Water Mill
That small narrow meandering path
In the lush green fields
Moving with the stream
Over the precipice
With a gush
The water falls
On the blades which rotate
At speeds
Invisible which makes
To rotate the huge circular rock
Tons in weight
To grind the crop.
poem by Sanjay Mehta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The electric fan rotates
The electric fan rotates
The wheels of the cycle rotate
The sun and the moon rotate
The planets rotate
Do all of them symbolise the same thing
Is the wheel of the cycle a dharmachakra
Do these whirlings and wheelings add to the music of the spheres
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If the Earth could be made to rotate twice as fast, managers would get twice as much done. If the Earth could be made to rotate twenty times as fast, everyone else would get twice as much done since all the managers would fly off.
quote by Norman Ralph Augustine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Motorcycle Speeds
it speeds its way up the hill
and down
the plain and then goes
on that narrow path
leading to the cliff
he does not know about this twist
of his journey
he falls and makes his last
breath
and there is no other way to capture
this tragedy
except through the words
of the story
or that poem that speaks of death
and resurrection
of twists
and the fall of no return
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Paths
The path to destruction is invisible,
It is travelled on by the wise,
Giving an enterprise to behold,
Like a gesture too meek.
The paths are long and hard,
In one complete stroke you have moved,
In a single movement the damage is received
As the paths lead to roads leading to fatigue.
This path we allow on the rest of the world
Is narrow and far too long to achieve,
Success needed wending like a path,
A meandering path carried a difference.
Only a road is higher than a path
For it is tortuous in a full condition,
Its heavenly splendour is exciting
Like the eating of apples attached to a tree.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grind
Grind, Grind, Grind, Grind, Grind, Grind, Grind
I can bend in sixty-eight ways
I have lived for twelve thousand days
Twenty-eight teeth inside my head
Grind three types of things and I'm sad that they're dead
Grind, Grind, Grind, Grind, Grind, Grind, Grind
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Quaternion
Fix belt tip under books on table top
While holding buckle level, step away
Rotate the buckle once; two pi nonstop
A twist results which looping won't unplay.
Restart and rotate buckle four times pi
And now by looping belt round buckle end
The twists are cleared, exhibiting to eye
Zen essence of rotation; comprehend?
Never mind.
October sixteenth, eighteen forty-three,
beside the Royal Canal of Dublin town,
Will Hamilton glimpsed spatial clarity,
as view from fourth dimension looking down.
For multiplying triples, fly one higher,
by summing in a more capacious zone,
‘A circuit closed and spark flashed' to inspire
famed maths graffiti carved in Broome Bridge stone.
i^=j^=k^= ijk = -1
poem by Diane Hine
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Deer Lay Down Their Bones
I followed the narrow cliffside trail half way up the mountain
Above the deep river-canyon. There was a little cataract crossed the path,
flinging itself
Over tree roots and rocks, shaking the jeweled fern-fronds, bright bubbling
water
Pure from the mountain, but a bad smell came up. Wondering at it I clam-
bered down the steep stream
Some forty feet, and found in the midst of bush-oak and laurel,
Hung like a bird's nest on the precipice brink a small hidden clearing,
Grass and a shallow pool. But all about there were bones Iying in the grass,
clean bones and stinking bones,
Antlers and bones: I understood that the place was a refuge for wounded
deer; there are so many
Hurt ones escape the hunters and limp away to lie hidden; here they have
water for the awful thirst
And peace to die in; dense green laurel and grim cliff
Make sanctuary, and a sweet wind blows upward from the deep gorge.--I
wish my bones were with theirs.
But that's a foolish thing to confess, and a little cowardly. We know that life
Is on the whole quite equally good and bad, mostly gray neutral, and can
be endured
To the dim end, no matter what magic of grass, water and precipice, and
pain of wounds,
Makes death look dear. We have been given life and have used it--not a
great gift perhaps--but in honesty
Should use it all. Mine's empty since my love died--Empty? The flame-
haired grandchild with great blue eyes
That look like hers?--What can I do for the child? I gaze at her and wonder
what sort of man
In the fall of the world . . . I am growing old, that is the trouble. My chil-
dren and little grandchildren
Will find their way, and why should I wait ten years yet, having lived sixty-
seven, ten years more or less,
Before I crawl out on a ledge of rock and die snapping, like a wolf
Who has lost his mate?--I am bound by my own thirty-year-old decision:
who drinks the wine
Should take the dregs; even in the bitter lees and sediment
New discovery may lie. The deer in that beautiful place lay down their
bones: I must wear mine.
poem by Robinson Jeffers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Green-Water Stream
To reach the Yellow-Flowered River
Go by the Green-Water Stream.
A thousand twists and turns of mountain
But the way there can’t be many miles.
The sound of water falling over rocks
And deep colour among pines.
Gently green floating water-plants.
Bright the mirrored reeds and rushes.
I am a lover of true quietness.
Watching the flow of clear water
I dream of sitting on the uncarved rock
casting a line on the endless stream.
poem by Wang Wei
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
Looking Back At The Greens
i too look back at those green things
from the point of view of my
green thumb
a vegetable garden without an aphid on a leaf
a row of roses, lush green leaves
and red blooms
some petals falling due to the
wind
a line of green mint trees along the path
leading to the highway
sounds of motors threatening what green there is
i come back and settle on this patch
of green meadows
and grass and gray shade
my own shadow cast
on the huge gabi leaf.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Habitat-Visions of a fragile planet
Babbling brook bubbles over broken pebbles
Rippling round smooth stones
Wonderful waterfall winding through
Meandering lazily, not in a hurry
Scorched sand beneath burning sun
Heat waves rippling upwards
Reaching towards the dry dead heat
Rushing to drown all in drought
Green grass in fresh pasture
Waving in soft cool breeze
Cattle slowly munching through
Yellow flowers and small green clovers
White streaks of wonder
Taint the clear blue sky
Whips of cloud, invisible mist
Pictures formed, incomprehensible
Black carpet splattered with invasive dots
Sparkle consistently no matter what
These far away stars glisten and shine
Remember how small we are, humbling.
