The Insect
From your hips down to your feet
I want to make a long journey.
I am smaller than an insect.
Over these hills I pass,
hills the colour of oats,
crossed with faint tracks
that only I know,
scorched centimetres,
pale perspectives.
Now here is a mountain.
I shall never leave this.
What a giant growth of moss!
And a crater, a rose
of moist fire!
Coming down your legs
I trace a spiral,
or sleep on the way,
and arrive at your knees,
round hardness
like the hard peaks
of a bright continent.
Sliding down to your feet
I reach the eight slits
of your pointed, slow,
peninsular toes,
and from them I fall down
to the white emptiness
of the sheet, seeking blindly
and hungrily the form
of your fiery crucible!
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Related quotes
Charm, The
In darkness the loud sea makes moan;
And earth is shaken, and all evils creep
About her ways.
Oh, now to know you sleep!
Out of the whirling blinding moil, alone,
Out of the slow grim fight,
One thought to wing -- to you, asleep,
In some cool room that's open to the night
Lying half-forward, breathing quietly,
One white hand on the white
Unrumpled sheet, and the ever-moving hair
Quiet and still at length! . . .
Your magic and your beauty and your strength,
Like hills at noon or sunlight on a tree,
Sleeping prevail in earth and air.
In the sweet gloom above the brown and white
Night benedictions hover; and the winds of night
Move gently round the room, and watch you there.
And through the dreadful hours
The trees and waters and the hills have kept
The sacred vigil while you slept,
And lay a way of dew and flowers
Where your feet, your morning feet, shall tread.
And still the darkness ebbs about your bed.
Quiet, and strange, and loving-kind, you sleep.
And holy joy about the earth is shed;
And holiness upon the deep.
poem by Rupert Brooke
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The Charm
In darkness the loud sea makes moan;
And earth is shaken, and all evils creep
About her ways.
Oh, now to know you sleep!
Out of the whirling blinding moil, alone,
Out of the slow grim fight,
One thought to wing - to you, asleep,
In some cool room that's open to the night
Lying half-forward, breathing quietly,
One white hand on the white
Unrumpled sheet, and the ever-moving hair
Quiet and still at length! . . .
Your magic and your beauty and your strength,
Like hills at noon or sunlight on a tree,
Sleeping prevail in earth and air.
In the sweet gloom above the brown and white
Night benedictions hover; and the winds of night
Move gently round the room, and watch you there.
And through the dreadful hours
The trees and waters and the hills have kept
The sacred vigil while you slept,
And lay a way of dew and flowers
Where your feet, your morning feet, shall tread.
And still the darkness ebbs about your bed.
Quiet, and strange, and loving-kind, you sleep.
And holy joy about the earth is shed;
And holiness upon the deep.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1909)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Feet
Your feet:
Dirt road walkers
Mud squeezers
Street passers
Bike riders
and Caressers
My feet:
In frailty
accepts time’s cruelty
and age with beauty.
Hardly four feet climb
hills and mountains
Can crawl up legs
Wind calf,
inch round
hard thigh
Feet winds up in bed.
Almedia Knight
(ASK)
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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The hammer’s tale
There’s a tale of a hammer
that dropped from the sky
and fell at the feet
of a warrior chief
while he was hunting
and before he saw it
a flash of blue-white lightning
cracked down at his feet
from a cloudless cobalt blue sky.
Amazed at the thunder
his gaze went into the air,
but he could see nothing there
but he sensed something
and looked more carefully
and something still unseen
threw a shadow covering him
and at his feet lay something strange
while in the east he heard the sound
of something huge
hitting the ground as if dead.
A metallic hammer huge in size
fit for a giant
with a colour somewhere between
copper and gold lay gleaming
as if it was filled with some strange
sort of energy
and it was crafted beautifully
with intricate runic patterns
decorating its shaft
and while the shadow
became much larger
and more threatening
and he swore
that he could hear
something breathing
and he reached for the hammer
trying to pick it up
and it was light
as a feather in his hands
and the hammer changed in colour
to a bright white blue hue
and started humming
as if it was coming alive
and it changed in size and shape
becoming much smaller
but like a big war maul
and he wasn’t dreaming
but a giant of a godlike thing
was in fury looking at him
and a flaming sword
was in its huge fist
with a hound with red gleaming eyes
following it
and holding onto the hammer
with both hands he took a swing at it,
hitting it with a tremendous thundering blow
and it fell over into a valley
facing the wooded west
but with a still swiping sword
and the warrior ran
trying to avoid it
and in anger bashed
at the mountain
rising in front of him
and the mountain shattered
while tremendous lightning bolts blazed it
causing the mountain to fall
over the god’s breast
and the hound tried to kill him
but he knocked it
right over the mountain
with lightning bolts sizzling over it.
