Of All I've Seen Waiting To Be Discovered
A spring of buttercups, when was that now
I saw in green pastures a golden jersey cow
A river meandering swift-lashing and lush
Where blue tit nest on passing, fell hush.
When their shells scattered pieces of sky
Plucked treasured depths in a child's eye
When did I last see a fire poker-toadstool?
Its fiery globule head in a green whirlpool.
Radiant-light brims over a cherry-bark moth
Is he not both moth and tree - life's froth?
Of all I've seen waiting to be discovered
The tench bubbles breaking, I savored.
The nervous vole nosing silence ordinate!
Up-through the willow trees rooted garret.
These and other, things, I've remembered
A boy by the river I once wildly proffered.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Related quotes
The Maiden's Prayer
SPRING, pretty Spring, what treasure do you bring to me?
Green grass and buttercups, cherry-bloom and may?
Sunshine to be glad with me, and little birds to sing to me?
Warm nests to call me along the woodland way?
Spring, happy Spring, what wonder will you do for me?
Light the tulip lanterns, and set the furze a-fire?
Fill your sky with sails of cloud on waves of living blue for me?
Show me green cornfields and budding of the briar?
Spring, darling Spring, my days will not return to me,
You who see them fleeting, you, all time above,
You who move the whole world's heart, ah move one heart to turn to me,
--Bring me a lover, and teach me how to love!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Remembering South of the River
South river good
Landscape old once know well
Sunrise river flower red bear fire
Spring come river water green like lily
Can not remember river south
South of the river is good,
Long ago, I knew the landscape well.
At sunrise, the river's flowers are red like fire,
In spring, the river's water's green as lilies.
How could I not remember south of the river?
The May Flower Tree
I was walking lone there,
Where we once had been.
I sought the house we lived in,
In the lush lush green.
Perhaps inmates out, I thought,
As none I could see.
She has been haunting ever,
Where's May Flower Tree?
Looked around and discovered,
Ah! she lost her grace!
Hugged her with my eager hands,
Alone at that place.
Touched her old bark earnestly,
Felt the touch of past.
Childhood cried in deep deep pain,
Days crept in we passed.
Suddenly the tree turned green,
The Sun shone brightly.
I saw the May Flower Tree,
An emblem of Infancy!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Rwanda 1994
The Kagera River rises in Burundi blue
It sweeps down from the highlands green.
But then why the river runs red?
Why does it look so sinister?
It hauls the bodies of the dead
Its currents carry your sister.
The Kagera River rises in Burundi green
It flows wild to Lake Victoria blue.
But then why the river runs red?
There is no change in the weather.
Yet on the waters float the dead
The currents carry your father.
The Kagera River rises in Burundi white
It drags trees and elephant grass green.
But then why the river runs red?
The day sunny like another.
Yet the streams tow and haul the dead
The currents carry your brother.
The Kagera River rises in Burundi blue
It flows through Rwandan gorges green.
But then why the river runs red?
Why does the village camp smother?
It hauls the corpses of the dead
The currents carry your mother.
poem by Paul Hartal
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Tropical Sundown
Tremulously, tremulously,
green-blue, radiant light
filters off the lagoon.
Green-blue, radiant light
reflects the waning of the day
folding into night.
All the hours of the
day converge and dissolve in
green-blue radiant light.
poem by Sonny Rainshine
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River
Here is the river
And I am searching it
In the map that is
On the wall of my house
That is not there.
I do not know
The mountain is in between
The river and my house
That dressedup geography
And taking me from
Place to place.
I am on my own journey
While the sky is breaking
And I with the night dream
Passing passing and passing
The hard days with
Fire of the mountain
And water of the river.
Where is the river
That I am searching
To driveout troubles
Where I am
Here is the river
Wash your face eyes
Somebody is kind enough
To tell in my house.
I am not in my house
See.
And Where am I
And the sea is here
No river no mountain
Here is the river
If you find again
Inform me please
I am grateful then.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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I Plucked A Rose From A Garden Green......
By Murtaza Abt
I plucked a rose from a garden green,
Of beauty never felt or seen,
Hoping that it would never wilt,
And always be as always been.
I plucked a rose from a garden green,
with a happy blissful heart,
And promised i would hold it tight,
And never would we part.
