Related quotes: Whatever she plants it grows...

Green fingers

Whatever she plants it grows rapidly.
Her soft magical fingers devote for a green house.
He was mesmerized to her sing-song while she was in the fields.
Though he passes several times on her premises
He is not so lucky to touch her transparent fingers.
Already a young vegetarian has joined her green revolution.
But once in a way he peeps to buy fresh vegetables.
Then he touches her finger tips.
He lived in his illusion half of the journey.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes

My Dad (The Gardener)

My Dad has got green fingers,
He's always been that way;
He grew veg' in his younger days,
He grows them now he's grey.

Tomatoes are his forte,
No finer can be found;
He eats them by the dozen,
And sells them by the pound.

He grows a vast amount, and now
Two greenhouses he owns;
Tomato juice is in his blood,
And marrow in his bones.

His spuds are so delicious,
Their praises I must sing;
So fresh and full of flavour,
And fit for any king.

His lettuce too, are lovely,
They're crispy and dark green;
Much better than the shop ones,
The best I've ever seen.

There's not much that can beat him,
He's skillful in his craft;
He isn't Percy Thrower
But he isn't flippin' daft.

The only thing I've ever known
My Dad to fail to grow,
Is melons, for my sisters,
Just a tiny one did show;

The whole procedure was for him
A problem just too great;
So now they're off the menu,
And for melon they must wait.

But still, it's just one failure,
And not like all the rest;
My Dad is still the greatest,
My Dad is still the best.

My Dad has got green fingers,
And this will always be;
Now mine are going green as well,
And that will do for me.

(Written Oct 1994)

poem by John Carter Brown
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Naturally Green

My mother always enjoyed
Picnics on lushes green grass
With trees to show
How green Mother Nature keeps
Her house of plants
Without green
There may be no greed
But it is that of the apple
That keeps us whole
Without care,
Green turns to brown.
With love,
Green grows strong.
When green turns to yellow
We go slow
So never let green
Turn red with envy
Or life may go
In a direction
You did not choose

poem by Scot Warren
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I See You in Your Fingers

I see your fingers
I see you in your fingers
I see your history from your fingers
I feel your touch from your fingers
They don't tell a lie to me
They don't give me a fake smile
Or promising kiss
But they give me a warm hold
and tickling touch
I see you from your fingers
I see the truth from your fingers
I see you in your fingers

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Green Thicket

All in a green thicket I heard a bird sing,
And blithe though his song was it made the tears spring,
To hear a bird sing as he swung on his spray,
All in a green thicket at break of the day.

All in a green thicket his song it did pour
That told of the Springs that shall come nevermore,
That sang of sweet blossoms, now faded and dry,
All in a green thicket in Aprils gone by.

All in a green thicket that morning in Spring,
I smelt the sharp scent of each young growing thing,
I smelt the sweet herbage all drowned with the dew,
And the time that's gone from me was with me anew.

All in a green thicket at break of the day
It was like the dear voice of a friend far away,
It was like the kind touch of a hand that I know,
And the smile and the tears of dead Aprils ago,

All in a green thicket one morning in Spring,
For to smell the young woodland and hear the bird sing,
Oh, long did I loiter and dream by the way,
All in a green thicket at break of the day.

poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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Can't Put My Finger On It

Is it alive, does it writhe
Can it survive under the sun?
I can't put my finger on it.
Is it green, is it red
Is it alive or is it dead
I can't put my finger on it
Scathe with a lathe
All the days in the past
I can't put my finger on it
Is it brown, is it white
Is it really outta sight
I can't put my finger on it
Can it squeal, does it squirm
If it's fresh will it burn?
I can't put my finger on it
Can it fly, will it try
If the wings are still wet?
I can't put my finger on it
Can it heal, is it real
Can it feel the threads of time?
I can't put my finger on it
Does it glow, will it shine
Does it leave a trail of slime
I can't put my finger on it
Are you surprised when I touch the dwarf inside?
(Repeat three times)
(Repeat first verse

song performed by by Ween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Green, green and green

I want a holiday with a scene
Of green, green and green

A summer of green trees
A landscape of green grass
A view full of green vegetables

The colour green
Is a beauty that must be seen!
From a moving vehicles screen

And while we hold onto those machines
That deprives us of the colour green
Remember they provide us vaccines
As well as help the air to be clean

