0009 Persian vase, Persian thoughts
As you enter this quiet and peaceful sunlit room,
it seems at first all space; but then your eye
- as is intended – straightway drawn
to that fine Persian vase which sits
upon an old oak chest, its lid, polished
with the wax of love and years,
a crack across it somehow speaking
of trials borne and overcome;
the tale of life, of time, of history, of lessons learnt.
The chest – it’s cedar lined, as aromatic as memory
when the lid is opened – does not now hold,
as when it was first carpentered, a bridal trousseau;
a girl given with fine clothes to destiny -
now, precious family documents
that tell of rights and duties, high positions
and their responsibilities, once held;
past, present and future, public life and private,
aromatic in the memory.
The vase is cool and vivid, curls of blue and white;
a cobalt blue, the colour of far-seeing beauty –
the surface colour seen in deepest sea;
the colour which the upper air, in flight,
seems to yearn for; as if we look
into the vase and through it and beyond it;
the white’s so white, it speaks of purity;
and here are touches of an emerald green
which sets off both, as if jewelled thoughts
are never far away from golden minds
I am the potter, speak that vase:
I am the eye that draws your eye,
I am the beauty that may touch your heart;
and to your mind, I bring the thought –
I too was born of dust, of clay and precious water,
decorated with a potter’s love;
one day I shall, by that accident which reigns
in life that passes, be broken into pieces
and return to dust…
you and I, our past is dust, our future dust –
but oh, the beauty of the present that’s eternal,
the joyous dancing of the here and now…
cobalt blue like sea and sky, innocent as white,
emerald as green fields fresh diamonded with dew..
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
0075 The Connoisseur
Do come in. I’m so glad that you came –
it’s good to have someone to
share one’s pleasures and delights with.
Some of my family think I’m
some sort of misanthrope, hiding away
with my collection of Chinese porcelain…
I tell them, it’s the opposite – I feel that
I’m in touch with the finest work of
contented men, creating some sort of memory of
perfection, for others to enjoy – I guess
you feel the same way about those poems
you write? Now –
your hands are clean? Not because of
this celadon Sung vase, let’s start with that –
but I’d like you to feel the outer layer
of skin on your fingertips touching
the surface of the vase and yet
not quite touching, feeling
the air between – silk on silk,
almost – I was going to say, the skin of
a young girl’s cheek greeting
another young girl’s cheek, but that wouldn’t
sound quite right – you must have
the same problems, with choosing just the right
similes and metaphors, that are
thrilling without being ‘clever’?
I don’t want to be pretentious about
all this – just feel the surface: not matt,
not shiny, the colour not bright, not blatant,
but not in hiding – and see
how the potter takes the vase’s curves and contours
from neck to belly, like a yacht,
like a horseman, like a lover – put
this vase in a room to itself and its stillness
fills the room with presence…
they talk a lot of nonsense about
connoisseurship – it’s just loving what
is fine, and long reflected over, and
as human an activity as can be. You meet
the maker in the art. And yes,
there are other connoisseurs who
love the roughness of a cracked, irregular
Japanese tea-cup, a one-off from a woodman’s kiln…
I expect you feel just the same
about poetry? How fortunate
we are, you and I..
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
0068 The Connoisseur (2)
Is there a god
sleeping in this room?
even the doorhandle, gently turned,
seems to speak a message
before the room entered, the first breath taken
of the room’s own air
and on the table, the grey-green vase seems
to be the host; the silent messenger: the furniture
somehow eternal in its order; every line and curve
within the room speaking of some
divine geometry; the shaded sunlight seems
to fall on tiptoe, touch in silent praise;
the air, to be refined; and the silence –
what does the silence say unspoken
as if it holds some god-smiled word,
some solemn laughter, about what
is there and is not there, has made
of this room, this ordinary room,
a shrine where one can worship without form
oneself?
the vase too holds itself both
open and reserved; its perfect curves
the subtle decisions of a history
of centuries, of generations
of human hands; of things made
for oneself, for others, for all else
where all else is known;
silent the vase; the room full of its sound.