I plucked a rose from a garden green,
But little did i know,
That not in endless love and care,
But gardens do they grow.
I plucked a rose from a garden green,
And took it home with me,
But little did it stay the way,
The way t'was meant to be.
I plucked a rose from a garden green,
And it began to grieve,
Over gardens green and meadows lush,
As it was sad to leave.
I plucked a rose from a garden green,
And it began to wilt,
And wither in that unknown land,
it filled my heart with guilt.
I plucked a rose from a garden green,
And it began to die,
For happiness i had only asked,
But i began to cry.
....................................
I have p L ucked y O u from a garden green,
Your beauty i VE never felt or seen,
Hoping that YOU will never wilt,
And always be as always been.
09/Nov/09
poem by Murtaza Abt
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The Candle and The Moth
O Candle! Why does the moth love you?
Why is this restless soul devoted to you?
Your charm keeps it restless like mercury
Did you teach it the etiquette of Love?
It circumambulates the site of your manifestation
Is it inspired with the fire of your lightning?
Do the woes of death give it the peace of life?
Does your flame possess the quality of eternal life?
If you do not brighten this sorrowful world
This burning heart's tree of Longing may not green up
Falling before you is the prayer of this little heart
The taste for impassioned Love knows this little heart
It has some zeal of the Primeval Beauty's Lover
You are a small ñër, it is a small Kalam
The moth and the taste for the Sight of the Light!
This small insect and the Longing for the Light!
poem by Allama Muhammad Iqbal
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I'm Sorry
learned by heart
the story of the moth and
the fire
do not want to die
yet
sorry but i am not
catering to
this and that
got my life
and will not waste it
with you
sorry but i am on my own
now
as ever before
you're a trap
a quicksand
so sorry you can't get me
alive
got a life
lots of sunshine in here
fresh rivers
and air from the trees
blue clouds
wide sea
cool earth
beautiful house
green grass
tell me why do i have
to bet my life
on 20 minutes
of your
happiness?
i won't
you're a quicksand
and i am no fool
in here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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No One Steps Twice On The River Of Life...
it is not the rage of this river.
when i was a child, as mother says,
i keep my finger inside my mouth
sucked by my throat, to keep hunger away
beside the bank of this river
i am the spectator
and the river believes in the magic
of my innocence
it flows always in a distant
affection,
it is not the rage of the river,
it is i, the grown up man who goes swimming
in the river and feel
the joys of its cool waters
always moving on towards
a destination
it is the swimming with a friend
and then
with a lover and then with a wife
and then my silence,
what we do not have we force to forget
it is the bathing in the river
the rinsing and the cleansing of the waters
it is not the rage of this river
and then we become too weak to be in this river
the river moves on and on
towards the deepest sea looking for the
opening
i wait by the bank of this river
many things have been missed
the more important ones
the one that gives the posterity of
my humanity
it is denied of me because of this river
that gives me nothing
all the while i was the leaf that fell off from
the tree
on the side of this river
and i floated because i have nothing to do
because i can do nothing about
the flow of the river
i become the dead leaf that the air
rides upon
tossed and bumped on boulders
till i sink
deep down the river
that i shall pass only once.
time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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New Life, New Love
The breezes blow on the river below,
And the fleecy clouds float high,
And I mark how the dark green gum trees match
The bright blue dome of the sky.
The rain has been, and the grass is green
Where the slopes were bare and brown,
And I see the things that I used to see
In the days ere my head went down.
I have found a light in my long dark night,
Brighter than stars or moon;
I have lost the fear of the sunset drear,
And the sadness of afternoon.
Here let us stand while I hold your hand,
Where the light’s on your golden head—
Oh! I feel the thrill that I used to feel
In the days ere my heart was dead.
The storm’s gone by, but my lips are dry
And the old wrong rankles yet—
Sweetheart or wife, I must take new life
From your red lips warm and wet!
