost morning; mountain above humankind,
changing their hearts into dead bats,
but I choose to stay owl and wiser than the demon doves, that claw the world to death.
Even when my voice sank in the rain,
my bones; bunt in the train of anguish,
and my spirit crashed in vain; in the waves of the vultures.
You still refreshed my veins and made the gains of my circle wonder turn into glossy vision with
rightful souls.
Now I am so higher than trees,
so orange than glows,
and the rain of my blessing showers more than the delightful face of sown.
I wing and swing along with your sweat of test,
because In all things I face;
your rod and burning cord, will always protect and fight for me.
My eyes will always be openly ventilated with understanding and courage,
because I am made black golden and filthy fruitfully amazed.
Thank you, for piercing your light into my sight and height.
Your gifts will always be my sun and blood,
while downfall; will always run barefooted till it floods to death.
So shall it be; for I rest my prayer, and loudly awake my faith.
Hooh HaaaH! ! !
poem by King Femi Oloidi
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How Do You Measure Up?
If you measure yourself by ambition,
There will always be someone more ambitious than you.
If you measure yourself by money,
There is always someone wealthier than you.
If you measure yourself by power,
There is always someone more powerful than you.
If you measure yourself with material things,
There is always someone with more stuff than you.
If you measure yourself by where you are in life,
There is always someone farther down the path than you.
If you measure yourself by appearance,
There is always someone that appears than you.
If you measure yourself by God,
Then we are all the same.
We are all wonderfully and beautifully made.
God is love.
And love has no end.
So in God's heart,
You will always measure up!
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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The wanderer
Upon a mountain height, far from the sea,
I found a shell,
And to my listening ear the lonely thing
Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing,
Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell.
How came the shell upon that mountain height?
Ah, who can say
Whether there dropped by some too careless hand,
Or whether there cast when Ocean swept the Land,
Ere the Eternal had ordained the Day?
Strange, was it not? Far from its native deep,
One song it sang,--
Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide,
Sang of the misty sea, profound and wide,--
Ever with echoes of the ocean rang.
And as the shell upon the mountain height
Sings of the sea,
So do I ever, leagues and leagues away,--
So do I ever, wandering where I may,--
Sing, O my home! sing, O my home! of thee.
1883.
poem by Eugene Field
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0015 The Couple on the Station Platform
There’s this couple
they’re standing there, not close enough
to be about to kiss and separate,
one for the train, the other
more slowly back, but close
people pass them, one way, the other,
they’re still; they’re calm, it’s an important decision but
they’re sensible people, they’re
going to make this together,
give each other space, take it
slowly so that
years and children on from now
they’ll look back and know
they did the right thing at the time
whether they’re together then or
happily two different families,
two different partners,
no regrets.
if they’d been standing like that for
just five seconds, they’d be simply
deciding whether there was time
to grab a quick snack or whether
to risk what’s on the train but
they’re still standing there; time
is less important than that
they should decide together so that
they’ll feel the same way forever
as they feel soon, when the moment comes
that they know what they’ll do
this is not a film, or some poem which
has a beginning and an end
it's now and it’s two lives
and I, an onlooker drawn in
a passing glance, into these two lives,
am caring for these two people
I know nothing about, so much that
I cannot bear to know the outcome
in case I know too much
even though I know they’ll make
the right decision. I
walk on, slowly, as if I’m
carrying something important that
I’ll unpack later.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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