Is there a god
sleeping in this room?
you; moving forward with respectful quiet step
to touch this grey-green
Chinese vase
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Vase Built With Love
For Melvina Germain
Who suggested I write something about a simple vase.
A vase stood on the mantle piece
and two red roses within it stood
one for each heart for whom the vase belonged.
A century before on a potter’s wheel
the vase was carefully crafted by two loving hands
then fired in an oven to keep the love within.
It was then decorated with the same loving care.
The images on it told a story
of two lovers parted by a war.
It told how they had met down a leafy lane
and how their love had grown.
Then came the thunder of an approaching war.
It recorded their last kiss together
before the war tore them apart.
It also told of the years of agony
of waiting for his return,
then of the joys of reuniting,
and how after so long
their love began again to burn.
All this lovingly painted
so everyone could learn
that love never diminishes
even when separated by a war.
18 October 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beauty Of Life
Virginity is the beauty of ladies, colour is the beauty of rainbow, tourism is the beauty of country, memories is the beauty of past, brightness is the beauty of stars, happiness is the beauty of mind, vision is the beauty of future.Love, nature, peace are the beauty of Life.
poem by Tijani Adebowale Destiny
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Zen and the art of plastic flower maintenance
From time to time, when
I’ve been meditating, and
these things matter, I pick respectfully
the plastic flowers from their vase,
wash the vase, wipe the dust
off the leaves with a moist cloth,
dip the flower-heads in water
as one would give someone
a holy bath
and then replace them in
a slightly new position in the vase,
a slightly new position on the table.
absurdity and
something beautiful
have met and got along together rather well.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Flowers In A Vase
A bunch of flowers
Sat in a vase
Colourful and lonely
A mind looks at them
Wondering
What is it they have to say
Are they a thank you
Or a gift of love
Are they an apology
Or given in remorse
Perhaps they are for nothing
Given to bring a smile
The mind looks on
Wondering for a while
The flowers sit in their vase
Unmoved by thought
Or the reason given to them
A little water at their base
To keep them fresh for a while
They are the end of the day
Just flowers in a vase
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Red
Put your hand in the paintbox and choose
Which one says the most about you
I would have to pick the deepest shade
The saddest shade of blue
But red is colour Id choose
Red is colour Id choose
I set my soul long ago and far away
Oh its written down so deep it can never fade away
Though so many years have come and gone
Through my life one thing has stayed
An eternal light that shines clean through the grey
Red is colour Id choose
Deepest red on a sky of deepest blue
It dont matter now if I should win
If I should win or lose
cos red is colour Id choose
If I waste my time away waiting just for you
I dont care what others say
cos baby I just love, love what you do
Red is colour Id choose
Deepest red on a sky of deepest blue
It dont matter now if I should win
If I should win or lose
cos red is colour Id choose
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
White And Black
He painted a picture all white and black
because in his life all color did he lack.
He lacked the yellow of the sun each day
for the sun had never come his way.
He lacked the green of fresh green grass
for the cement of the city he couldn't get past.
He lacked the blue of the sky above
for no one had ever showed him love.
He lacked the red that the rose did give
for no roses grew where he did live.
He lacked all color from his sight.
All he knew was black and white.
The picture he painted could never tell
of how his life was a living hell.
He'd lost his sight when he was three
and the colors were a lost memory.
His sole memory was of dark and light,
night being dark, day being white.
And now he created art to define
everything that was in his mind.
But beauty came from the paint he used.
The black and white became infused
with the extracted senses of who he was,
a man filled with passion for what he does.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Black And White
He painted a picture all white and black
because in his life all color did he lack.
He lacked the yellow of the sun each day
for the sun had never come his way.
He lacked the green of fresh green grass
for the cement of the city he couldn't get past.
He lacked the blue of the sky above
for no one had ever shown him love.
He lacked the red that the rose did give
for no roses grew where he did live.
He lacked all color from his sight.
All he knew was black and white.
The picture he painted could never tell
of how his life became a living hell.
He'd lost his sight when he was three
and the colors were a lost memory.
His sole memory was of dark and light,
night being dark, day being white.
And now he created art to define
everything that was in his mind.
