Ornamental pond
In the garden of sorrow
Is dry and lifeless
But can’t hide the memory
A child’s still face and wet leaves.
tanka by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Myself
As i lay here listless or lifeless
Well lifeless cause i'm not sure what listless means
Feelings of emptiness and sorrow
Excuse me are you listening do you have some life i can borrow
Trying to find wheres my place
Enough is enough can i remove this mask from my face
I want to be some one different now
I have tried this one far to long
Can i play another song
One that's words i can sing along
Now that life you said you would lend me
You said today cause you have plenty
Stand back and brace
For i am about to reveal wait there is no haste
So where is this life you said i could borrow
Don't make me wait it will be raining tomorrow
For i am lifeless you see
I want what you promised not your sympathy
Questions are running through your head
A voice cries i thought you were dead
So where is this life you promised me
Was it just words you said to me
Time has come to show my face
Will i be excepted by a race
A race that was lost when i masked my face
So maybe i am lifeless not listless
And maybe not only lifeless
But no i'm just myself
Koi
Chinese Carp swimming
in prestigious ornamental tank
prestige purchased expensively
for luck for tradition for prestige.
If you were ravenously hungry
would you eat lucky carp?
Would starving poor people
among you eat it gladly?
Koi - a carp with red-gold or white coloring, kept as an aquarium or ornamental pond fish. Native to Japan and temperate regions of East Asia.
Latin name: Cyprinus carpio
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sorrow Under Mist
Mist -
Giving wispy vapour to the breath,
Cool calm to autumn afternoons,
A hovering air of mysticism
Over brooding lakes -
Was different here,
Affording company, closeness -
A caring arm around her shoulders.
In the eyes, a once-clear oceanic blue
Wavered under water -
Tears telling torrid truths
She couldn't face -
Like the glowering image in the mirror
You don't see in your mind's eye
Of compensation; delusion.
We see her sitting on the concrete steps
That led down to the dew-laden garden.
She's peering up, sensing her diffuse companion,
Refreshing in its chill; giving crispness
To the stealth of dulling evening.
But the bite of air couldn't lift the sorrow
Of pale youth in love,
Shouldered by a not-in-love and scoffing eye.
Rejection hurt;
Hurts -
Wrenches deep -
Emotion that we can't deny!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
Sorrow Rain
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Broken child
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who has seen more than his young eyes should.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who would run away from it all if he could.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who has been ravished by the likes of you and I.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child with to much pride to cry.
I see the face off a broken child.
a child who fights off anyone who cares.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who wishes his mother was there.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who wont let his hardships keep him down.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who refuses to give up and reveal a frown.
poem by Joshua Reid
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When The Leaves Come Falling Down
I saw you standing with the wind and the rain in your face
And you were thinking bout the wisdom of the leaves and their grace
When the leaves come falling down
In september when the leaves, come falling down
And at night the moon is shining on a clear, cloudless sky
And when the evening shadows fall Ill be there by your side
When the leaves come falling down
In september when the leaves, come falling down
Follow me down, follow me down, follow me down
To the place beside the garden and the wall
Follow me down, follow me down
To the space before the twilight and the dawn
Oh, the last time I saw paris in the streets, in the rain
And as I walk along the boulevards with you, once again
And the leaves come falling down
In september, when the leaves come falling down
Follow me down, follow me down, follow me down
To the place between the garden and the wall
Follow me down, follow me down
To the space between the twilight and the dawn
And as Im looking at the colour of the leaves, in your hand
As were listening to chet baker on the beach, in the sand
When the leaves come falling down,
Woe in september, when the leaves come falling down
Oh when the leaves come falling down
Yeah in september when the leaves come falling down
When the leaves come falling down
In september, when the leaves come falling down
When the leaves come falling down in september, in the rain
When the leaves come falling down
When the leaves come falting down in september, in the rain
When the leaves come falling down
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Flower To Auroville Mother-90
Poinsettia(Euphorbia pulcherrima)
Some day must've happened
Brush of a magic painter
Slicked silky with colours
The leaves of a green yard
Leaves to yellow and red
Turning atop to just bracts
Sunken flower centered silent
Poinsettia born with sisterhood
Then the brush thereon slipped
Rooted to support must've been
Trunked uneven in sneaky heaving
Itself its creation notably seen
Beautiful Poinsettia 'pulcherrima
Ornamental Painted Leaf Poinsettia
Yet another wild -green don't miss
All for your garden's lighted bliss
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The misserable Pit.
To the Pit....with their sorry slow feet... the loved ones do so tread,
to the depths of all their felt misery... lost emotions, from others...theirs i fear, maybe sadly led.
times of fun, forgotten, as if...for now, not allowed to be said.
For the dark pit is all...that is allowed to fill... a miserable confused head.
