With You As My Starting Point
he laughs at me
finding perhaps that it is funny
that you are my
starting point
of what i asked?
a launching pad of my
rockets
a field for my crash
landing
a garden for my seeds of
flowers
a nest for my eggs
a hole for my emptiness
a window for me to see
the world out there
calling for my name
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
A blooming poem
A blooming poem
~
all the flowers in the garden
those wild in every field
the pallet of the sky and clouds
each a picture of beauty
does touch the soul
with all that is good
inspire the mind to think
only great thoughts
it is nature which nurtures
the way the world does grow
like the seeds in every field and garden
let the be sowed into every soul
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Crazy Crash Landing! !
Crazy crash landing
I was there n everyone was there excpt u
I was lost
It was painful for me
Just wanted u there
just Leav it n let it flow
Everythngs same
Nuthng has changd excpt u n me
Wht a breaking news
Crazy crash landing
I was there n everyone was there excpt u
I hav no words left to explain my pain
I'm gone with wind
Every second is full of trash
just Leav it n let it flow
Its crazy crash landing
poem by Somia Race
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The Old Man....
there is this garden that you tend
you put the seeds and they all sprout in time
time waters it
the changes take place
soon the flowers bloom and
you watch all these
with patience
there is this light feeling that comes
like butterfly wings
white against the dusk
there is nothing new in that garden
you are sick and takes the rest
you sit by the window
the same window all these 50 years
time is you boring attendant
independent from your grasp
it can exist without you
you sit and watch the world passing by
like a flower slowly unfolding
and you never notice it
you go out
you have recovered from a disease
you
take a walk
visit some friends
come back in the afternoon
you watch the view from the window
again
this you do perhaps for another 50 years
of your life
setting aside fears of not having to
step upon 60
life is short for those who have no one to love
it is the same field same mountain
bald and brown
same clouds
pale blue and drifting
same fog
fading like a magical show
same window
that you close again
because it is dark
and cold inside
your old wooden bed
that you have
inherited from your
forefathers
as usual
you take your sleep
time passes you by
the room is so silent
as though
it is the home for
the dead
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Oh! Natural Beauties!
Earth laughs in flowers, flowers laugh in showers,
Sea laughs in fishes, fishes laugh in waters ……
Sky laughs in clouds, clouds laugh in rain, oh sire!
But man laughs in BSNL Towers and what a satire!
Nature is a wonderland; it is heaven's abode with elixir,
Thus, I wonder at this nature’s splendor!
In the garden with heaven’s flowers
Oh nature’s gifts! You are funny little fellows!
Oh natural beauties, you are dainty little dears!
Come! Come near me, Do you hear me, my little fellows!
Nature is a wonderland; it is heaven's abode with elixir,
Thus, I wonder at this nature’s splendor!
The woods are full of faeries!
As The trees are the lovers........
The garden is full of angels without worries!
As the flowers are the lovers.........
Nature is a wonderland; it is heaven's abode with elixir,
Thus, I wonder at this nature’s splendor!
Nature is admirable and inspirable........
Nature instills hope and enlightens us all days;
Being thus prepared for us in all ways with......
Good for food and made our life desirable;
Nature is a wonderland; it is heaven's abode with elixir,
Thus, I wonder at this nature’s splendor!
Let me hire satire! Let me fire human ire
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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Starting Over
Within every life there comes a time
when you need to take a break,
to start something new.
A point at when your life seems stale
and starting over is the only thing to do.
Not everyone wants to do it,
in fact most refuse to try.
They idle away each day,
not realising they need to do something new.
The world passes by them
as they stand at the garden gate
and before they know it
starting over for them is too late.
Therefore, if you need to get out of a rut
before it is too late,
start looking for something new
to enhance your life with beauty,
which you have forgotten what it was like.
Starting over can make you a new person,
sometimes even better than before.
poem by David Harris
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Dead Souls
Someone take these dreams away
That point me to another day
A duel of personalities
That stretch all true reality
They keep calling me
Keep on calling me
They keep calling me
Keep on calling me
When figures from the past stand tall
And mocking voices ring the hall
Imperialistic house of prayer
Conquistadores who took their share
They keep calling me
Keep on calling me
They keep calling me
Keep on calling me
Calling me, calling me
Calling me, calling me
They keep calling me
Keep on calling me
They keep calling me
Keep on calling me
Written by: joy division
Performed by: trent reznor
song performed by by Nine Inch Nails
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0008 A Woman's World
She was artistic as a student,
sweet-natured, imaginative, not
overly ambitious; a good catch
for him, the fellow student with
the drive, the ambition, the great
family connections.
