The Miniature Woman
The Blue-Eyed Giant, the Miniature Woman
and the Honeysuckle
He was a blue-eyed giant,
He loved a miniature woman.
The woman's dream was of a miniature house
with a garden where honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house.
The giant loved like a giant,
and his hands were used to such big things
that the giant could not
make the building,
could not knock on the door
of the garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
at that house.
He was a blue-eyed giant,
he loved a miniature woman,
a mini miniature woman.
The woman was hungry for comfort
and tired of the giant's long strides.
And bye bye off she went to the embraces of a rich dwarf with a garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house.
Now the blue-eyed giant realizes,
a giant isn't even a graveyard for love:
in the garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house...
poem by Nazim Hikmet
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Related quotes
An October Morning
Here, in October, scores of dragonflies
Fly about like miniature airplanes
Speckled butterflies collide with them
Floating in the air like catamarans
The morning slowly dries wet clothes,
Dripping, they smell of blue detergent
The house there wakes up bleary-eyed
Hesitating shadows emerge from the walls
A varnished gate, the midget of a woman
On the concrete bench, in the garden
Measuring the length of her shadow
A riot of bougainvillea bursts on the rock
Like a Chinese vase with fresh geraniums
Fresh coffee drip-drops in the percolator
Filling the air with delicious aroma
Amid all the blood and gore of newsprint
Soon you drift into a crimson forgetfulness.
poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
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So we see Edward as a young man on the road and he meets a giant and he brings the giant to a circus where he meets a Miss Calloway. He sees the woman of his dreams and I am the only one who knows who she is.
quote by Danny DeVito
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heartbeat
Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart
which safely exists in the center of all things?
His giant heartbeat is diverted in us
into little pulses. And his giant grief
is, like his giant jubilation, far too
great for us. And so we tear ourselves away
from him time after time, remaining only
mouths. But unexepectedly and secretly
the giant heartbeat enters our being,
so that we scream ----,
and are transformed in being and in countenance.
Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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A dwarf standing on the shoulders of a giant may see farther than a giant himself.
quote by Robert Burton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Giant of Africa
Blessed thy be
among the contries
so great and powerful
rich in culture
and natural endowment
truly, you are the giant of Africa
Hm! giant of Africa
you should be ashamed
for been called the giant of Africa
Isn't our flag green white green?
while green stand for food
and white for peace?
but now, green stand for famine
and white for war
Giant of Africa
heh heh heh
visa now becomes your lord
the land where
nigerian love to live
still, the tomtom of revolution
beats in our heart
for our ancestor to judge
both the good and the evil.
poem by Mimiko moruf oluwakayode
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America is embarrassed
Neither this nor that by race but mixed,
Neither this nor that by faith but mixed,
What else must the giant be to keep peace?
The giant’s been crowned; the giant’s been reined.
(The Nobel Prize for the world peace for year 2009 went to Mr. Obama, President of the U.S.A.; an Indian’s view)
15.10.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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He was definitely a father figure for all of us. Once you were a Giant, you were always a Giant.
quote by George Martin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Miniature Sun
Im 12 oclock,
All daylight hours,
Ill warm your bed,
Ill grow your flowers.
Like Im a miniature sun.
This ball ignited when she told me I was her only one.
Im not the same now.
Im not that plain little boy.
Im all aflame now.
Im king up here like a miniature sun.
No life comes close,
Im rising higher,
On holiday,
On ball of fire,
You made a miniature sun.
Theres no more shadows in this world she says Im her only one.
Im not the same now.
Im not that plain little boy.
Im all aflame now.
I radiate like a miniature sun.
Now everything looks right today,
A billion watts of bright today.
And Im a blazing kite today.
I think Ill float around her house,
And tell her exactly how she makes me glow.
But then the other man leaving merely doffs his hat,
And Im the last to know.
Now everything looks wrong today.
An out of tune sung song today.
Ive grown from big king kong today,
Right down to miniature...
