En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The One-Legged Man

Propped on a stick he viewed the August weald;
Squat orchard trees and oasts with painted cowls;
A homely, tangled hedge, a corn-stalked field,
And sound of barking dogs and farmyard fowls.

And he’d come home again to find it more
Desirable than ever it was before.
How right it seemed that he should reach the span
Of comfortable years allowed to man!
Splendid to eat and sleep and choose a wife,
Safe with his wound, a citizen of life.
He hobbled blithely through the garden gate,
And thought: ‘Thank God they had to amputate!’

poem by Siegfried Sassoon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Real Property

Tell me about that harvest field.
Oh! Fifty acres of living bread.
The colour has painted itself in my heart;
The form is patterned in my head.

So now I take it everywhere,
See it whenever I look round;
Hear it growing through every sound,
Know exactly the sound it makes —
Remembering, as one must all day,
Under the pavement the live earth aches.

Trees are at the farther end,
Limes all full of the mumbling bee:
So there must be a harvest field
Whenever one thinks of a linden tree.

A hedge is about it, very tall,
Hazy and cool, and breathing sweet.
Round paradise is such a wall,
And all the day, in such a way,
In paradise the wild birds call.

You only need to close your eyes
And go within your secret mind,
And you'll be into paradise:
I've learnt quite easily to find
Some linden trees and drowsy bees,
A tall sweet hedge with the corn behind.

I will not have that harvest mown:
I'll keep the corn and leave the bread.
I've bought that field; it's now my own:
I've fifty acres in my head.
I take it as a dream to bed.
I carry it about all day....

Sometimes when I have found a friend
I give a blade of corn away.

poem by Harold Monro
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Obadiah Bell

I am fit and I am well (so said Obadiah Bell.)
I take life as it come from day to day,
I have never been a scorner
Of the 'trouble round the corner,'
For it may be lurking half a life away.
No false vision ere bewitches
Me with dreams of fame or riches,So I'm fairly well content and free of strife.
With my job and friends and my garden and my fowls, and my club and my bowls
and my pipe and my books and my dog and my family and my wife.
And, since I seek the safer things in life,
Most especially my family and wife.

On occasion, vagrant fears stir me with the passing years,
A sudden qualm, a flash of half-felt fright;
But I know my limitations
As a savior of nations:
And who am I to put the world aright.
So, when qualms like these assail me,
What I find may never fail me
As, contented as I may, tho' life I jog,
Are my job and friends and my fowls and my club and my bowls and my pipe
and my family and my wife and my books and my garden and my dog,
And, when I'd dissipate some mental fog,
Most especially my garden and my dog.

For a man can tell tell (so said Obadiah Bell.)
When what he has may one day disappear:
So I thank what gods there be
That all they gave to me
Has stayed with me for yet another year.
And I do such as I can
To assist my fellow man
And wish him blessed as I am with my lot
With my family and my wife, and my job and my bowls and my pipe and my
dog and my club and my friends and my little garden plot;
And, when I think of all the joy I've got,
Most especially my friends, and which is not?

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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He Does Not Sleep That Well At Night

He does not sleep that well at night though his troubles are small
The possums walking on his roof the rats squeak in the wall,
The boobook owl is crying mopoke on the trees across the way
He used to sleep without once waking till after break of day.

He does not sleep that well at night his wife beside him snore
He lay beside her wide awake for three hours sometimes more
The moon shines through the window pane he hear the plover cry
And the hunting fox is barking in the old paddock nearby.

He does not sleep that well at night he lay in bed awake
And the voices of the nocturnal creatures he cannot mistake
The frogs are singing in the ponds to tell that rain is near
And occasionally the barking of the neighbourhood dogs he hear.

He goes to bed at ten o clock but he doesn't get to sleep till around two
Although he must get up to go to work at seven still his worries seem so few
Compared to some who do sleep well with him it used not to be this way
He often slept for ten hours straight till after break of day.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Goodnight Adria

sleep tight
it is morning in your place
time to sleep

my night is still to come
it is darker than ever
no stars
no fireflies
no moon

just the brown dog barking and barking outside the gate
of my home

i guess, i still have more words more lines to make
and i am not stopping
tracing our trail
i may stop until

it is morning

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Dog's A Man's Best Friend

Your wife she may not speak to you and your marriage at an end
But your dog will always stick by you, A dog's a man's best friend
Her friendship unconditional she will always stick by you
Until the Reaper claims her to you she will stay true.

Your male dog he will stick by you and your female dog the same
Even when you're in a rotten mood and you call them out of name
Your dogs will overlook your faults and they don't bear a grudge
They love you for the one you are and you they never judge.