So let it be, you may cling to me,
There is nothing on earth to dread,
For I’ll be the man that I used to be
In the days ere my heart was dead!
poem by Henry Lawson
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The moth hound
Of a coon hound
you have heard
there's plenty around
i have found
a very strange dog
who's nothing, but a moth hound
when ever, you see
he sees a moth near by
the moth trys to flee,
it isn't no match
as my dog goes after the moth,
and makes a wonderful catch
he eats it all the way
and chews and swallows
he looks at me, now he wants to play
Window Left Open...
the vase fell to the floor,
and shattered into tiny pieces.
the broom in the corner wept.
the box in the closet drew breath sharply,
the book on the shelf turned away.
the bulb in the lamp burned out.
the spider packed up its web and left.
the empty nest fell from the tree.
rainwater gushed from the gutters.
the young boy locked in his room
crawled out the window.
the neighbor's dog barked...
god gathered her clothes,
and put on her shoes.
while warships sailed for another land.
drones killed three women on the way to market,
another baby died without having lived.
another factory shut down,
another church burned to the ground,
so many things said and unsaid.
another chapter, another book unread.
things are not what they seem.
another war on pillows fought by silence,
another day in a land untouched.
old trees pray for lightning,
old dogs wait without fear.
old photographs turn yellow and fade.
old men empty their pockets and die.
even Jesus couldnt wait this long....
they say the good die young.
the thief in the garden steals roses,
that he gives to a girl wearing glasses.
while passion weeps waiting for snow.
and leaves prepare to fall...
the vase fell to the floor,
and shattered into tiny pieces...
the moth flew through a window left open!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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It Is A Spring Afternoon
Everything here is yellow and green.
Listen to its throat, its earthskin,
the bone dry voices of the peepers
as they throb like advertisements.
The small animals of the woods
are carrying their deathmasks
into a narrow winter cave.
The scarecrow has plucked out
his two eyes like diamonds
and walked into the village.
The general and the postman
have taken off their packs.
This has all happened before
but nothing here is obsolete.
Everything here is possible.
Because of this
perhaps a young girl has laid down
her winter clothes and has casually
placed herself upon a tree limb
that hangs over a pool in the river.
She has been poured out onto the limb,
low above the houses of the fishes
as they swim in and out of her reflection
and up and down the stairs of her legs.
Her body carries clouds all the way home.
She is overlooking her watery face
in the river where blind men
come to bathe at midday.
Because of this
the ground, that winter nightmare,
has cured its sores and burst
with green birds and vitamins.
Because of this
the trees turn in their trenches
and hold up little rain cups
by their slender fingers.
Because of this
a woman stands by her stove
singing and cooking flowers.
Everything here is yellow and green.
Surely spring will allow
a girl without a stitch on
to turn softly in her sunlight
and not be afraid of her bed.
She has already counted seven
blossoms in her green green mirror.
Two rivers combine beneath her.
The face of the child wrinkles.
in the water and is gone forever.
The woman is all that can be seen
in her animal loveliness.
Her cherished and obstinate skin
lies deeply under the watery tree.
Everything is altogether possible
and the blind men can also see.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Forever My Love
The green earth waits beneath a whitened wing,
haunted by memories of budding Spring,
when love loosed its verdure and gathered ground
in groves of splendor by the river's sound.
Now slides the morning on wood and metal,
falling like rain in each snowdropp petal.
The bright mosaic of radiant hues
is a blinding light that each eye pursues.
The seasons change but the memory clings
and hovers around with its hopeful wings.
Search the memories and gather the green.
Lay them beneath whispers of velveteen.
Remembered, reborn, and riding the rail,
love is the wind that releases the sail.
Forever, my love, I remember well,
the glory of love before glory fell.
I sigh for the past and the future too
as tender sprigs of green start peeking through.
The green earth waits like a pearl in a shell.
A dream in a dream is dreaming to dwell.
poem by Linda Marie Van Tassell
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Fire-Caught
The gold moth did not love him
So, gorgeous, she flew away.
But the gray moth circled the flame
Until the break of day.
And then, with wings like a dead desire,
She fell, fire-caught, into the flame.
poem by Langston Hughes
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Right Across The River Bend
Right across the river bend there’s a warm gentle breeze.
Right across the river-bend are trees with yellow leaves.
Right across the river bend the water reflects the sun.
Right across the river bend is a smell of innocence.
Right across the river bend a robin’s egg is broken.
Right across the river-bend are peaceful mountain valleys.
Right across the river bend a dandelion is carried.
Right across the river bend are fields of shiny green grass.