So to the pit they go, with their confusion and sorrow...to the grim pit...where, there sorrow is to be shed.
Tears fall into the darkness, as light leaves...the lifeless...dead.
poem by James Urwin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Neutral Tones
WE stood by a pond that winter day,
And the sun was white, as though chidden of God,
And a few leaves lay on the starving sod,
--They had fallen from an ash, and were gray.
Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove
Over tedious riddles solved years ago;
And some words played between us to and fro--
On which lost the more by our love.
The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing
Alive enough to have strength to die;
And a grin of bitterness swept thereby
Like an ominous bird a-wing....
Since then, keen lessons that love deceives,
And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me
Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree,
And a pond edged with grayish leaves.
poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The timetable of four
The golden glows of sunlight hit me
The smell of freshly cut grass reached me
The sight of freedom exhilarated me
The sounds of birds intrigued me
The beauty around me radiated from everything
The long open stretches of grass
The shady woodlands going on and on
The unending number of livening creatures
The cawing raven in the tree branches
The worm busily digging in the soil
The fish swimming idly in the pond
The child playing happily in the park
It is summer now but soon it will change
Soon it will change
Soon it will change into Autumn
I’ll still be in my tree
The children are playing in the heaps of leaves
The leaves have all gone a golden colour
The ravens are searching for bugs in the leaves
The fish are swimming slower in their pond
It is Autumn now but it will soon change
Soon it will change
Soon it will change into Winter
I’ll still be in my tree
There are no children playing
There are no leaves on the trees
The ravens have all gone south
There are no fish in the pond
It is Winter now but it will soon change
It will soon change
It will soon change into spring
I’ll still be in my tree
The children are starting to come back
The ravens are backing cawing in the trees
There is new fish in the pond
There are new buds on the trees
It is Spring now but soon it will change
Soon it will change
Soon it will change into Summer
I’ll still be in my tree
Waiting
Watching
Writing
Thinking
To Run and Hide
To run: To run and hide
Afraid to face the giants that arise
Strong man, strong man
Now too weak to stand
All courage tis faded
With an unseeming fate he's faced
That of a great seasoned warrior
Who now is no longer conqueror
To hide: to run and hide
Unwilling to face the divide
On the bullet teeth break
As devastion fear leaves in its wake
Unable now to face tomorrow
Refusing to take that which is hard to swallow
Impending doom now closing in
On he who shuts himself in
To run and hide, to run and hide
Will only a little time bide
Till your fears you will face
As you are caught by your greatest test
Strong man strong man
Now too weak to stand
To run and hide
Will with defeat concide
Strong man strong man
Now too weak to stand
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Elizabeth Childers
Dust of my dust,
And dust with my dust,
O, child who died as you entered the world,
Dead with my death!
Not knowing Breath, though you tried so hard,
With a heart that beat when you lived with me,
And stopped when you left me for Life.
It is well, my child. For you never traveled
The long, long way that begins with school days,
When little fingers blur under the tears
That fall on the crooked letters.
And the earliest wound, when a little mate
Leaves you alone for another;
And sickness, and the face of Fear by the bed;
The death of a father or mother;
Or shame for them, or poverty;
The maiden sorrow of school days ended;
And eyeless Nature that makes you drink
From the cup of Love, though you know it’s poisoned;
To whom would your flower-face have been lifted?
Botanist, weakling? Cry of what blood to yours?—
Pure or foul, for it makes no matter,
It’s blood that calls to our blood.
And then your children—oh, what might they be?
And what your sorrow? Child! Child!
Death is better than Life!
poem by Edgar Lee Masters from Spoon River Anthology
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
Oh, Banquet Not
Oh, banquet not in those shining bowers,
Where Youth resorts, but come to me,
For mine's a garden of faded flowers,
More fit for sorrow, for age, and thee.
And there we shall have our feast of tears,
And many a cup in silence pour;
Our guests, the shades of former years,
Our toasts, to lips that bloom no more.
There, while the myrtle's withering boughs
Their lifeless leaves around us shed,
We'll brim the bowl to broken vows
To friends long lost, the changed, the dead.
Or, while some blighted laurel waves
Its branches o'er the dreary spot,
We'll drink to those neglected graves
Where valour sleeps, unnamed, forgot.
poem by Thomas Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
No Other
Go and hug her
Your mother, your life giver
A soul divine.
Leave not your mother
A woman so kind..............Keya Mukerjee
Mother and no other
I wish again to see her
In kindest form ever known
She is mother of my own
I have wept
With hidden face and kept
Her memory and face
Those always made me cry and chased
It is repeat divine performance
A child gets unique chance
To be born to a mother
Rejoice for a while and not to bother
She is Mother Nature
Every season presents for sure
New leaves and flowers
For old trees with rainy showers
I miss each moment of life
As she has witnessed an edge of knife
To upkeep child away from all misfortune
Sing with melody to quiet with fine tune
Those words baffle me sometimes
Where will she be gone in old times?
I literally miss with wet eyes
When a memory flood and suddenly flies
I not only salute her selfless existence
But bow head in recognition at once
How come she cares so much for lovely child?
When fate is known to witness later on to be blind
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Garden
I know a garden like a child,
Clean and new-washed and reconciled.
It grows its own sweet way, yet still
Has guidance of some tender will
That clips, confines, its wilder mood
And makes it happy, being good.
Around the lordly mountains stand,
For this is an enchanted land,
As though their splendours stood to grace
This little lovely garden place,
Looking with wise and keeping eyes
Upon the garden sanctities.
Box borders edge each little bed,
Paths narrow for a child to tread
Divide the kitchen garden, dear
And sweet with musk and lavender,
And water-mints and beans in bloom.
Be sure the honeybee's at home.
How should I tell in a sweet list
Of beauties, rose and amethyst;
The little water-garden cool
On sultry days, and beautiful
The wall-garden, the shade, the sun,
Since they are lovely, every one.
Hot honey of the pines is sweet,
And when the day's at three o'clock heat
A winding walk will you invite
To a new garden out of sight.
And a green seat is set so near
The sluggish, stealing backwater.
The Spirit of the garden plays
At hide-and-seek an hundred ways
And when you've captured her, she will
Elude you, calling backward still,
A silver echo -- a sweet child,
Demure and lovesome, gay and wild.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Child's Expression
A look of awe
on a child's face,
Discover.
A look of surprise,
on a child's face
Delights her.
A look of fear,
on a child's face
Reassure her.
A look of pain
on a child's face
Soothe her.
A look of glee
on a child's face
Laugh with her.
Expressions of a child
Innocent and true,
Expressions of a child
Save the image in you.
Mortuary
That awful place
With blood red carpets
The color of death
Flowers everywhere
As if to say this
Is a happy place
I guess it is
A place of closing
Of peace to say goodbye
But to me that horrible place
Reeked of death and sorrow
Of tears shed and hearts broken
Laying in a casket
Cold and dead
I did not want my last memory
To be of that
I'm glad I didn't see it
Because everytime I would have
Thought of you
My first memory would
Be seeing you lay there
Unmoving
Lifeless
I miss you a lot
I'm still sad
And probably will be for awhile
But now your somewhere better
poem by Autumn Winds
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Remembrance Day
An avant-garde game of statues,
Or life frozen by aliens,
The morning shoppers
Obedient to the one-minute siren
And showing 'full cooperation'
With the 'Home Bargains' manager,
Appear lifeless
(In memory of the lifeless):
A deaf old lady, oblivious,
Wanders on to find her Fox's Mints,
Wondering if the world
Has suddenly gone mad,
Or whether she has;
A child, not understanding,
Assumes that everyone has stopped
To listen to her,
And shrieks with pride;
But disapproving glares
And elderly hushes
Count out the seconds,
Until we all smile shyly,
Returning to our everyday
(Every day) activities,
Forgetting what we remembered
On this foggy day in Stroud.
poem by Roger Clark
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
351
the flowers of youth are growing brown around your garden
the leaves fall and the buds grown tight, no longer unfolding
bridges lose their bearings and rivers catch them falling
the splintered wood float like so many boats drifting
things decay, strength is forgotten in the face of weakness
loneliness conquers even the memory of brighter hours
soon your face will be a small photograph almost like a stamp
on a very important letter that i mailed to someone very far away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Conversation with God
One day while I was dreaming I heard a soft like voice
It called me to a pond
and asked to recite
the stories of my childhood
I thought it very strange
Then with deafening noise it came
It took me to the pond and asked me 'what I could see'
'I see me' I replied
'Very good' it said
'Now do you see' it asked
'I see a little child with hair as bright as fire'
'Who is that child' it asked
'It is me' I replied again
'Do you remember what that child was like'
'No' I replied
'Until you become a child again you'll see no more'
'I do not understand' I said
'You will' came the voice
'When' I asked
'When you believe that I am real'
'But you are real' I answered
'Only one who truly believes can understand'
poem by Rachel Branscombe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
‘Like a brazier’s bronze cinders,’
Like a brazier’s bronze cinders,
the sleepy garden’s beetles flowing.
Level with me, and my candle,
a flowering world is hanging.
As if into unprecedented faith,
I cross into this night,
where the poplar’s beaten grey
veils the moon’s rim from sight.
Where the pond’s an open secret,
where apple-trees whisper of waves,
where the garden hanging on piles,
holds the sky before its face.
poem by Boris Pasternak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!