Related quotes: and i turn myself instead...

I See Lakes On The Pics

and i turn myself instead to those images
on the net, i surf: serenity, gratitude, bliss,
divinity and eternity, and what appears on screen
are pictures of lakes, and there is this

Lake Moraine of Alberta

a lake so placid, a swan taking its way to the other side
green trees and an old castle on the other

so serene,

and there is the figure of a man raising his hands
to the sky, on top of a mountain, overlooking a lake,

so grateful, perhaps that amidst all these beauty
he is there still alive to see, to savor, to praise, to thank, to be silent

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Soul Dies

Sky overcast, moon was sad.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

Who killed the bird in morning rain?
Ashes were sent to the lake.

A hidden slaughterman did not die.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

The good old name now spells the doom.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

I will call you in pitch-dark night.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

Ascending gods have ruined my life.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

A child was stolen from a mother’s bed.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

poem by Satish Verma
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To Be And So On

To Be or…

The swan on the lake doesn’t know it is a swan,
they say. How do they know? A swan may look
at us and say to another swan “Darling humans
don’t who they are.” Quite right my lovely, they
are daft that way” (swans have lot in common
with actors, the lake is their stage and we are
their adoring audience) I know that because Tom,
the only actor I have met in the flesh, called me
darling, well, not only me but everyone he spoke
to. Tom died no one calls me darling anymore.
We only think we know ourselves, if we really did
it would be too scary to know that inside us lurks
a monster.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Like the lake a Chinese poet sits beside in a painting

Who cares about
the weight of a lake?
Who would care to weigh it?

Who cares about
the colour of a lake
without the light of the sky
to reflect in it?

Who notices its modesty,
reflecting all, but silent of itself?

Who observes that the lake
remains unaffected,
not pained by loss,
not pleased by gain?

Who notices its wisdom,
obeying every law?

Who names its generosity,
among the fish, the birds,
the animals who drink?

Who knows whether the tree
leaning over it, sees its own reflection?

Who notices its love?
It bonds with earth,
It flows when needed,
as love does.

Who asks where the lake came from,
seeing it there?

Who wonders how old that lake is?
It is without age today.

Who wonders whether the lake
knows itself water,
or if water knows itself lake?

Who does not go to seek it,
for its stillness, for its silence,
as if it understands the mind’s needs,
the heart’s nourishment?

He is like that.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Toyboat

Im waiting for a boat to help me out of here - mm,
Waiting for a boat to help me out.
The boat that reached my shore was a toyboat - mm,
Waiting for a boat to help me out.
Im dreaming of a lake Ive never seen before - mm,
Im dreaming of a lake Ive never seen.
The lake Ive seen last was a picture lake - mm,
Dreaming of a lake Ive never seen.
You who are,
You who are,
Help me out, help me out, help me out of here.
Im thinking of a castle on a top a hill - mm,
Thinking of a castle on a top a hill.
The castle Ive been to was full of flies - mm,
Thinking of a castle on a top a hill.
You who are,
You who are,
Help me out, help me out, help me out of here.
You who are,
You who are,
Help me out, help me out, help me out of here.

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life is There Where The Moment is Mine And His

It's a sultry summer day and here is a lake,
All around lies a forest with tall oaks,
We could feel the freshness of the trees,
We enjoy the green of nature and the happy birds.

Sun is setting slowly, its last shine is kissing the waves,
You are keeping my hand into yours and we are walking around the lake,
I have a great feeling, something i cant describe in words,
If exists a meaning of life, you are the meaning of everything.

He is rowing a boat crossing the lake,
Looking at each other our eyes meet,
Words are not enough to express our happiness and love,
Our silence is a romance in moonlight.

Phosphorescence of the moon in lake water,
Was reflecting in his eyes such brightness,
I can see the joy of his face, his magnetic smile,
We'll seal this love with a tender hug and a kiss.

We'll float on the lake took by the wind,
His arms wrapping me meanwhile we gaze to each other,
He is mine and i belong to him to eternity,
Life is there where the moment is mine and his.

poem by Cristina Teodor
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Across the Lake Unto the Sky

Across the lake
Unto the sky
There bloomed a rainbow
To feast my eye
That late afternoon
After a brief spell of rain

When my heart was still
Entangled with the lake's heart
There the sun rushed in
Leaving the lake half-thirsty
The archer hiding deep under the lake
Aimed and shot an arrow
At the unruly sun and left
His bow across the sky
As if telling the sun 'beware! '

Lo, vanished the sun in fright
The lake had its fill!
Do you hear the clouds applaud?

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Across The Lake Unto The Sky

Across the lake
Unto the sky
There bloomed a rainbow
To feast my eye

That late afternoon
After a brief spell of rain

Lo, vanished the sun in fright
The lake had its fill!
Do you hear the clouds applaud?

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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The Country Wife

She makes her way through the dark trees
Down to the lake to be alone.
Following their voices on the breeze,
She makes her way. Through the dark trees
The distant stars are all she sees.
They cannot light the way she's gone.
She make her way through the dark trees
Down to the lake to be alone.

The night reflected on the lake,
The fire of stars changed into water.
She cannot see the winds that break
The night reflected on the lake
But knows they motion for her sake.
These are the choices they have brought her:
The night reflected on the lake,
The fire of stars changed into water.

poem by Dana Gioia
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Qinghai Lake

Qinghai, Qinghai Lake,
Largest salt lake in China

Blue colour water
Blue clear skies.

Birds fly near the Birds island
During spring times.

Stand high and tall at 3,600 m
Weather according to season

Sunrise at dawn
Sunset at dusk near Qinghai Lake

beautiful colourful lake
seen from hill top

Many cattle of yaks and sheep at the hills top
with the nomadic Tibetans and their tent

The lake full of beauty and colour
beyond compare

Qinghai Hu,
Many fishes and plants.

poem by Lawrence Hiung
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The Price Of Water

The little lake, not far from the houses, has been
dry for years and is full of thistles and rubbish.
By, what was its shore, the sad rest of a rowboat
I remember it was blue, and someone had nicked
its oars; for firewood I take it. I used to row in
this lake in the evening catching trout.

When the moon made the lake into shimmering
silver my heart got quite wobbly by the beauty.
Last week I crossed the lake on my scooter, it was
not easy I lost my balance and was badly stung,
gasped for air, felt as drowning in a dry lagoon.
In the future the new commodity will be water.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Call Of Untainted Waters

She is like
a mountain spring
bubbling fresh clear
from unseen cool depths
of substrata earth
through fracture of rock.

I rejoice
in such beauty
on a hot
windless day.

And would
cool
my face
hands
in her
presence,
quench my
thirst,
rest a while.

But you are still
depths
of nature's lake.

There is beauty
about you
on these
your shimmering
waters
vibrant life within.

I would swim
in mysteries
of a cool lake.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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I Went For A Walk

I went for a walk on the lake-side path today
And so disappointed am I for to say
That the lake is covered in blue green algae from end to end
To Nature few humans have been a good friend.

Fertilizer spread by farmers on their crops and washed into creek and drain
In thundery weather by heavy showers of rain
Cause blue green algae on the still waters to grow
Though others with more knowledge of Natural Science than I claim they know

That ducks help to spread blue green algae on a lake
Though the ducks side on this one I surely must take
For I do find that rather hard to believe
And for the pollution of Nature a reason to grieve.

For the health of our Earth Mother too few seem to care
Pollution of land and of water and air
And due to habitat destruction wildlife becoming rare
And too few 'twould seem are environmentally aware.

I went for a walk on the path by the lake
And I felt disappointed for our Earth Mother's sake
To see the lake covered in blue green algae from end to end
To Nature few humans have been a good friend.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Chicago Sestina

I am surprised by the streets of Chicago
when the palm of winter grips them with snow
as if to forgive the city’s mistakes
and give it a canvas that’s new, white, and clean–
its fingers, the branches on all of the trees
kneading the air that blows in from the lake.

I’ve never lived next to the pulse of the lake
(until I set foot down the side of Chicago)
breathing in through the streets and out through the trees
welcoming the cool of the wet, numbing snow.
It lets my mind slip into thinking it’s clean
as if to personally forgive my mistakes.

“But what have you done to forgive your mistakes? ”
Did I ask this? Or is that the voice of the lake?
Some days, not even does it appear clean,
worn down from its tall standing neighbor, Chicago.
It scrapes at the sky, asking it for more snow
to stick to and freeze the trunks of the trees.

If I were a branch on one of these trees
incapable of making a single mistake,
I’d grab at the sky as it shook out the snow
and grow my roots thick till they tasted the lake.
But I wouldn’t bend to the force of Chicago
that’s constantly keeping me from being clean.

And what does it mean to try to be clean?
I don’t understand the stillness of the trees
when they’re being attacked by the size of Chicago
as if to glorify the city’s mistakes
that glisten like stars at night on the lake
before it all froze and was covered with snow.

Ah! To imagine how long there’s been snow.
How can something this old still feel so clean
and dance through the wind that swoops in from the lake?
Is it the kneading by the spiny branches on trees
trusting that there will be no more mistakes
that leaves these the only pure thing in Chicago?

Here comes the snow that seeks out the trees
Am I now clean? Where are my mistakes?
Chicago belongs where it lay with the lake.

poem by Brian Maloney
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The Restorant of Kintamani

From behind glass
Window Of Restaurant Kintamani
He talked
Again and again
Looking to far away
Blue surface of the Batur lake
To unite firmly with The mount Batur foot
Blak-green colour
To form a straigt-line of horizone
To unite with haze
To unite with the cold air
To bite imy dept skin and bone
That start porous
To bite repeatedly
To bite repeatedly my old memory
That had left behind
To become shadow
Which follow me
Where ever I go
I will run
To go down the mountain
To the lake side
And to dive in
In the dept
of thy secret
to drown all my memory
in the dept
on thy lake
but I doubt
that I could
to do that

I still silently
Still hearing
She told me
Her stories
While I am hearing
Rusling of the leaves
The leaves rustled in the wind
Blow in my heart niche
I left it precipatate/settled
In the bottom
Of my life lakes
Self
(Kintamani, Bali, Saturday, July 15,2006

poem by Prasetya Utama
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Un Caneton Heureux

SHAKESPEAREAN SONNET

This snowflake illustration, have no doubt-
Appears as like-wise to a dying swan;
Let’s not deter for their sakes yield without
We'd purposefully put this scene upon.
I need to ask if all your dreams have died,
To reappear from feathers duly felt
Half cuddled to the next new ones supplied
If need be fetched for huddled softer svelte?
Assured! It’s no more, less conspicuous,
Than swans who’ve masqueraded idle wakes,
Who’d sell the dying theme as one immerse;
Too often seen, in lifeless path remakes.
To honour such a ballet known for pluck,
Could countless scorn begrudge a haughty duck.

ITALIAN SONNET

When there is much to gain than to mistake,
The swan, its entire dignitary, Bliss!
Reports of ducks preventing them all ‘this’,
Their rightful place to wade in half a lake.
Could sense of the denial be spared an ounce?
Resounding joy exhibiting this threat?
The judges would award them their rosette
An audience to whom one would announce!
I ask you, who’d participate in both,
For lake and field for furies sake shall act?
Diffusing matters more concerning blame
To whom it was infringed themselves I loathe! ‘
Tis not the lay of land that lakes retract,
But height from which the wiser word became.

poem by Titus Llewellyn
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Maximus

Beautiful Samosir Island,
Splash and swim in the lake of love with me;
For i am Maximus with a temperate paradise,
And like Sipisppiso Waterfalls in the name of love.
Palm trees and pine trees flourish side by side around you,
But take me to Lake Toba's spectacular scenery and idyllic climate!
For your beautiful Island had really satisfied my muse and,
Of the truth to know more about you in the valley of your peace!

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Reflection of God

Thoughts are like ripples,
gently flowing over
the surface of the mind.

Deep inside us
we bear the image of God,
the ripples of thought break that image
into fragments.

It is as if you are looking in
a lake full of ripples-
It is a full moon night,
and the lake is reflecting
the beautiful moon.

But the lake is full of ripples
You cannot gather the moon together;
the moon goes on splitting
into a thousand fragments.
The whole lake seems to be
spread over by the moon-
the silvery beauty, softly broken apart;
many a fragments is seen floating-
all around.

Then the wind stops,
the ripples disappear:
those fragments start falling into one moon.
The silver that was spread
all over the lake,
now becomes more concentrated
into one place - into one moon.

When the lake
is completely without ripples,
the moon is reflected perfectly.
God is reflected perfectly
when there is no ripple in you.

poem by Nazmul Haque
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The Mountain And The Lake

I know a mountain thrilling to the stars,
Peerless and pure, and pinnacled with snow;
Glimpsing the golden dawn o'er coral bars,
Flaunting the vanisht sunset's garnet glow;
Proudly patrician, passionless, serene;
Soaring in silvered steeps where cloud-surfs break;
Virgin and vestal -- Oh, a very Queen!
And at her feet there dreams a quiet lake.

My lake adores my mountain -- well I know,
For I have watched it from its dawn-dream start,
Stilling its mirror to her splendid snow,
Framing her image in its trembling heart;
Glassing her graciousness of greening wood,
Kissing her throne, melodiously mad,
Thrilling responsive to her every mood,
Gloomed with her sadness, gay when she is glad.

My lake has dreamed and loved since time was born;
Will love and dream till time shall cease to be;
Gazing to Her in worship half forlorn,
Who looks towards the stars and will not see --
My peerless mountain, splendid in her scorn. . . .
Alas! poor little lake! Alas! poor me!

poem by Robert William Service
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Off-limits

There was a soul-searching
after a negative assassination
tearing my past, my future.

Beneath the burden
lies the mountain of bail-outs.
You don’t feel whole
in shadows of countings.

The borders were breached
for lavish darkness
alive under the full moon.

Was it a flight risk in a swan
lake, when you were
taking a dive to pluck the
erupting fire of indictment.