From Thimpu to Gelefu in Bhutan
The miniature of heaven
hewed of the Himalayas
is the serene Thimpu.
The green meads with flowers colourful
and the dazzling glacial peaks afar
catch our eyes enroute Gelefu.
The streaming water in the deep ravines
with roaring sounds of rush and gush
casts an alarming spell.
The blooming orange-orchards
and the frisking water-course downwards
feast our eyes with pleasure.
The monkeys carrying their little ones
slide to the end of the boughs,
swing and spring off and vanish.
Fraud, filth and fracas don’t we see.
The Bhutanese aren’t overstrung
as our men do with an ounce of wine. 18.
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poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
If Only Tonight We Could Sleep
If only tonight we could sleep
In a bed made of flowers
If only tonight we could fall
In a deathless spell
If only tonight we could slide
Into deep black water
And breathe
And breathe...
Then an angel would come
With burning eyes like stars
And bury us deep
In his velvet arms
And the rain would cry
As our faces slipped away
And the rain would cry
Don't let it end...
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wine and Water
Old Noah he had an ostrich farm and fowls on the largest scale,
He ate his egg with a ladle in a egg-cup big as a pail,
And the soup he took was Elephant Soup and fish he took was Whale,
But they all were small to the cellar he took when he set out to sail,
And Noah he often said to his wife when he sat down to dine,
"I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
The cataract of the cliff of heaven fell blinding off the brink
As if it would wash the stars away as suds go down a sink,
The seven heavens came roaring down for the throats of hell to drink,
And Noah he cocked his eye and said, "It looks like rain, I think,
The water has drowned the Matterhorn as deep as a Mendip mine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
But Noah he sinned, and we have sinned; on tipsy feet we trod,
Till a great big black teetotaller was sent to us for a rod,
And you can't get wine at a P.S.A., or chapel, or Eisteddfod,
For the Curse of Water has come again because of the wrath of God,
And water is on the Bishop's board and the Higher Thinker's shrine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Wine and Water
Old Noah he had an ostrich farm and fowls on the largest scale,
He ate his egg with a ladle in a egg-cup big as a pail,
And the soup he took was Elephant Soup and fish he took was Whale,
But they all were small to the cellar he took when he set out to sail,
And Noah he often said to his wife when he sat down to dine,
"I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
The cataract of the cliff of heaven fell blinding off the brink
As if it would wash the stars away as suds go down a sink,
The seven heavens came roaring down for the throats of hell to drink,
And Noah he cocked his eye and said, "It looks like rain, I think,
The water has drowned the Matterhorn as deep as a Mendip mine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
But Noah he sinned, and we have sinned; on tipsy feet we trod,
Till a great big black teetotaller was sent to us for a rod,
And you can't get wine at a P.S.A., or chapel, or Eisteddfod,
For the Curse of Water has come again because of the wrath of God,
And water is on the Bishop's board and the Higher Thinker's shrine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Orchards
Orchards in the Spring-time! Oh, I think and think of them,—
Filmy mists of pink and white above the fresh, young green,
Lifting and drifting,—how my eyes could drink of them,
I'm staring at a dirty wall beyond a big machine.
Orchards in the Spring-time! Deep in soft, cool shadows,—
Moving all together when the west wind blows
Fragrance upon fragrance over road and meadows—
I'm smelling heat and oil and sweat, and thick, black clothes.
Orchards in the Spring-time! The clean white and pink of them
Lifting and drifting with all the winds that blow.
Orchards in the Spring-time! Thank God I still can think of them!
You're not docked for thinking, — if the foreman doesn't know.
poem by Theodosia Garrison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mussorie, the Hill Resort (India)
We collected cobbled stones on
the dried tributaries of the Ganges.
Our coach was then winding around the hills
towards the hill resort, Mussorie.
Suddenly we saw the sprinkled stars afar!
Aha! All the shapes we could form
from the gleaming lights of Dehradun.
The night was calm and chill
but we were agile at dawn.
Our eyes ransacked through the crevice
to see the snow-covered peaks.
Crystal streams were gushing down
and defied us to have a dip
in its nerve-chilling elixir.
I went deep and deep behind my friends
to put my head under its rush.
Oh, my lungs lost the air!
I retreated to make it airy.
The fall of Celsius caused chasms
in our feet and made us tumble on the hills.
It is a heaven for the roisterers
and a haven for the weak and old.
The roads on the slopes to the interiors
of the mighty Himalayas and its ice-caps
are sights lingering for ever.
---------
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wine and Water
Old Noah he had an ostrich farm and fowls on the largest scale,
He ate his egg with a ladle in a egg-cup big as a pail,
And the soup he took was Elephant Soup and fish he took was Whale,
But they all were small to the cellar he took when he set out to sail,
And Noah he often said to his wife when he sat down to dine,
"I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
The cataract of the cliff of heaven fell blinding off the brink
As if it would wash the stars away as suds go down a sink,
The seven heavens came roaring down for the throats of hell to drink,
And Noah he cocked his eye and said, "It looks like rain, I think,
The water has drowned the Matterhorn as deep as a Mendip mine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine."