So for green, green and green
I will travel continents across and in-between
And also to any place that I have never been
I will make it routine
Just to see green, green and green

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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To A Nephew Newly Born

the most absolute beauty of course is your tiny hand
i want to put there the warmth of my sighs
the roundness of a peeble, the green minty scents of herbs,
the little ponderous glances,
a sunray, a whisper, a hush
at the tips of your fingers

wrinkles are always strangers there
your skin so tight and magical

not this callous hands of my
sunset this
roof without the moon and stars

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Can't Put My Finger On It

[chanting]
Is it alive, does it writhe
Can it survive under the sun?
I can't put my finger on it
Is it green, is it red
Is it alive or is it dead
I can't put my finger on it
Scathe with a lathe
All the days in the past
I can't put my finger on it
Is it brown, is it white
Is it really outta sight
I can't put my finger on it
Do you know what i'm saying?
Do you know what i'm saying, people?
Can it squeal, does it squirm
If it's fresh will it burn?
I can't put my finger on it
Can it fly, will it try
If the wings are still wet?
I can't put my finger on it
Can it heal, is it real
Can it feel the threads of time?
I can't put my finger on it
Does it glow, will it shine
Does it leave a trail of slime
I can't put my finger on it
I tell you one time...
Are you surprised when i touch the dwarf inside?
(repeat three times)
(repeat first verse)
Ha ha ha...oh yeah, oh yeah!

song performed by by Ween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Green Fingers

I wish I had green fingers,
so everything in my garden would grow.
The flowers would grow strong,
like my love for you.
The roses would blush at your beauty,
a sunflower to fill your day with brightness.
Oh, how I wish I had green fingers,
with the touch to make every flower grow.
There would be a cascade,
of colours and perfume to fill the air,
as we walked through my garden fair.

poem by David Harris
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Sixty to Sixteen

If I were young as you, Sixteen,
And you were old as I,
I would not be as I have been,
You would not be so shy—
We should not watch with careless mien
The golden days go by,
If I were young as you, Sixteen,
And you were old as I.

The years of youth are yours, Sixteen;
Such years of old had I,
But time has set his seal between
Dark eyebrow and dark eye.
Sere grow the leaves that once were green,
The song turns to a sigh:
Ah! very young are you, Sixteen,
And very old am I.

Red bloom-times come and go, Sixteen,
With snow-soft feet, but I
Shall be no more as I have been
In times of bloom gone by;
For dimmer grows the pleasant scene
Beneath the pleasant sky;
The world is growing old, Sixteen—
The weary world and I.

Ah, would that once again, Sixteen,
A kissing mouth had I;
The days would gaily go, I ween,
Though death should stand anigh,
If springtime’s green were evergreen,
If Love would never die,
And I were young as you, Sixteen,
And you were old as I.

poem by Victor James Daley
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Very Early Spring

The fields are snowbound no longer;
There are little blue lakes and flags of tenderest green.
The snow has been caught up into the sky--
So many white clouds--and the blue of the sky is cold.
Now the sun walks in the forest,
He touches the bows and stems with his golden fingers;
They shiver, and wake from slumber.
Over the barren branches he shakes his yellow curls.
Yet is the forest full of the sound of tears....
A wind dances over the fields.
Shrill and clear the sound of her waking laughter,
Yet the little blue lakes tremble
And the flags of tenderest green bend and quiver.

poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Blue Wall / Green Wall

What comes to my mind when I see a green wall?
A green wall reminds me of the grass so green
And the emerald most rarely seen
A green wall reminds me of the leaves so green
And a forest where I have never been
A green wall reminds me of trees with a lot of shade
And the fresh vegetables kept for trade.

What comes to my mind when I see a blue wall?
It reminds me of the sea so blue
I feel like jumping in it too
A blue wall reminds me of the blue sky
You can’t touch it cause it’s very high
A blue wall reminds me of the deep blue bear
It is very dangerous so beware
A blue wall reminds me of a blue whale
To reach it from the shore you have to sail.

poem by Risha Ahmed
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As My Guitar Gently Weeps

Stood in the corner gathering dust
Steel strings
Pitted with rust
Loose and untuned
Waiting to be held
Arms wrapped around
Waiting for the caress of fingers
For passion to make it dance again
To feel fingers press and glide
To make this old instrument young again.
A love song to play
The player to sway
A lover long lost
Never forgotten
To bring to life
A song once sung

RG/NB

poem by Robert Green
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Garden Lady

Her fingers long and slender
As to the rest of her
Wonder how such frailty could, labor

Seen with dirt under nails
Her drive is a better world
She has gone further
Than just a frail young woman

Her fingers long and slender
With the smell of future flowers
Soon will give you much to see
Exceeding your garden needs

The plants she sows
They are hardy
They will grow
Through heat
Through neglect
She will give you what you expect
And tell you not to neglect

Keeping them alive is nothing new
Seedlings comming through

In a secret garden
Away from the cruel....