They married young; she did
what so many girl art students
have done: gave him all her
intelligent support, bore and raised
his children; and in the few brief moments
that she was granted for herself, took out
her student paintbox, and while the kettle boiled,
sat at the kitchen table, and beyond the view of washing-up
part painted that familiar view –
a jug of garden flowers on the kitchen window-sill..
and when he left her for
another strong woman who, however,
sculpted the cutting-edge new abstract thing
she brought up his children by herself
and when they left the nest, and she, now older,
had more time to give to paint,
she returned - as so many artists do –
to that motif, for them an eternal reminder
of that moment when the exalted mind
sees, beyond the kitchen sink,
a glimpse of that great heavenly view
beyond the garden flowers, where
she could walk into that paradise
that eternally awaits
the sweet-tempered heart..
and year by year, the modest
jug of flowers on the window-sill
became herself
and she
became that heavenly view
until the jug of flowers burst into glory
and she did what only ikon painters, praying, do
and gold and silver joined the rainbow paint
to point the way to an eternity
where kitchen sink’s now holy path;
that is more now than now
and she became,
the painting is,
a jug of Eden's flowers on a kitchen window-sill
and with all heaven in its sight
poem by Michael Shepherd
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07. Love, what is Love?
love, oh what is love?
flowers in so many shapes and hues
giving sweetness to butterflies and bees
in so many shapes and hues
in the field, a buzz, a joy, these insects
help create another world
another paradise, warm colourful flower garden
for lovers of the world
help spread cheers everywhere
with the sweetness the flowers
where the flowers are, the butterflies, the bees are
where there is love, joy spreads
wide as the field
just look at the butterflies and the bees
how they cheer up the field with their songs and dance
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Funny, But Not So Funny
Funny am I
How at this point of my life
That I'll ever see such as these
That people find it humorous
Of which I don't, at least, not as much
To live a life of folly.
Funny is it
How this world evolve with things
Looking real when everyone knows
That it isn't all there is to it
Wanting 'em with their life at stake
Wishing like nothing in carelessness.
Funny, but not so funny
For people could think as such
Like no one will know of it;
For people could do as such
Like there is no a payback for it;
Funny, but not so funny.
Funny, but not so funny
When such a time comes
As the world evolves
So is what have been sown
May not be at your lifetime
But to the lives of the generation to come.
Funny, but not so funny
When given a time to live
But only not many have the thought of it
Living a life just to get by
Is not what accounted for
But living under the will of God.
Funny, but not so funny... at least, not just yet.
poem by Mary Louise Mann Gabumpa
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The bow-leg boy
Who should come up the road one day
But the doctor-man in his two-wheel shay!
And he whoaed his horse and he cried "Ahoy!
I have brought you folks a bow-leg boy!
Such a cute little boy!
Such a funny little boy!
Such a dear little bow-leg boy!"
He took out his box and he opened it wide,
And there was the bow-leg boy inside!
And when they saw that cunning little mite,
They cried in a chorus expressive of delight:
"What a cute little boy!
What a funny little boy!
What a dear little bow-leg boy!"
Observing a strict geometrical law,
They cut out his panties with a circular saw;
Which gave such a stress to his oval stride
That the people he met invariably cried:
"What a cute little boy!
What a funny little boy!
What a dear little bow-leg boy!"
They gave him a wheel and away he went
Speeding along to his heart's content;
And he sits so straight and he pedals so strong
That the folks all say as he bowls along:
"What a cute little boy!
What a funny little boy!
What a dear little bow-leg boy!"
With his eyes aflame and his cheeks aglow,
He laughs "aha" and he laughs "oho";
And the world is filled and thrilled with the joy
Of that jolly little human, the bow-leg boy--
The cute little boy!
The funny little boy!
The dear little bow-leg boy!
If ever the doctor-man comes my way
With his wonderful box in his two-wheel shay,
I 'll ask for the treasure I'd fain possess--
Now, honest Injun! can't you guess?
Why, a cute little boy--
A funny little boy--
A dear little bow-leg boy!
poem by Eugene Field
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The Weed
There was an old woman
that planted a garden.
And in the garden
there grew a weed.
The weed grew next to
a beautiful flower.
The flower had grown
from a tiny seed.