But Noah he sinned, and we have sinned; on tipsy feet we trod,
Till a great big black teetotaller was sent to us for a rod,
And you can't get wine at a P.S.A., or chapel, or Eisteddfod,
For the Curse of Water has come again because of the wrath of God,
And water is on the Bishop's board and the Higher Thinker's shrine,
But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pastel poem [Pastel]
At sunset, from beyond the peaks,
Red blinks at dusk in silence glow
They break in small and shining streaks,
Which into shaded Danube flow.
The murky waves bury them all
And under osiers downstream,
On water hardly shake and crawl
Like orange peel, or so they seem.
Down there, above the forest, soon,
Where shrubberies are dark and wet,
Rises the handsome crescent moon
And sparkles from a minaret.
And, as if painted with this goal,
The island casts its shadow long,
Cut from the world, playing the role
Of a medieval castle, strong.
Looks like a ship charmed near the shore
Which anchored at the mountains' feet,
A wonder dreamed and waited for
By the old Danube's water sheet!
In the clear nights, calm, half asleep,
It waited for the morning bright,
To get out of the water deep
And come to surface in the light
A floating garden, purest one,
With trees and birds that sing in tune,
With flowers laughing at the sun,
But trembling scared under the moon.
poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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0372 Reflection on a garden pond
It's unexpectedly mild this early Spring evening
and I take my glass of beer, cold in the hand,
and slide the patio door open and step out for the first time this year,
feeling like an intruder in my own garden, so strange in the twilight.
Then, melted by awe and gratitude
to see an unplanned wild violet
which has taken up residence between the cement slabs.
Between other slabs the miniature bamboo stubbornly returns,
(that was my Japanese year) and in the tiny pond,
soon to be turned into a living soup by amorous frogs
to the total puzzlement of the white cat, watching for an hour or so
and extending from time to time an ineffective paw,
or nosing the water unable, either, to gulp a tadpole -
in the tiny pond, something bright;
a dancing reflection in the water stirred by an evening breeze -
the moon;
the same moon that danced on the water for Li Po
as he drank from his wine cup
alone and at peace, so far, so long ago;
in a poet's solitude and contentment
and the thought of distant friends,
celebrated with wine
under the moon, on a spring evening,
in perfect happiness.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Deep Into the Heart Of sea
I shall dive deep into,
The heart of the sea...
Where the corals make their realms,
With the motley colored
Vases, trees, flowers....
Where the weeds sway with
The swing of sea-waves....
Fishes play hide and seek,
And the whales splash
Water with their mountainous
Body far and wide.....
There I'll swim, away from
The clamor of crowd,
Away from care and sorrow,
Deep, deep into the cool, cool sea.
Mossy green bed invites me,
To lie and dream in the
World of sea, as a mermaid,
As a queen of the water kingdom!
poem by Nilakshi Das
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blooming
Spring already
Flowers blooming
Birds humming
Sing their sweet
Sweet song
The air
Full of blossoms
Blooming flowers..
Blooming plants…
Blooming love
Spring is clean..
Spring is fresh…
Spring is that new beginning
We pray for in the end
poem by Alexsis Daniels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Looking for Water
Still the leaves are spinning 'round
Take my hand as we go down, and down, and down
Looking for water
Well, our light's gone in a New York minute
Don't know about you, but my heart's not in it
(Looking, looking, looking)
I'm looking for water
I'm looking for water
(Looking, looking, looking)
I can't breathe the air, can't raise a fact
'Cause all we've got left is a beat in the night, and I'm
(Looking for water)
Looking for water
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
Take my hand as we go down, and down
Leave it all behind, nothing could be found
(I'm, looking for water)
I'm looking for water
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
(I, looking for water)
Looking everywhere
(Looking for water)
Looking here and there
(I'm looking for water)
I'm looking for water
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I can't live in this cage, I can't eat this candy
The edge of the earth to the spin in my head
The look in your eyes and never means never
The dawn's early light, baby, dark is forever
(Looking, looking)
(Looking, looking)
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for watter)
Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for watter)
Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for watter)
song performed by by David Bowie, music by David Bowie, lyrics by David Bowie from Reality
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Shower
Water flowing down his black-haired head like the Greeks'
Streaming past his dark eyebrows and his deep eyes
Down his sharp nose and past his smooth cheeks
Dripping down his lush lips, past the mouth's rise
Water flowing down his strong jaws and steady chin
Streaming past his thick neck into the collar bones it trips
Down his biceps and sculptured arms that cause a din
Dripping down his hands and delicate fingertips
Water flowing down his broad shoulders
Streaming past his chest and slender warm back
Down his muscled stomach and thighs, hard as boulders
Dripping down his knees to his calves, which can bare a whack
Water flowing down his ankles to his firm feet
Creating a pool of pure liquid on the ground
Down his hard body, the water so sweet
The liquid dripping around him, so profound!
poem by Monalno Kim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Loss
In the might Orange River
just past Augrabies
you lost your magic ring
and there princess
you cried
while the water around you
circled out wider.