[Reference: Gluskap’s Hound by T.G. Roberts.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Im Not The One
Im not the one
That youll be shootin for
Im not the one
Whos coming back for more
(you know why)
Weve been through this so many a-times
(you know why)
Its never clear its pantomime
Goin round and round
(round and round)
cause you cant get on your feet
Goin round and round
(round and round)
Still takin all the heat
Goin round and round
(round and round)
Never lettin down
Im not the one
Whose memory you still keepin
Im not the one
Whos talkin in your sleep
(you know why)
I dont have to tell you twice
(you know why)
Knew you when you werent so nice
Goin round and round
(round and round)
cause you cant get on your feet
Goin round and round
(round and round)
Still takin all the heat
Goin round and round
(round and round)
Never touchin down
Im not the one
That youll be breakin in
And Im not the one
That youll be takin in
(you know why)
Tried and tried to crack the shell
(you know why)
When you fake its hard to tell
Goin round and round
(round and round)
cause you cant get on your feet
Goin round and round
(round and round)
Still takin all the heat
Goin round and round
(round and round)
cause you cant get on your feet
Goin round and round
(round and round)
Still takin all the heat
Goin round and round
(round and round)
(round and round)
Goin round and round
(round and round)
(round and round and round and round)
Goin round and round
(round and round)
(cause you cant get on your feet)
Goin (round and round)
(still takin all the heat)
(round and round)
(cause you cant get on your feet)
(round and round)
(still takin all the heat)
(round and round)
(cause you cant get on your feet)
(round and round)
(still takin all the heat)
[fade]
song performed by by Cars
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cloudberry
Give me no coil of daemon flowers-
Pale Messalines that faint and brood
Through the spent and secret twilight hours
On their strange feasts of blood.
Five me wild things of moss and peat-
The gipsy flower that bravely goes,
The heather's little hard, brown feet,
And the black eyes of sloes.
But most of all the cloudberry
That offers in her clean, white cup
The melting snows-the cloudberry!
Where the great winds go up
To the hushed peak whose shadow fills
The air with silence calm and wide-
She lives, the Dian of the hills,
And the streams course beside.
poem by Muriel Stuart
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The Mountain And The Snake
a long black yellow snake with stripes
arrives hissing
looking for a prey
a rat perhaps
but there is none
not even an ant for a snack
and so the long black yellow snake with stripes of green
slides its way to a dark, moist cave
tight on its door
pushing its long slimy body
to the tip of the
cave's orifice to the end of its
intestine
it was a good tickle
and the whole body of the mountain
gives a tremble
a moan and from the slits of its sides
to the tip of its feet
and toes and trees
the whole body of the mountain
moans
happy with the long slimy body of the
snake's skin and bone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Other Half
Over the hills, lies a new beginning
Over the hills
Over the hills, there is a way I know it
Over the hills
You can't bring all the gloom
Your heart is frayed and so empty
You glorify the future
Living in a different world than me
The journey ends in death
You are giving up so easily
You are the other half of me
Over the hills [4x]
We are drifting apart
Chilled to the marrow, cause you don't want to go
Cause we've got a different wish at heart
The amulet guides us to the other side
When I go down it's you who'll bleed
I'm not scared to die, as long as I'm with you
You are the other half of me
Over the hills, lies a new beginning
Over the hills
Over the hills, there's a way I know it
Over the hills
song performed by by Within Temptation
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Indian Hunter
When the summer harvest was gathered in,
And the sheaf of the gleaner grew white and thin,
And the ploughshare was in its furrow left,
Where the stubble land had been lately cleft,
An Indian hunter, with unstrung bow,
Looked down where the valley lay stretched below.
He was a stranger there, and all that day
Had been out on the hills, a perilous way,
But the foot of the deer was far and fleet,
And the wolf kept aloof from the hunter's feet.
And bitter feelings passed o'er him then,
As he stood by the populous haunts of men.
The winds of autumn came over the woods
As the sun stole out from their solitudes;
The moss was white on the maple's trunk,
And dead from its arms the pale vine shrunk.
And ripened the mellow fruit hung, and red
Were the tree's withered leaves round it shed.
The foot of the reaper moved slow on the lawn
And the sickle cut down the yellow core--
The mower sung loud by the meadow-side,
Where the mists of evening were spreading wide,
And the voice of the herdsmen came up the lea,
And the dance went round by the greenwood tree.
Then the hunter turned away from the scene,
Where the home of his fathers once had been,
And heard by the distant and measured stroke,
That the woodman hewed down the giant oak,
And burning thoughts flashed over his mind
Of the white man's faith, and love unkind.
The moon of the harvest grew high and bright,
As her golden horn pierced the cloud of white--
A footstep was heard in the rustling brake,
Where the beech overshadowed the misty lake,
And a mourning voice, and a plunge from shore,--
And the hunter was seen on the hills no more.
When years had passed on, by that still lakeside
The fisher looked down through the silver tide,
And there, on the smooth yellow sand displayed,
A skeleton wasted and white was laid,
And 't was seen, as the waters moved deep and slow,
That the hand was still grasping a hunter's bow.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Spellbound
Blinded by a bright beam
Shattered by the windscreen
Stunned by the whiplash
Im a victim of a bad crash
I can do nothing right
I never sleep at night
Cant even start a fight
My feet have left the ground
Spinning round and round
Spellbound, my world keeps a tumbling down
Beaten by a blind bend
Wrong way up a dead end
Screaming through a speed trap
As I tear into a tail back
I can do nothing right
I never sleep at night
Cant even start a fight
My feet have left the ground
Spinning round and round
Spellbound, my world keeps a tumbling down
Im slipping down
I got my hands in the fire
Im sliding on an oil slick
Blinded on a bad trip
Yes and nothings going to change it
I can do nothing right
Cant even sleep at night
My feet have left the ground
Im spinning round and round
Spellbound, my world keeps a tumbling down
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summer Dawn.
Come with thy feet to the water, and bathe
Thy beauty here in the stream that will not pass!
The soft green leaves with their shadows swathe
The either bank, and under the ferns and grass
The dreamy crickets chirp in the dewy dawn,
Now that the light of the stars has grown
Into a thin pale mist in the night unknown;
The small birds twitter, whose senses quite
Have not yet out of their dreams withdrawn —
Here where my heart too waits for the light
Under the cloudy hills that soon will run
With bright feet in the ways of the sun,
As if they were but chained to the air:
Come to me now so fresh and fair —
Now that the reign of Sleep is done —
With twinkling feet in the dewy dawn!
O love, as grass comes to the lawn,
As day comes to the East, come thou —
Come to me now!
poem by Robert Crawford
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My beautiful rose flower
My beautiful rose flower, you look so beautiful, gorgeous and attractive, i don't know how to place you, you make my head go zigzag
people insult you, drag you to the ground, their reason is because they see you as an ordinary flower, to me you are much more precious than diamond, beautiful than the morning dew
Your red color attract various insect
Your pollen grain perfume or aroma is very fantastic to make them bow to eat , the bees bow at your feet, the butterfly bow at your feet, the flies bow at your feet
You feed the multitude of insect which makes you much more charitable and sought after by all
When hunger strike at night, makes me pale, headache knocking persistently on my head, given me no enough room to cry out,
tears running down my cheeks profusely with no stop gap to aid it up
The cloud has becloud their terrible mind full of evil without any restriction you will say
The wickedness of men will continue to hunt them unless they give up their evil plot, evil device they planned for you
My white shirt stained trying to defend you
I will continue to defend and protect you with my last blood against all odds, if i give up the ghost in the process at least i will stand fulfilled on earth, on my honor i will make it come to pass,
ho! my beautiful rose flower
poem by Olayemi Ayo
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Orara
THE STRONG sob of the chafing stream
That seaward fights its way
Down crags of glitter, dells of gleam,
Is in the hills to-day.
But far and faint, a grey-winged form
Hangs where the wild lights wane—
The phantom of a bygone storm,
A ghost of wind and rain.
The soft white feet of afternoon
Are on the shining meads,
The breeze is as a pleasant tune
Amongst the happy reeds.
The fierce, disastrous, flying fire,
That made the great caves ring,
And scarred the slope, and broke the spire,
Is a forgotten thing.
The air is full of mellow sounds,
The wet hill-heads are bright,
And down the fall of fragrant grounds
The deep ways flame with light.
A rose-red space of stream I see,
Past banks of tender fern;
A radiant brook, unknown to me
Beyond its upper turn:
The singing silver life I hear,
Whose home is in the green,
Far-folded woods of fountains clear,
Where I have never been.
Ah, brook above the upper bend,
I often long to stand
Where you in soft, cool shades descend
From the untrodden land!
Ah, folded woods, that hide the grace
Of moss and torrents strong,
I often wish to know the face
Of that which sings your song!
But I may linger, long, and look
Till night is over all:
My eyes will never see the brook,
Or sweet, strange waterfall.
The world is round me with its heat,
And toil, and cares that tire;
I cannot with my feeble feet
Climb after my desire.
But, on the lap of lands unseen,
Within a secret zone,
There shine diviner gold and green
Than man has ever known.
And where the silver waters sing
Down hushed and holy dells,
The flower of a celestial Spring,
A tenfold splendour, dwells.
Yea, in my dream of fall and brook
By far sweet forests furled,
I see that light for which I look
In vain through all the world—
The glory of a larger sky
On slopes of hills sublime,
That speak with God and morning, high
Above the ways of Time!
Ah! haply, in this sphere of change
Where shadows spoil the beam,
It would not do to climb that range
And test my radiant Dream.
The slightest glimpse of yonder place,
Untrodden and alone,
Might wholly kill that nameless grace
The charm of the unknown.
And therefore, though I look and long,
Perhaps the lot is bright
Which keeps the river of the song
A beauty out of sight
poem by Henry Kendall
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On A Journey
on a secret journey
the two of us
keep covering our tracks
in silence we keep the
grass alive
the hush always a hush
vespers in whispers
when we arrive at the destination
we look back to the hills and plains
we leave nothing
we taking nothing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Slow Down
You got it the wrong way round completely
The fact that I love you so
Doesn't make me a fool
One day you just might grow tired of chasing
The end of a rainbow
Your already there you know
So Slow down
Tell me why you're running
Turn round
Let it out keep and keep it coming
Nothing I can do if I can't get to you
Slow day
Remember the day you came to see me
Even that lonely long drive
Couldn't keep us apart
And you opened up to me completely
And you gave me peace of mind
The rest we can leave behind
So Slow down
Tell me why you're running
Turn round let it out and keep it coming
Nothing I can do if I can't get to you
Slow sown
You don't have to hurt yourself
And feel so small
It's so confusing
And you're already there
Slow down
Tell me why you're running
Turn round let it all out keep it coming
Nothing I can do if I can't get to you
Slow down
So slow down
Tell me why you're running
Turn round let it all out and keep it coming
Nothing I can do if I can't get to you
Slow down
Slow down
song performed by by Natalie Imbruglia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fairy Bridal-Hymn
[This is the hymn to Eleanor, daughter of Mab and a golden drone, sung by the Locust choir when the fairy child marries her God, the yellow rose]
This is a song to the white-armed one
Cold in the breast as the frost-wrapped Spring,
Whose feet are slow on the hills of life,
Whose round mouth rules by whispering.
This is a song to the white-armed one
Whose breast shall burn as a Summer field,
Whose wings shall rise to the doors of gold,
Whose poppy lips to the God shall yield.
This is a song to the white-armed one
When the closing rose shall bind her fast,
And a song of the song their blood shall sing,
When the Rose-God drinks her soul at last.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Baby Tortoise
You know what it is to be born alone,
Baby tortoise!
The first day to heave your feet little by little from the shell,
Not yet awake,
And remain lapsed on earth,
Not quite alive.
A tiny, fragile, half-animate bean.
To open your tiny beak-mouth, that looks as if it would never open,
Like some iron door;
To lift the upper hawk-beak from the lower base
And reach your skinny little neck
And take your first bite at some dim bit of herbage,
Alone, small insect,
Tiny bright-eye,
Slow one.
To take your first solitary bite
And move on your slow, solitary hunt.
Your bright, dark little eye,
Your eye of a dark disturbed night,
Under its slow lid, tiny baby tortoise,
So indomitable.
No one ever heard you complain.
You draw your head forward, slowly, from your little wimple
And set forward, slow-dragging, on your four-pinned toes, Rowing slowly forward.
Whither away, small bird?
Rather like a baby working its limbs,
Except that you make slow, ageless progress
And a baby makes none.
The touch of sun excites you,
And the long ages, and the lingering chill
Make you pause to yawn,
Opening your impervious mouth,
Suddenly beak-shaped, and very wide, like some suddenly gaping pincers;
Soft red tongue, and hard thin gums,
Then close the wedge of your little mountain front,
Your face, baby tortoise.
Do you wonder at the world, as slowly you turn your head in its wimple
And look with laconic, black eyes?
Or is sleep coming over you again,
The non-life?
You are so hard to wake.
Are you able to wonder?
Or is it just your indomitable will and pride of the first life
Looking round
And slowly pitching itself against the inertia
Which had seemed invincible?
The vast inanimate,
And the fine brilliance of your so tiny eye,
Challenger.
Nay, tiny shell-bird,
What a huge vast inanimate it is, that you must row against,
What an incalculable inertia.
Challenger,
Little Ulysses, fore-runner,
No bigger than my thumb-nail,
Buon viaggio.
All animate creation on your shoulder,
Set forth, little Titan, under your battle-shield.
The ponderous, preponderate,
Inanimate universe;
And you are slowly moving, pioneer, you alone.
How vivid your travelling seems now, in the troubled sunshine,
Stoic, Ulyssean atom;
Suddenly hasty, reckless, on high toes.
Voiceless little bird,
Resting your head half out of your wimple
In the slow dignity of your eternal pause.
Alone, with no sense of being alone,
And hence six times more solitary;
Fulfilled of the slow passion of pitching through immemorial ages
Your little round house in the midst of chaos.
Over the garden earth,
Small bird,
Over the edge of all things.
Traveller,
With your tail tucked a little on one side
Like a gentleman in a long-skirted coat.
All life carried on your shoulder,
Invincible fore-runner.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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In some fields of grass under the hills (sestina)
This afternoon the peaks throw a big shade
with the black cliffs shining up on the hills,
while we lay together in the long grass,
I look in your eyes that are amber-green
while under my head there is a small stone
and you smile at me like the prettiest lady.
I had once known another charming lady;
that part of my life is now left in shade,
bad churchmen were casting stone upon stone,
while I had to flee from them to the hills
to pastures were everything is green
to find the Lord in divine fields of grass.
Under your head there is a crown of grass
and your mother is a gracious, kind lady,
around us everything is lovely green
while we are still resting in the cool shade,
we are softly chatting about life’s hills,
about walls of very hard granite stone.
Your eyes are much brighter than emerald stone
while all of your words are softer than grass,
reaching higher and beyond all the hills,
the high mountain which is dangerous lady,
while from our pain nothing gives any shade,
nowhere is a place of rest that is green.
Your summer dress is lovely, is bright green,
suddenly all our ails have turned to stone
I follow you further; see your small shade,
I am seen as one that woos any lady,
we walk past some flowers growing in grass,
climbing up higher into the foothills.
Bright streams are splashing down some of the hills,
with water transparent, sometimes cold and green,
love and lust burns like in a youthful lady
while I at that moment feel cold as stone,
we notice a deer feeding on lone grass
while our garments lie under a tree’s shade.
Far into the hills you want love till dusk’s shade,
where you peep like some green moss from the grass,
are tossing me with a stone like no lady.
poem by Gert Strydom
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This Free Will
She peeled from a stretch black snake
Which slipped up to the hotel door.
Darting looks from piercing eyes --
The stir of memory and then no more.
Well, you know how I have to believe --
She can almost remember my name.
Its been a long time coming, babe --
Long time loose amongst foreign hills --
Shaking my faith in this free will.
Years ago in a coastal town,
Mosquitoes buzzed in her hair.
Schooldress torn and bare feet brown --
Then the rains came and she wasnt there.
Youre closing your doors on me
When you had almost remembered my name.
Its been a long time coming, babe --
Long time loose amongst foreign hills --
Shaking my faith in this free will.
Sharp points in an ink black sky --
Faint words collide, then are lost.
Ill follow you beneath this dome --
Win you back at any cost.
I know we were children then,
But you can almost remember my name.
Its been a long time coming, babe --
Long time loose amongst foreign hills --
Well, lets be children still --
Dont shake my faith in this free will.
Dont shake my faith in this free will.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ten Feet Tall
Happy Im floating
Around on my feet now
You make me go dizzy
Im weak at the knees
I feel like Im walking
Round ten feet tall
Well you say Im faking
And I say dont worry
The way that I bubble
Theres something in the make
I feel like Im walking
Round ten feet tall
Right, the chemistry is right
This boy has reached his height
The feeling just goes on and on...
From strength to strength
Im ten feet long
I feel like Im walking
Round ten feet tall
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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