Huge expanse of aqua blue space
Millions of colours mingle into obscurity
Flashes of red, blue, green yellow
Decorate the huge blue mass
Wet, humid sticky, green
Insects buzzing, damp over whelming
the pure heat enough to dizzy oneself
Rainforest drums with snakes like vines.
poem by Fae LundConlon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Beautiful Day
the fields are empty now
the grains have been harvested
the clouds drift and stay a while
on the side of the green mountain
still dressed with mists and fog
the trees line the path
the leaves are green and lush
i take as usual this morning walk
towards a hut beside a graveled path
a white heron arrives and lands
on a drying pond
the sun just shines to mark a
beautiful day
the pale horizon turns pastel blue
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tis Spring
'Tis Spring in the northern woodlands the chaffinch sings at dawn of day
And the hawthorns are heavily laden in their beautiful white flowers of May
And the scenery it is breath-taking when viewed from the higher ground
The green fields and the lush green valleys for acres and for miles around,
In fancy I can hear the old stream it's liquid voice is never still
It babbles along by the hedgerows from it's home at the foot of the hill
'Tis Spring in the northern Countries and in the green fields far away
The birds sing in groves and in woodlands for to greet the dawning of the day,
The fields wear their beautiful wildflowers the hedgerows are leafy and green
And Nature wears her brightest colours her beauty for all to be seen,
The lark carols above the valley and higher and higher he fly
His pleasant notes cannot be mistaken he seems a small speck in the sky
The robin with the sun on his orange breast is singing on the silver birch tree
And miles of beautiful views from the higher ground as far as the eyes can see.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A bush that doesn't rotate baskets must not grow mushrooms.
The Duck Pond
There's a pond at the centre of the village green,
Where ducks, moorhen and coot can be seen.
It's a feature which adds to the character and charm.
When sat by the pond, you feel a real sense of calm.
Pond-skaters and other small insects on the water skate:
The surface tension supporting their miniscule weight.
Waving their heads, the long, lush, green reeds,
Provide partial shelter for a fish as it feeds.
A frog pops its head up and looks around,
Then slips back under the water with a plopping sound.
Darting this way and that, are beautiful blue dragonflies:
Their motion so quick, they're gone in the blink of an eye.
There's sweet gallingale, marsh marigold and watercress,
But, for me, the pretty pink water lilies are by far the best.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Flood Water Moves Along
Overflow of water down the street
Flooding the earth down below
The road cannot carry any more
It’s now far above my knees
Splash, the dogs play within
Causing horrible ripples around
Gathering a bucket full of water
The weight is over the limit
Crash, the pail falls back to the stream
Leaving the trail of dirt
To go swiftly past the dog
Unwanted is the river moving
Placing burden on people
Who collectively want it dry
Forever it seems it’ll flood
And tiring is the gathering
Transporting of the dirty water
Sighing the crowd gives up
Allowing the water push
Deep within their homes
In heartache and dying pain
poem by Russell Sivey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
While He see the two playing there
How much I miss
Kyla and Tinkie today
that now plays at another place
and I see the big black dog
and the very small white one
with her big eyes
that run together
in immortal fields
and the small one hops up and down
in the long green grass
while she tries to keep up
and make barking noises
and it’s Kyla that herds off Tinkie
like a mother looking after a small one.
At a stream
with clear transparent water
small Tinkie waits patiently
with her pink tongue
hanging out of her mouth
while Kyla swims like a otter
up and down
and barks her greetings
to a African red knobbed coot
who drifts with babies
on the water
and in the shade
of a big old willow tree
is the Creator of all things
and there’s a smile
that goes from His mouth
past His eyes
while He watches
the two playing there.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Wanted A Star To Fall By Your Side
I wanted a star
To fall by your side
And not to rotate
See its downfall
Then you will rise again...
o my dear, you were once
My only happiness
Now whose sadness
You will become again? ...
Everything was
Just a game...
poem by Romeo Della Valle (2009)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
One simple way to keep organizations from becoming cancerous might be to rotate all jobs on a regular, frequent and mandatory basis, including the leadership positions.
quote by Robert Shea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
We all live on the same planet, it is our only home, so... we used to rotate crops back in the day and, you know, who cares if you're going to make a profit if everybody's too dead or glowing in the dark to be able to purchase anything.
quote by Michael Berryman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Pasturale Lullabies - Fragments Of Nocturnal Song From A Child's Abandoned Grave
Lullaby One
Remembered gait of young ponies toward
the spring's sweet water
Remembered laughter of the frail daughter there
beside the fields sweet grasses
The daughter, as the water, passes into silence
Lullaby Two
Distant crows sound the morning field beyond pasture
Dew murmurs names upon passing grasses
still, the woods echo
Below
a stream's gash extends
slowly suspires erasing dimensions
of width and depth
Lullaby Three
Blue the waters at a distance
Blue the tails of otters
Blue the eyelids of sleeping beasts
nested beneath the earth
Lamentation Song
Dear one
Dear one
They've mown the hill
The grass remains
The modern scythe and sickle
felled the frailer blades but stained
their metals green with your name
Now the sun alone shines
burns that hewn spot where I first
learned to love your passing
where I watched your leaving
grow wild and lovely,
untamed beside the stream
learned to hear the quiet there
where now a cycle is begun
A new season of your death
is running rampant again to know
the blades of time and men
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!