Dont come too close,
Ill burn your arm,
Ill bleach your hair,
Dustbowl your farm,
Ill blind your eyes,
You blinded mine,
Ill spin with rage,
All summertime,
You made a miniature sun. just take a look up in the nightsky, Im not the only one.
Im not the same now.
Im not that vain little boy that I was.
Im all to blame now,
Look out below here I come!
Man crashing down like a miniature sun
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ocean Park Hongkong
it was not the Panda
or that giant jellyfish glowing with it stings inside that giant aquarium,
no, no, not the dancing dolphins
not the friendly sea lions,
not the thrill of the gigantic hot air balloon,
i must admit it was you who was not there with me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dorchester Giant
THERE was a giant in time of old,
A mighty one was he;
He had a wife, but she was a scold,
So he kept her shut in his mammoth fold;
And he had children three.
It happened to be an election day,
And the giants were choosing a king;
The people were not democrats then,
They did not talk of the rights of men,
And all that sort of thing.
Then the giant took his children three,
And fastened them in the pen;
The children roared; quoth the giant, "Be still!"
And Dorchester Heights and Milton Hill
Rolled back the sound again.
Then he brought them a pudding stuffed with plums,
As big as the State-House dome;
Quoth he, "There's something for you to eat;
So stop your mouths with your 'lection treat,
And wait till your dad comes home."
So the giant pulled him a chestnut stout,
And whittled the boughs away;
The boys and their mother set up a shout.
Said he, "You're in, and you can't get out,
Bellow as loud as you may."
Off he went, and he growled a tune
As he strode the fields along
'Tis said a buffalo fainted away,
And fell as cold as a lump of clay,
When he heard the giant's song.
But whether the story's true or not,
It isn't for me to show;
There's many a thing that's twice as queer
In somebody's lectures that we hear,
And those are true, you know.
. . . . . .
What are those lone ones doing now,
The wife and the children sad?
Oh, they are in a terrible rout,
Screaming, and throwing their pudding about,
Acting as they were mad.
They flung it over to Roxbury hills,
They flung it over the plain,
And all over Milton and Dorchester too
Great lumps of pudding the giants threw;
They tumbled as thick as rain.
. . . . .
Giant and mammoth have passed away,
For ages have floated by;
The suet is hard as a marrow-bone,
And every plum is turned to a stone,
But there the puddings lie.
And if, some pleasant afternoon,
You'll ask me out to ride,
The whole of the story I will tell,
And you shall see where the puddings fell,
And pay for the punch beside.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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A Woman Who Grew Into A Rose
(A Poem For 21st Century Women # 2)
(Prov.31: 10–31 / Prov.18: 22 / Matt.13: 10–15)
A Woman Who Grew
Into A Rose
Remains In GOD’s Garden
… and Grows
Her Heartbeats Blossoms
Opens To Disclose
The Prettiest, Feminine
Petals-Pose
A Woman Who Grows
Into A Rose
Her Fresh–Faith Fragrance
Wafts and Flows …
… into A Knowledge
Of Heaven–Scent
She Offers Her Keen
Spiritual–Sense …
(Prov.31: 26)
… which Intoxicates
A Wise Man’s Nose
with Each Blissful Breeze
… Benevolence Blows
(Prov.31: 11,12,28)
& A Woman Who’s Grown
Into A Rose
Stems To Sister Roses
Leaves of Sacred Prose
(Prov.31: 15)
Yes, There Are Lilies, Orchids
& Magnolia–Blooms
and Such Unique Flora
Has Their Trace–Perfume
… Lavenders, Gardenias
& Honeysuckle Aromas
Are Also Potent Enough
To Revive Fainting Comas
(Prov.31: 29)
But Many Wild Roses
In Many Rows & Rows
Are Limited In Layers
… No Cultivation Shows
For A Rose To Impress
Must Be Pruned & Dressed
& When Beautifully Blessed
Is Like A Flower–Empress! *
(Prov.31: 29,30)
& A Woman Who Grows
Into A Caring Rose
Is More Than An Ornament
With Ribbons & Bows …