Right across the riverbend are memories made to last.
poem by Alicia Page
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Take Me Back
Ive been walking by the river
Ive been walking down by the water
Ive been walking down by the river
Ive been feeling so sad and blue
Ive been thinking, Ive been thinking, Ive been thinking,
Ive been thinking, Ive been thinking, Ive been thinking,
Ah theres so much suffering, and its
Too much confusion, too much, too much confusion in the world
Take me back, take me back, take me back
Take me way back, take me way back, take me way back
Take me way back, take me way back, take me way back
Take me way back, take me way back, ah!
Take me way, way, way, way, way, way, way back, huh!
Help me un.....help me understand
Take me, do you remember the time darlin
When everything made more sense in the world (yeah)
Oh I remember, I remember
When life made more sense
Ah, ah, take me back, take me back, take me back, take me back
Take me back, take me back, take me back, take me back
Take me back (woah) to when the world made more sense
Well theres too much suffering and confusion
And Im walking down by the river
Oh, let me understand religion
Way, way back, way back
When you walked, in a green field, in a green meadow
Down an avenue of trees
On a, on a golden summer
And the sky was blue
And you didnt have no worries, you didnt have no care
You were walking in a green field
In a meadow, through the buttercups, in the summertime
And you looked way out over, way out
Way out over the city and the water
And it feels so good, and it feels so good
And you keep on walking
And the music on the radio, and the music on the radio
Has so much soul, has so much soul
And you listen, in the nightime
While were still and quiet
And you look out on the water
And the big ships, and the big boats
Came on sailing by, by, by, by
And you felt so good, and I felt so good
I felt I wanna blow my harmonica
Take me back, there, take me way back there
Take me back, take me back, take me back
Take me way, way, way back, way back
To when, when I understood
When I understood the light, when I understood the light
In the golden afternoon, in the golden afternoon
In the golden afternoon, in the golden afternoon
In the golden afternoon when we sat and listened to sonny boy blow
In the golden afternoon when
We sat and let sonny boy, blow, blow his harp
Take me back, take me back, take me back
Take me way, way, way, way, way, way, way
Back when i, when I understood, when I understood, yeah
Oh, ah, take me way back, when, when, when, when, when, when
When, when, when, when, when, when, when
I was walking down the
Walking down the street and
It didnt matter
'cause everything felt, everything felt, everything felt
Everything felt, everything felt, everything felt, everything felt
Everything felt, everything felt, everything felt so right, ha
And so good
Everything felt, so right, and so good
Everything felt, so right, and so good
Everything felt, so right, and so good, ah
Everything felt, so right, and so good
Everything felt, so right, and so good, so good
In the eternal now, in the eternal moment
In the eternal now, in the eternal moment
In the eternal now
Everything felt so good, so good, so good, so good, so good
And so right, so right, so right, just
So good, so right, so right, in the eternal
In the eternal moment, in the eternal moment
In the eternal moment, in the eternal moment
When you lived, when you lived
When you lived, in the light
When you lived in the grace
In the grace, in grace
When you lived in the light
In the light, in the grace
And the blessing.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Its Breaking Me Up
So many long days. in so many ways.
I try to get through to what lies deep inside of you.
Oh, baby. I said, youre breaking me up, woman.
Yeah, youre breaking me down.
Youre lying in little pieces --
Scattered all around.
Youre doing your worst to see me get hurt.
Youre waiting to see the tears running out of me.
But, oh, baby, I said youre breaking me up, woman.
Youre breaking me down.
Youre lying in little pieces --
Scattered all around.
My teares have run dry and you wonder why.
Ive found a new woman who dont do the things you can.
Oh, baby, I said youre breaking me up, woman.
Youre breaking me down.
Youre lying in little pieces --
Scattered all around.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I tell her these things when I come home
So much
Has been taken for the quest of something original
Time squeezes to something interesting
Something original
I am carried away
I look out this glass window
Seeing the sea
Farther blue nearer me is brownish
The river is flooded the rain poured wildly in the mountain
A blue green car passes by below
A woman with a basket of something
(I cannot see clearly)
Holds her boy like a twig of a tree
The wind must be blowing hard
There could be typhoon
I see these happening, I am from here. I live here.
I tell her these things when I come home
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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