But beauty came from the paint he used.
The black and white became infused
with the extracted senses of who he was,
a man filled with passion for what he does.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Green and blue
Green and blue
First-named of colours believe these two.
They first of colours by men were seen
This grass colour, tree colour,
Sky colour, sea colour,
Magic-named, mystic-souled, blue and green.
Later came
Small subtle colours like tongues of flame,
Small jewel colours for treasure trove,
Not fruit colour, flower colour,
Cloud colour, shower colour,
But purple, amethyst, violet and mauve.
These remain,
Two broad fair colours for our larger gain
Stretched underfoot or spreading wide on high,
Green beech colour, vine colour,
Gum colour, pine colour,
Blue of the noonday and the moonlit sky.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Emerald Green
Emerald green is the colour of life and of the springtime,
Conveying harmony, joie de vivre and most important, love
Emerald green retains its lively vigour all the time
In all nuances, like those wonderful green eyes that rove.
Sunlight dances across the Gulf of Mexico, a lovely place
With emerald green waters and very hot white sand.
Moreover, we see this green in a forest, a darker space,
Or we can see it in the green grass in the Spring land,
A metallic green body with small yellow sweet stripes
And emerald eyes has the Hine’s emerald dragonfly.
Nymphs hatch in marshes high in sedge meadows,
When sheds its skin and emerges an adult to fly.
A mineral emerald green contains the Romanesque murals.
The old Masters used verdigris for them and copper green
To make a deep brown, mixed it with sulfur-containing colors,
Such as cadmium yellow, vermilion or blue-ultramarine.
The green we see in December represents the evergreen tree,
A symbol of life continuing even in that dark day.
We look to the pins and the rhododendrons and we agree
That greenery will return to the world again someday.
The green chosen for the color scheme of Christmas night
Is emerald green, that deep, pure, clear green inside
That seems to shine with light, in the season of white
When there isn't much natural green available outside.
A very ambitious plant is hymenaea courbaril, the tree named Amber
It has the most attractive emerald-green heart shaped leaves.
Like Orchid Tree, so pleasing to the eye with their alluring shimmer.
Lycopersicon esculentum has emerald green tomatoes with dark green stripes.
With this emerald green Van Gogh wanted to paint plastic correctly
Maybe his eyes saw a special nuance, after cutting his ear
He worked alla prima, on to the canvas painting directly
From his imagination and from reality, making the image believable.
poem by Marieta Maglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Frame Work
The Present is a precious rug
under which, with care, we sweep,
the Past that few desire undug, -
but through weft warped heaped dust must seep...
Though some may carp while others pet,
the end result remains the same,
those past forgot, those left forget,
pick up the pieces of the game
Life plays with Death, as unpaid debt
and credit balance out to tame
ambitions high whose overthrow
comes when sun’s zenith blinds to shame, -
alike pride, selflessness, and show,
bluff, bluster, submission, lofty aim,
both fear of here and of hereafter,
present tears, and present laughter,
oblivion snuffs all (t) race of fame,
and fossil light frame who will know –
or what – when swallowed every name
by Time whose rhymes and reasons flow
into forgetfullness or flame,
no sentience left to explain
how seasons come and seasons go.
The Present is a rug which, precious, held,
reels on towards a future film withheld,
and though we’d sweep the Past’s dead dust beneath,
it filters through, preparing our own wreath.
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Coloring Book
(fred ebb / john kander)
For those who fancy colouring books
And lots of people do
Here's a new one for you
A most unusual colouring book
The kind you'll never see
Crayons ready?
Very well
Begin to colour me
These are the eyes that watched him as he walked away
Colour them grey
This is the heart that thought he would always be true
Colour it blue
These are the arms that held him and touched him
Lost him somehow
Colour them empty now
These are the beads i wore
Until she came between
Colour them green
This is the room that i sleep in and walk in
And weep in and hide in
That nobody, nobody's seen
Oh, colour it lonely, please
This is the man whose love i depended upon
Colour him gone
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Colours
Why do people use colours?
To define were you belong
Gang colours are so mundane
Why not use them as intended
Red for the rose
She holds so dear
And so close to her heart
Blue for the hope
That only lies
With in your soul
Green for the beauty
In Mother Natures
Brush in life
Black for the beauty
Of night laden sky's
We view from our heart
Yellow so bold and bright
That dances on fields that
Sends golden rays of sunshine
In our lives
Brown for the cookies
Mother makes
For us to gorge with glee
Grey that hides the shadow
That we often try to hide
Purple for the beauty
That hides the colour pink
All these woven together
A statement from god above
In rainbows of colours
That touches our heart and souls
Isn't that what they are intended for?
To be held in our dreams
Now and evermore
poem by Kaila George
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Colouring Book
(fred ebb / john kander)
For those who fancy colouring books
And lots of people do
Heres a new one for you
A most unusual colouring book
The kind youll never see
Crayons ready?
Very well
Begin to colour me
These are the eyes that watched him as he walked away
Colour them grey
This is the heart that thought he would always be true
Colour it blue
These are the arms that held him and touched him
Lost him somehow
Colour them empty now
These are the beads I wore
Until she came between
Colour them green
This is the room that I sleep in and walk in
And weep in and hide in
That nobody, nobodys seen
Oh, colour it lonely, please
This is the man whose love I depended upon
Colour him gone
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Hues of blue
From the holiday apartment’s window
I see people swimming in the blue pool
and the water looks icy cold
from the dark blue colour
Some girls and women have
bathing caps on in colours
of white, green and blue
and others swim without
while some lie
around the pool.
While the day gets hotter
the colour of the pool changes
to a lighter hue
and just across the road
the beach is full
of people lying in the sun.
Some swim with the waves
breaking white
and some are deeper
in the aquamarine water
and still deeper
some surfers
are riding the waves
the of a navy blue ocean.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Colour Yellow
Yellow is the colour
Of the smiles that you bring
Red is the colour
That makes you want to cringe
Blue is the colour
Of water and peace and hope
Green is the colour
That never ever mopes
Purple is the colour
Of grapes and different toys
But yellow is the colour
That I know can bring you joy
poem by Gwenevere Cornwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
One Light: Three Primary Colors
Red is the colour of blood that flows in the body of all creatures given birth
Green is the colour of grass that like a carpet covers a lot of the soil of earth
Blue is the colour of sky that surrounds this world and is of an infinite girth
All three colours come from a Single Source having an Immeasurable worth.
Red is also the colour of danger and a symbol which indicates all to beware
Green is also the colour of the leaves that most of the plants and trees wear
Blue is also the colour of water that covers most of this world which is fair
Three colours are the original blend of all those others found in nature there.
Red is also the colour of anger, passion or pain that is expressed, felt and seen
Green is also the colour of something natural an indication of where it has been
Blue is also the colour of Infinity and the light glowing in a mind which is clean
And all three colours are shades of One Light the essence of all universal sheen.
Of all the three colours I like blue the most as it seems to be uniquely sublime
It speaks to me of loftier and deeper things that were experienced in my prime
It also represents the colour of the biggest phenomena known to man in time
Being a symbol of That in which all exists and from which all began to chime.
------------------------
Note:
There are many other colors but as far as those which form the basis of technology there are only three i.e; as in a R.G.B. monitor and screen projector etc.
poem by George Krokos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blue and White
BLUE is Our Lady’s colour,
White is Our Lord’s.
To-morrow I will wear a knot
Of blue and white cords,
That you may see it, where you ride
Among the flashing swords.
O banner, white and sunny blue,
With prayer I wove thee!
For love the white, for faith the heavenly hue,
And both for him, so tender-true,
Him that doth love me!
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Numbered Poem
2. the mantle is heavy in white.
3. the white cup is not fuming.
4. the lover does not come tonight.
5. an empty vase keeps a shallow
6. conversation with the black clock.
7. there is no flower to brighten
8. the night without a tryst.
9. it is the black clock that ticks
10. time.It is this lament. A cup
11. without tea. A vase without
12. a rose, a daffodil, a white lily.
13. the black clock ticks. There
14. is no hint that it will stop.
That big shell knows it all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!