_______________________
She Is A Woman Who Grows
Into A Rose
& Is Ready To Reap
What She Wisely Sows
& A Woman Who Grows
Into A Rose
Can Rest At Peace
In Sweet Repose
A Woman Who Grows
Into A Rose …
Away – Away! …
Pain Thorns She Throws
Away – Away! …
Her Fears Are Froze
‘Till GOD Will Crush
All Her Foes …
… A Rose Seed Was Buried
‘Till In Humility
The Rose Would Rise Up
In Grateful Modesty
So A Woman Who Grows
Into A Rose
Was Born To Believe
Resurrections’ Roles
Tho’ Other Flowers
Could Do – She Suppose
None Quite Spread Unfolded
… Like A Rose
… in Trust & Courage
& Edges Exposed
Yet Will Not Wilt
Because of Woes …
& Rivers & Rainstorms
& Mountain Streams
The Roots of The Rose
… Have Drank From These
But Twas’ Crystal Fountains
& One Drop of Christ’s Blood
Gave Deep Wells of Life
To Dark-Red Rosebud …
… The Rose – Arches True
To Shafts of Light
& Rises To Glory
In The Morning’s Might
A Woman Who Grows
Into A Rose
Revels In Soft Grass
Between Trail – Toes …
… while Reaching For Delights
and Bright Rainbows
She Is Ever GOD’s …
Dewy–Eyed Rose
… Yes, It Was GOD
Who Lovingly Chose
A Woman Like Me
As A Landscape-Rose
& A Woman Who Grows
Into A Godly Rose
In Moonlit-Gardens
Mercy–Miracles … Glows
(‘Till Everybody Knows
… She Is A Rose)
That GOD Looks After
… and Grows
Written & ©: 12/21/2011
By: The MoonBee
(A Woman Who Grew Into A Rose)
poem by MoonBee Canady
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The Giant and the Monster
Come to think about the time I was a young rant;
The universe: all seemed far away, big and wide,
That made me like a foot in the crowd on my side,
Holding the man's hand, my father was a giant.
Then an old man that I'd never met came for a visit;
Wore a wrinkled skin, as he trembled to hold his wicker;
At fifty-six then; I wished I would to die at fifty-six;
Once a toothless smile posed Grandpa was a monster.
My existence in to this world at the age of sixteen;
All seemed right; I'd never been wrong back then;
Than that little mind of mine who knew bit to scorn;
So as to the giant and to the monster, I grew a horn.
This one quote 'What comes around, it goes around'
Has come to haunt me as the giant or a monster bound;
In their likeness, I'm now the purest mirror of my sin,
And mystified no more than watching where I have been.
On the same road, long time ago, it gotten nearer;
I passed fifty-six and I wished to live much longer,
Than the monster, but God forbids, I wish to be sane;
Or equal to the giant, who went to sleep at eighty-seven.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Now that august is gone
Now that august is gone
And we all know that all augusts come and go
Is this woman? a woman of vertue,
Is this woman? a super woman
Is this woman? a woman of mission and vision
Is this woman? classy and stylish
Is this woman? preffesional or house wife
And the woman of action and motion
A woman of courage and resilence
A woman of liberation and liberty
A woman of passion and compassion
A woman of thoughts and opinions
A woman of empathy and sympathy
A woman of concerns and kindness
.
A woman of confrontation or insecurity
A woman of altracation or tranquility
A woman of ambition or armunition
A woman of redeemtion or detention
A woman of power or affection
Is this woman a woman
I am not questining you, woman!
I was questioning this woman
poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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L.O.S.T.
I got my work
I got my work
The profit of doom is walking the beach
With a psychotic breakdown cardboard sign
Everything's faked and there's nothing to teach,
And there's no point in running crying
And i'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
In a garden of evil
In a garden of evil
In a garden of evil
In a garden of evil
Evil
I walk through the filthy sterile wasteland
When i'm no good they'll dump me on a scrap heap to die
Giant american tyrannosaur,
Even the animals are running away.