The weed was strong
and would not bend.
The wind did blow
and it did send
the seeds from the flower
into the air.
They circled around
and landed where
the weed was growing
next to the flower.
Soon the weed was
surrounded by flowers.
It loved where it was
and looked by the hours
at all of the beautiful
colorful flowers.
The old woman who planted
the garden one day
decided that she would
make a bouquet.
She went to the garden
to cut the flowers.
But when she got there
down came the showers.
The raindrops that fell
made the weed shine
which made the old woman
change her mind.
She left them alone
in her garden and knew
that the weed belonged
with the flowers that grew.
She'd planted the flowers.
God planted the weed.
The garden was perfect.
No bouquet did she need.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Real World
Excuse me sir,
Could you tell me how to get to the real world?
Oh o oh wow!
Uh huh, the world is a funny place
And its calling you names
Hey hey, the world is a funny place, heeeey
Oh o wow!
Oh wow in the real world walking around
I think Im falling in love again
Hey guardian angel - more light for falling in love
Oh wow!, hey hey
Ho ho the world is a funny place
And its calling you names
Hey hey, the world is a funny place heeeey
Oh wow!
Oh wow in the real world look at the sky
Hear the calling above again
Look mom an angel - all right for falling in love
Deep down in the sea of her
Life is surrounding
You can feel like a dove and then
Like a million rainbows
Here they come again, here they come again
They call it falling in love
They call it falling
Oh wow!
In the real world lookin around
I think Im falling in love with them
In the garden of angels
Ho ho were falling in love (oh wow!)
Hey hey its a real world
Look at the ground
Can you see your reflection there
Everything is single
Here we come again
Here we come again
Hey guardian angel
Open your eyes
And all the love will make you fly -- high
Real world, real world
Were in the real world
Falling in love again
Were in the real world (oh wow!)
Oh wow in the real world walking around
I think Im falling in love again
Hey guardian angel, more light for falling in love
Hey hey its a real world walking around
I think Im falling in love again
Hey guardian angel,
Here we come again, here we come again
They call it falling in love (hey)
They call it falling in love (hey)
They call it falling in love (hey)
They call it falling in love (hey)
They call it falling in love (hey)
They call it falling in love (hey)
They call it falling in love (hey)
They call it falling in love (hey)
Oh wow! hey!
Oh wow!
song performed by by Men Without Hats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hen laid eggs
Hen laid an eggs, between legs two,
No small, no big but not in zoo,
Ran after those who made slight dig,
Dog, cat and crow planned very big,
Hen laid eggs……
Hen becomes heroin when find egg,
With big noise run after with one leg,
Even scare pig and allow near no body,
How to protect eggs that is only worry?
Hen laid eggs……
Make no fun when she may have kitten,
Beautiful scene seen when run in garden,
Children love to see and catch with fun,
Prefer little kitten and make gentle run,
Hen laid eggs……
Small kids ask, what will be her task?
How to protect them, by putting a mask?
Often they look at them and draw on page,
night take them all to stay in simple cage,
hen laid eggs……
Papa and mummy, where from kittens came?
Who laid an eggs and how she played game?
Simply they observe and ask funny questions
Why kitten become cock and not small hen?
Hen laid eggs....
What a lovely fun? I couldn’t answer one?
It was more confusing than work undone?
Answered few more questions but not in full,
Avoided by telling you may get it from school
Hen laid eggs.....
How to answer questions? When faced many?
Simple they may look but nature seems funny,
better not answer question any more,
It may not be ending but more and feel bore,
Hen laid eggs......
It is not the hen but cock steals show,
People get irritation when shouts crow,
Kittens and children happy and steadily grow,
Cock serve as alarm when mighty voice blow
Hen laid eggs......
Cocks find preference and first depart,
When runs after hen even looks smart,
Hen not resist when cock’s teasing start,
But end days near when both ways part,
Hen laid eggs......
Story may be funny and more amusing,
Cock and hen story more interest arousing,
Their fight may be limited only for refusing,
Alas! We could learn more and stop abusing,
Hen laid eggs......
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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My Funny Man
Love makes many lose temper
Others get hurt
Some even cry and forget about their existence
Unlike my funny man
He is always happy
Laughing and cracking jokes all the time
Amazing how funny he is
When in trouble he stays calm
He stands still and plans ahead
No time for worries
His presence hinders me from remembering
all snares the world brings
Because of him I refuse to think
the world contains stubborn men
His funny stories never cease
and my happiness will last forever with my funny man
Little by little he is turning me into a funny woman
I can feel the changes in me
There is always a smile on my face
Whenever I talk, he laughs and becomes happier
I know I am his funny woman
What a pleasure to have my funny man around!
poem by Josephine Chifundo Likoya
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The Cockatoo and the Kangaroo
The happy cockatoo asked the hopping kangaroo,
“Does everyone in your family have a purse like you? ”
The hopping kangaroo stopped and smiled at the bird,
Saying, “Calling it a pouch would be a better word.”
The happy cockatoo was interested in learning more
And asked, “A pouch? Please tell me what it’s for.
The kangaroo explained that she had become a mother.
This pouch was the home of this new precious other.
Out of the pouch the precious baby popped his head;
Looked at the cockatoo with a funny smile and said,
“You make me very nervous Mr. Happy Cockatoo.
Flying in the air with those arms on top of you.”
Mother kangaroo said, “Don’t be afraid of such things.
Since this cockatoo is a bird, those are called wings.
Just as we kangaroo hop on our legs to get around,
The cockatoo uses its wings to fly above the ground.”
The cockatoo said, “I guess it’s like my nest in the tree
Where I lay and hatch my eggs, then raise my family.”
Your ways seem strange. It’s different from what I see.
Though when I get to know you, you’re a lot like me.
We both have our babies and help them find their way
So they can love and raise their own families another day.
It’s this love we all share that shines brightly as a flame
Whether pouch, feather or wing, we’re all much the same.”
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Thats Not Really Funny
Did you think that I would laugh when you said I was small
Did you think that that would pass as if nothing at all
You say a lot of funny things, my little bunny
And I almost always laugh, but thats not really funny
You play the little bells and tell a good story
You bake delicious pie and thats enough for me
But I dont think that Im your man, and youre my little honey
And I like what you have to say, but thats not really funny
You must not continue to wear my ? ? like me
The neighbour children threw the window to the sea
The little boy will wipe his nose bacause its runny
Then point at me and laugh, but thats not really funny
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flowers for me.
Here, in the green field, yonder the sky is blue
Behind ‘Ramogi" sacred hills, I see it blue
I wade past the tall, spear like flowering grass
To, pink, red, and yellow, I pick the flowers
Up a tree I see two weaver birds building their nest
Flowers I sample, all alone, for me, I'll bring these to my nest.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Know, Nature, like the cuckoo, laughs at law
`Know, Nature, like the cuckoo, laughs at law,
Placing her eggs in whatso nest she will;
And when, at callow-time, you think to find
The sparrow's stationary chirp, lo! bursts
Voyaging voice to glorify the Spring.'
poem by Alfred Austin
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Fairies Come A-calling
winter fairies come
a-calling
faces pressed window panes
twinkling
frost makes lacy prints
glittering
light snow pristine pure
falling
world young life fresh
breathing
winter fairies come
a-calling
spring fairies come
a-calling
birds return twig nests
building
flowers open petals pink
blooming
fresh life everywhere
springing
pink green blue pale
coloring
easter eggs painted coats
hiding
spring fairies come
a-calling
summer fairies come
a-calling
evenings teem fireflies
sparkling
watermelon opens red
eating
grass crisps green gold
waving
wind soft thunder nights
lightning
ocean swim hazy twilights
fishing
summer fairies come
a-calling
autumn fairies come
a-calling
colors ripe red gold
falling
harvest pumpkins orange
picking
apples delicious fresh
tasting
leaves underfoot piles
crackling
autumn fairies come
a-calling
poem by Sophia White
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The Blue Tit's Nest
Some childhood memories with us seem to linger
And I recall when I was nine or so
Of seeing blue tit fly from hole in standing tree stump
One April day more than forty years ago.
I stood on tip toes and tried to look inside the tree stump
But all seemed dark in there I needed light
I hurried back home for to fetch a flash lamp
And what I saw a memorable sight.
A little nest of moss and hay and lined with feathers
And nine pale eggs with freckles brown to red
Laid by the little bird with yellow unders
Blue wings and tail and tiny blue cap on head.
I marvelled at this wondrous sight of Nature
How one small bird so many eggs could lay
The memory all those years has remained with me
And I still can picture what I see today.
I still can picture forty five years later
Nine speckled eggs in nest of moss and hay
Some things from childhood always remain with us
And from the memory never fade away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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