That knotted Russian wedding band
which should have brought you luck
that was for generations in your family
was grabbed
by the fingers of the red water
and was washed away
to maybe decorate the finger
of a dark goddess
and in your soul
you felt the darkness coming near
as if something crept
from the water right into your soul
and the shadows of willow trees
growing on the banks
reached out ominous
as if they were trying to protect you
against something.
Still the sun was bright in the sky,
the blue stretched over the heaven
and your reflection which was thrown
on the surface of the water
was matchless
and I saw tears in your dark green eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For a Picture of St. Dorothea
I bear a basket lined with grass;
I am so light, I am so fair,
That men must wonder as I pass
And at the basket that I bear,
Where in a newly-drawn green litter
Sweet flowers I carry,—sweets for bitter.
Lilies I shew you, lilies none,
None in Caesar’s gardens blow,—
And a quince in hand,—not one
Is set upon your boughs below;
Not set, because their buds not spring;
Spring not, ’cause world is wintering.
But these were found in the East and South
Where Winter is the clime forgot.—
The dewdrop on the larkspur’s mouth
O should it then be quench`d not?
In starry water-meads they drew
These drops: which be they? stars or dew?
Had she a quince in hand? Yet gaze:
Rather it is the sizing moon.
Lo, linkèd heavens with milky ways!
That was her larkspur row.—So soon?
Sphered so fast, sweet soul?—We see
Nor fruit, nor flowers, nor Dorothy.
poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On A Picture Screen
Whence these twelve peaks of Wu-shan!
Have they flown into the gorgeous screen
From heaven's one corner?
Ah, those lonely pines murmuring in the wind!
Those palaces of Yang-tai, hovering yonder—
Oh, the melancholy of it!—
Where the jeweled couch of the king
With brocade covers is desolate,—
His elfin maid voluptuously fair
Still haunting them in vain!
Here a few feet
Seem a thousand miles.
The craggy walls glisten blue and red,
A piece of dazzling embroidery.
How green those distant trees are
Round the river strait of Ching-men!
And those ships——they go on,
Floating on the waters of Pa.
The water sings over the rocks
Between countless hills
Of shining mist and lustrous grass.
How many years since these valley flowers bloomed
To smile in the sun ?
And that man traveling on the river,
Hears he not for ages the monkeys screaming?
Whoever looks on this,
Loses himself in eternity;
And entering the sacred mountains of Sung,
He will dream among the resplendent clouds.
Whitering Tears
water water from my eyes why do you come when i cry
water water from my eyes why do you hurt when i cry
water water that falls from eyes sinks through my skin and cuts my heart
you taste like lost and hurt love and saltyness when i cry
Let them share, all what I see with my eyes
Twinkling eyes,
She was
Staring the skies
Praying
To the almighty
Oh lord, give sight
To the ones without it
Let them also see
The nature’s beauty
The flowing water
Beautiful birds
Green trees
Blooming flowers
Mountains
And the blue sky
The living beings
You created
Nears and dears
Whose
Voice they hear
Let them share
All what I see
With my eyes
If needed take
One of mine
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paintings by fliss III My Friend The Artist.
Am I to recover
A good friend I discover
An artist to take note
Of what I'm carrying about.
She paints a moment
A scene so poignant
Something to treasure
A coming together
Her art now loud
It speaks her proud
It calls for attention
Her abstract sensation
Two I have seen
One of orange and green
A canvas so clean
it's story serene.
Her pen and ink
Look again don't blink
Sunflower in bloom
No paintings of gloom.
Her eyes shine bright
Laughter so light
Looking for direction
Head turned, distraction.
Now I smile, and with reason
A brand new Season
Spring is here
Freshness to the air
Two minds that kiss
My friend, fliss!
poem by Robert Green
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pleasures In Giving
this morning
you take the water hose
turn on the faucet
you squeeze the hose
and water is spread on the bush
flowers are thirsty
for those nights without rain
an early morning shower from your
water hose
gives the feast on every leaf, on every branch
on every cracking soil of this earth
it is the pleasure of giving
that makes your heart dance
with the clouds.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dazzling Hues
Golden sunshine goes streaming down the hills,
Lighting those slender, beaming daffodils.
Warming breezes skilfully wend their way,
Coaxing flowers to elegantly sway.
Spring whose colours boast such splendid views,
Tantalise the eyes with dazzling hues.
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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