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
l.o.s.t. lost
In a garden of evil
In a garden of evil
In a garden of evil
In a garden of evil
Evil
Evil baby
I got my work
Yeah
I walk through the filthy sterile wasteland
when i'm no good they'll dump me on a scrap heap to die
Giant american tyrannosaur,
Even the animals are running away
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
I'm l.o.s.t. lost
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ever So Tall Giant!
The farmer was busy ploughing,
With three fields left to do,
When a figure overpowering
Came suddenly in view...
The giant stepped across the gap
In seconds so it seemed,
The farmer thought he'd had a nap
And this whole thing was dreamed...
The farmer blinked yet stood his ground,
The giant's shadow loomed,
The giant's voice a booming sound...
The farmer thought, 'I'm doomed! '
'Don't be afraid, it's only me! '
The giant said amazed,
The farmer gulped quite suddenly,
For he was feeling dazed...
The giant smiled a lovely smile,
No bad thoughts on his mind,
The farmer stared up for a while,
His neck somewhat inclined...
'I'm from another planet, friend!
Just visiting, that's all...'
'Good God, will wonders never end?
How did you get so tall? '
'I'm only tall on planet Earth!
At home, I'm normal size!
I exercise for all I'm worth
And study so I'm wise...'
The farmer groaned, he'd hurt his neck!
'Your poor neck must feel numb!
I know I'm tall, but what the heck!
Wait till you meet my Mum! '
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Honeysuckle
Honeysuckle, oh Honeysuckle
Watching as you grow
In the springtime and summer rain
Remembering children's games
Remembering still from a breeze
Blowing a secret scent
From my youth, still are seen
Memories, from where I have been.
Oh Honeysuckle, precious dream
Walking down our road
From a boy, unto a man
Laughing at growing old
Precious dream, and precious life
Strolling dream in mind
Standing there, in the air
Reminded me of a different time.
Honeysuckle, oh Honeysuckle
Blooming once again
In the air, and I’ll be there
Longing for your scent,
For the boy, who was lost
Not ready to survive
Then you He caught, and you he taught
How to live, and how to smile.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: CVI
THE SUBLIME
To stand upon a windy pinnacle,
Beneath the infinite blue of the blue noon,
And underfoot a valley terrible
As that dim gulf, where sense and being swoon
When the soul parts; a giant valley strewn
With giant rocks; asleep, and vast, and still,
And far away. The torrent, which has hewn
His pathway through the entrails of the hill,
Now crawls along the bottom and anon
Lifts up his voice, a muffled tremulous roar,
Borne on the wind an instant, and then gone
Back to the caverns of the middle air;
A voice as of a nation overthrown
With beat of drums, when hosts have marched to war.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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She's A Healer
There ain't no way
I'm gonna let the good times go,
There ain't no way
I'm gonna let the good times go,
The touch of my woman
can soothe my soul,
When she makes me feel right
that's when the good times roll.
Oh she's a healer to me,
Oh yeah.
My blue-eyed woman is a mystery to me,
My blue-eyed woman is a mystery to me,
The touch of my woman
can soothe my soul,
When she makes me feel right
that's when the good times roll.
Oh she's a healer to me,
Oh yeah.
Way out on the prairie
where the wheat fields grow,
Way out on the prairie
back where the wheat fields grow,
I stop to slap plastic at an Esso station,
About a thousand miles from my destination.
Oh she's a healer to me,
Oh yeah, she's a healer to me.
All I got is a broken heart,
And I don't try to hide it
when I play my guitar.
My blue-eyed woman is a healer to me,
Without that woman I'm history,
My blue-eyed woman is a love ghost,
Without that woman I'm toast.
Oh she's a healer to me,
Oh yeah, she's a healer to me.
All I got is a broken heart,
And I don't try to hide it
when I play my guitar.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love #2.
The small, white, soft hand of a maid can shoot
A bolt will bar a giant's way; and, oh!
The dreamy Love is a unique magician,
That, tender as the maiden's lily hand,
Is yet as sinewy retentive as
The bolt that bars the giant's way.
poem by Robert Crawford
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