She holds a thornless rose
Timeless and fragile
Pretty and pink
With other pastel inks
The blossoming is forever
In her heart
A model for all to know
For no other could grow

Another season begins
Life lush and green
That is her nature
Fingers long and slender

poem by Howard Johnson
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Ms Chancey

Oh dear lady
Such beautiful hands
The tips of the fingers lightly
Removing the gloves
Throw them down on the floor
You flirt with…who
Those indifferent sparks
Quivering in the corner of your eyes
Which many times
Called themselves little devils
But you don't sing
Fortuna
Scarlet heart
Today honey
You don't sing
Am I right
Something went wrong
Ms Chencey
Quite down those unending
Winding ways of an autumn
Down an evil September
Ominous
Scarlet heart
Today you don't sing
Not even Fortuna
You don't sing at all
Ms Chancey
Those wheels of yours
I've broken them you see
You cannot flirt with me
Sorry
I'm just too ‘lucky' for your spell

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Sweet Baby

Baby, sweet baby, with tears in your eyes
Rest your head gently, there's no need to cry,
Come let me sing you a soft lullaby
The sandman is coming and dreamland is nigh;

Baby, sweet baby, with skin soft and fair
And little pink ribbons done up in your hair,
In your tiny world there should not be a care
May angels surround you and send you a prayer;

Baby, sweet baby, your cute button nose
Your soft tiny fingers and sweet baby toes
Have truly bewitched me and nobody knows
How the depth of my love for you just grows and grows;

So precious and tender your love is to me,
Until I first held you, I never could see
How wonderfully magical my life could be -
You've opened my heart and my spirit is free!

For my sweet little angel Shelby Lynn

poem by Linda Ori
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Ode to Karen and the Summer

June wore her green dress, long her favorite color
the color of her ancient Roman clan
Roman Green
June wore her green dress...as my finger traced a soft essay
upon your perfect back

June wore green
Karen wore blonde
and all around us was light

the solstice was the turning point- solstice curve
poignant as the course of the sun through our summer bodies

the season of the short-lived beings
dead through the dry folds of winter
to flood to life in green vigor
I'm green as a frog, green as any new bug rushing or Mayfly lingering

June's nephews, July and August, were lulled to boredom
by wine and soft days
and left us the blessing
to wallop and play in the gardens

Karen on a summer sidewalk
or a tv show
or a dream in the light
or green eyes

poem by Jimi Doyle
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When plants die

A recent poem by Chumfo asked
“Where do plants go when they die?

I’m not sure what to answer
But this is my reply:

Plants go where old dogs go
Where fields of greenery lie

Plants wake up in enchanted mist
that’s where they go when they die

Where there’s ol dogs and children
And lot’s of fertilizer… to boot

fresh spring rains…Deep dark loam
And potting soil to take root

Where there’s no Jolly Green Giant
No blight and no aphids too

Just the sun… the rain…the bird’s refrain
And a lot of good cow poo

poem by David Whalen
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Dear Hands

The touches of her hands are like the fall
Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down
The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall;
The flossy fondlings of the thistle-wisp
Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brown
The blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp.

Soft as the falling of the dusk at night,
The touches of her hands, and the delight--
The touches of her hands!
The touches of her hands are like the dew
That falls so softly down no one e'er knew
The touch thereof save lovers like to one
Astray in lights where ranged Endymion.

O rarely soft, the touches of her hands,
As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands;
Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs,
Or--in between the midnight and the dawn,
When long unrest and tears and fears are gone--
Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes.

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Touches Of Her Hand

O rarely soft, the touches of her hands,
As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands;
Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs;
Or--in between the midnight and the dawn,
When long unrest and tears and fears are gone--
Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes.