A Bookworm Wanting To Be A Vine
When I look at you
Oh my lovely tree
Alone on a hill
How I wish that
I may become
A honeysuckle
A clinging vine
That from your
Root to top
I may entwine
But I am just
A bookworm
Still trapped
In this book
That she is
still Reading.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
283
When I look at you
Oh my lovely tree
Alone on a hill
How I wish that
I may become
A honeysuckle
A clinging vine
That from your
Root to top
I may entwine
But I am just
A bookworm
Still trapped
In this book
That she is
still Reading.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Coronal
WITH HIS SONGS AND HER DAYS TO HIS LADY AND TO LOVE
Violets and leaves of vine,
Into a frail, fair wreath
We gather and entwine:
A wreath for Love to wear,
Fragrant as his own breath,
To crown his brow divine,
All day till night is near.
Violets and leaves of vine
We gather and entwine.
Violets and leaves of vine
For Love that lives a day,
We gather and entwine.
All day till Love is dead,
Till eve falls, cold and gray,
These blossoms, yours and mine,
Love wears upon his head,
Violets and leaves of vine
We gather and entwine.
Violets and leaves of vine,
For Love when poor Love dies
We gather and entwine.
This wreath that lives a day
Over his pale, cold eyes,
Kissed shut by Proserpine,
At set of sun we lay:
Violets and leaves of vine
We gather and entwine.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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A Fool Out Of Myself
i always think
of you
do not forget
that
i always think
of you
though i doubt
if you
also think of me
i like to think
that you also think of
me
upon a hill
under the moon
and stars
i always think of you
even inside my dream
i always think
of you
i dream that
you also think of me
as i always think
of you
i realize i am a fool
until last night
at the mall
when i see you in the
arms of another
like a vine clinging
to a tree
like a straitjacket to his
body.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tin Cup Chalice
By: jimmy buffett
1974
I wanna back to the island
Where the shrimp boats tie up to the pilin
Gimme oysters and beer
For dinner every day of the year and Ill feel fine
Ill feel fine
Chorus:
I wanna be there
Wanna go back down and lie beside the sea there
With a tin cup for a chalice, fill it up with good red wine
And Im a chewin on a honeysuckle vine
Yeah now, the sun goes slidin cross the water
Sailboats they go searchin for the breeze
Salt air it aint thin
It can stick right to your skin and make you feel fine
Makes you feel fine
Chorus:
I wanna be there
Wanna go back down and a get high by the sea there
With a tin cup for a chalice, fill it up with good red wine
And Im a chewin on a honeysuckle vine
Yes and now you heard my strange proposal
So get that packard up and lets move
I wanna be there before the day
Tries to steal away and leave us behind
Ive made up my mind
Chorus:
And I wanna be there
I wanna go back down and die beside the sea there
With a tin cup for a chalice, fill it up with good red wine
And Im a chewin on a honeysuckle vine
Coda:
Yeah with a tin cup for a chalice, fill it up with good red wine
And Im a chewin on a honeysuckle vine
Again... to miss jane
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rat Reading
Rat's are
My home
Reading for book's
At night time...!
Each book's
On the book stand
Rat reading
Not very well....! ?
Rat simply
Read some of
Pages only;
Book's are broken
Rat read mean's
Rat bite's
Book's are crying
I am also...
Rat reading
O...sorry
Rat bite's...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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I was reading a book... 'the history of glue' - I couldn't put it down.
The Echo, The Mocking Bird
to produce the echo
i need one single voice
to make the sound
i need the hill and another hill
sort of wall
where the voice is trapped
and bounce
from one corner to another
and there you have
the echo
you are the sound
i am the hill
and another hill
i am many
much many than you
expect
do you see that tree
higher than your roof?
i am that hill beyond
the grassy field
do you see the mockingbird
sitting on the twig?
please do not mention
any name
do not drag
another one
but if no one admits
well,
it could be me
i supposed so, it can be me too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A New leaf
There’s a new leaf upon the Tree
A thousand, thousand have been before
In the life of this great tree
Yet, the Tree rejoices, and is glad
For there is a New Leaf upon the tree
The roots are deep, and hidden
Tis one tree from root to branch
And lives in and through each leaf
The hearts’ smile resurrected
Through the New leaf upon the tree
Like the stars of heaven
New leaves have been many
And so they all are One
For they all share the same root
Bless the New leaf upon the tree
Perfection in the Blessing
Joy released in tears of love
The strength in life will comfort
From root to God above
A New leaf upon the tree
Beauty, Truth, and life
Complete from root to branch
When life’s cycle turns
Leaves fall to nourish roots
And behold, a New leaf upon the tree
poem by Adrian Wait
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Academics Are Daft
Wanted to quote striking lines from a book
by someone called Richard D-v-np-rt-Hin-s
who left a teaching position delineating a
social history of drugs then saw no words
of his book may be quoted except by
express permission of the author
With trepidation I copied only part of the
author's name not daring to mention the
book's title for fear of being pursued for
quoting it - a light went up - no wonder
people don't read, worries about copy-
right means we can't do anything
With a text we come across, luckily I bought
this book through a library donation, paid only
half a dollar for it - so there, getting to read it
for next to nothing - I'm glad that most people
detest reading, intellectual snobbery protecting
author's rights makes it inaccessible
Being boring to boot except to a bookworm,
nobody else interested, keeping it exclusive
demanding payment for repeating any word
from it authors make sure nobody interested
in a factual account of cold facts - if they wish
to remain incognito, ignored by the masses
It is fine with me; I may not breathe a word
about this fellow's research and conclusions
he might as well have buried his gift under a
bushel for fear of anyone reading it without
paying exorbitant amounts and that for stuff
that is not entertaining - seems to me
Academics are rather daft - he used to be
a lecturer…
Saturday 19 May 2012
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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I get letters from readers who say that they have always hated reading, but somebody suggested one of my books, they actually finished the book and enjoyed it, and they're going on to read another book. I'm thrilled that they have figured out that reading is fun.
quote by Caroline B. Cooney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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My Honeysuckle Baby
My honeysuckle, baby.
Baby, you’re my honeysuckle.
You’re my Honeysuckle Baby.
My Honeysuckle Baby, baby.
From the bush I pluck you,
Put your tart body to my lips,
And draw your sweetness in with my mouth.
My Honeysuckle Baby—that’s what you are.
The baby from whom I get delectable honey.
What fine sweetness through that nice honey.
Fine, fine sweetness, my Honeysuckle Baby.
The honey is you, baby.
The sweetness is yours, honey.
You’re my honey, but you share your sweetness.
And that’s why I keep going to the bush.
And sucking it in: your great sweetness…
poem by Micheal Valencia
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A Poem With Roots
Deep in the ground
Far beneath my feet
My mothers lifetime ago
A seed, a root, a tree began to grow.
Buried in the soil
It once lay alone,
Til the seeds, the root, the tree began to show.
Deep in the ground
Far beneath my feet.
A root became a tree.
poem by Caitlynn Rose
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A pair of Sparrows on my lovely Lemon Tree
Those were the days
So joyous and carefree
When I could watch the preening of
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree
Summer days were so short, winters were so long
And for endless hours one could go on a kite flying spree
When I could watch, hopping here and there
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree
Enjoying tender sunshine in winter is a past
And chapattis from an earthen hearth a history
When I could watch, assembling of a nest by
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree
What seemed to be mundane at that time
Life in my backyard so ordinary
Bliss it is in hindsight, chirping of
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree
I still sometimes motivate myself
To get off the treadmill and shake the shackles free
But can’t anymore find in my back yard
That pair of sparrows and that lovely lemon tree
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree..
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree.......
30 July 09
poem by Ravi Singh
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Psalm 80
The church's prayer under affliction; or, The vineyard of God wasted.
Great Shepherd of thine Israel,
Who didst between the cherubs dwell,
And lead the tribes, thy chosen sheep,
Safe through the desert and the deep;
Thy church is in the desert now,
Shine from on high and guide us through;
Turn us to thee, thy love restore,
We shall be saved and sigh no more.
Great God, whom heav'nly hosts obey,
How long shall we lament and pray,
And wait in vain thy kind return?
How long shall thy fierce anger burn?
Instead of wine and cheerful bread
Thy saints with their own tears are fed:
Turn us to thee, thy love restore,
We shall be saved, and sigh no more.
PAUSE I.
Hast thou not planted with thy hands
A lovely vine in heathen lands?
Did not thy power defend it round,
And heav'nly dews enrich the ground?
How did the spreading branches shoot,
And bless the nations with the fruit!
But now, dear Lord, look down and see
Thy mourning vine, that lovely tree.
Why is its beauty thus defaced?
Why hast thou laid her fences waste?
Strangers and foes against her join,
And every beast devours the vine.
Return, Almighty God, return,
Nor let thy bleeding vineyard mourn;
Turn us to thee, thy love restore,
We shall be saved, and sigh no more.
PAUSE II.
Lord, when this vine in Canaan grew,
Thou wast its strength and glory too;
Attacked in vain by all its foes,
Till the fair Branch of Promise rose:
Fair Branch, ordained of old to shoot
From David's stock, from Jacob's root;
Himself a noble vine, and we
The lesser branches of the tree.
'Tis thy own Son; and he shall stand
Girt with thy strength at thy right hand;
Thy first-born Son, adorned and blest
With power and grace above the rest.
O for his sake attend our cry,
Shine on thy churches lest they die;
Turn us to thee, thy love restore,
We shall be saved, and sigh no more.
poem by Isaac Watts
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The unequal will depart
In some, a tree grows too tall for a vine.
In some, a vine is too long for a tree.
In both cases, the stunted are replaced
In a couple, when one outgrows the other,
The other is left out to be replaced.
It is inevitable.
04.12.2001, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Encounter
Those who have touched it or been touched by it
Or brushed by something that the vine has brushed,
Or burning it, have stood where the sly smoke
Has touched them-Know the meaning of its name.
The leaf is smooth. Its green is innocence.
A clean, unblemished leaf, glossy when young.
A leaf the unobserving might overlook
And the observing find too prosperous.
I've seen a vine of it so old and crooked
It held a hen-coop in its grip, the stalk
Thick as a man's wrist. There it had grown,
Half out of sight, permitted, undisturbed.
Strangers to it, who on a autumn road
Have found a vine that swept a tree like fire
And gathered it barehanded and brought it home
For color, seldom gathered it again.
Some are immune and some have thought they were
And some, ever so cautiously with gloves,
Finding that it grew to near their homes,
Have tried to root it out and have succeeded
Except that something from the vine fastened
Upon their flesh and burned, and in a year
Or two the vine itself was there again,
Glossy and green and smooth and innocent.
My neighbor's cow grazing beside the road
Munches with joy (and almost with a smile)
The salad of its leaves, transmuting them
Into sweet milk that I will drink tomorrow.
poem by Robert Francis
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Roots, Trees, and Fruits
A tree is known by its root
The source of its first life
A fruit is known by the tree
As a man is known through strife.
The root of a man is his family
The tree is the man that has grown-
The words that he writes in poetry
Show the rearing he has known.
-
Copyright Cynthia Buhain -Baello
July 6,2009 Tarlac City Philippines
--
'No good tree bears bad fruit, nor does a bad tree bear good fruit.
Each tree is recognized by own fruit.'
Luke 6: 43
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Love's Seasons
When the bees are humming in the honeysuckle vine
And the summer days are in their bloom,
Then my love is deepest, oh, dearest heart of mine,
When the bees are humming in the honeysuckle vine.
When the winds are moaning o'er the meadows chill and gray,
And the land is dim with winter gloom,
Then for thee, my darling, love will have its way,
When the winds are moaning o'er the meadows chill and gray.
In the vernal dawning with the starting of the leaf,
In the merry-chanting time of spring,
Love steals all my senses, oh, the happy-hearted thief!
In the vernal morning with the starting of the leaf.
Always, ever always, even in the autumn drear,
When the days are sighing out their grief,
Thou art still my darling, dearest of the dear,
Always, ever always, even in the autumn drear.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Your Book
Strangers came into the apartment
walked right to the bookshelf
to spill beer on your book.
Your book on a hook dangling off the roof
attracted a white horse to the door.
Your book emitted physical waves
into the air, drying my hair.
You climbed a tree to write
your book where you wouldn't be seen.
There was no tree there
until you made it.
The shimmering leaves seemed to be powered by light.
The tree shuffled this light onto strings.
The strings hung from the air.
The printers sewed your book together with them.
poem by Matthew Rohrer
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