The woman you loved and married when you were in your prime
Does not even speak to you nowadays though she loved you at one time
But your dog is so different your heart she will not break
She will stick by you right till the end and you she won't forsake.

Your dog your faults she can forgive so different to your wife
She loves another better now but your dog loves you for life
The greatest friend you'll ever have be it male dog or female
She will always greet you at the gate with a wag of her tail.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the Garden, With My Father

It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden -
My father is there;
... though long since gone...
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers...
He is there.

I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) ...
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I've come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
- I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much.......
I - at that early age of restless youth - had no use
For such slow moving things.

But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.

It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find... I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father - standing in the garden -
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I've missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here...
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.

poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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August 7, 4: 15

J. bon jovi
It was another day
A perfect texas afternoon
A mother and two children play
The way they always do
As they raced home from the mailbox
A mother and her son
Against a little girl of 6 years old
The independant one
The deputies went door to door
Through all the neighborhood
They said I got some news to tell you folks
Im afraid it aint so good
Somehow something happened
Someone got away
Someone got the answers for what happened here today
Oh no, oh no, oh no, no, no, no
Tell me it was just a dream - august 7 4:15
God closed his eyes and the world got mean
August 7 4:15
Now the people from the papers and the local tv news
Tried to find the reason
Cop dogs sniffed around for clues
Someone shouted hit and run
The coroner cried foul
Her blue dress was what she wore
The day they laid her body down
Oh no, oh no, oh no, no, no, no
Tell me it was just a dream - august 7 4:15
God closed his eyes and the world got mean
August 7 4:15
I know tonight that theres an angel
Up on heavens highest hill
And no one there can hurt you baby
No one ever will
Somewhere someones conscience is like a burning bed
The flames are all around you
How you gonna sleep again
Oh no, oh no, oh no, no, no, no
Tell me it was just a dream - august 7 4:15
God closed his eyes and the world got mean
August 7 4:15

song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some Thing New

Everyday we are blessed to live,
There is...
Some 'thing' new.
Something we hadn't thought,
Would be interesting enough to do.

But if we,
Choose that some 'thing' viewed...
As a pick up to keep us lifted.
While pursuing that some 'thing' viewed,
Our minds will broaden to accept and receive.

Everyday,
There is...
Some thing new.
There is...
Something we hadn't thought,
But could find...
Interesting enough to do.

And if we thought about that yesterday,
When we refused...
The experience.
And dismissed it as a foolish event,
We might have discovered,
Just how much we grew.

Everyday we are blessed to live,
There is...
Some 'thing' new.
Something we hadn't thought,
Would be interesting enough to do.

But if we,
Choose that some 'thing' viewed...
As a pick up to keep us lifted.
While pursuing that some 'thing' viewed,
Our minds will broaden to accept and receive.

And if we thought about that yesterday,
When we refused...
The experience.
And dismissed it as a foolish event,
We might have discovered,
Just how much we grew.

But if we,
Choose that some 'thing' viewed...
As a pick up to keep us lifted.
And make that the rule that is meant...
Much joy will come to me and you.

And if we,
Choose that some thing viewed...
As a pick up to keep us lifted,
Much joy...
Will come to me and you.
Much joy...
Would be what it is we pursued.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Old Cottagers

The little cottage stood alone, the pride
Of solitude surrounded every side.
Bean fields in blossom almost reached the wall;
A garden with its hawthorn hedge was all
The space between.--Green light did pass
Through one small window, where a looking-glass
Placed in the parlour, richly there revealed
A spacious landscape and a blooming field.
The pasture cows that herded on the moor
Printed their footsteps to the very door,
Where little summer flowers with seasons blow
And scarcely gave the eldern leave to grow.
The cuckoo that one listens far away
Sung in the orchard trees for half the day;
And where the robin lives, the village guest,
In the old weedy hedge the leafy nest
Of the coy nightingale was yearly found,
Safe from all eyes as in the loneliest ground;
And little chats that in bean stalks will lie
A nest with cobwebs there will build, and fly
Upon the kidney bean that twines and towers
Up little poles in wreaths of scarlet flowers.

There a lone couple lived, secluded there
From all the world considers joy or care,
Lived to themselves, a long lone journey trod,
And through their Bible talked aloud to God;
While one small close and cow their wants maintained,
But little needing, and but little gained.
Their neighbour's name was peace, with her they went,
With tottering age, and dignified content,
Through a rich length of years and quiet days,
And filled the neighbouring village with their praise.

poem by John Clare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A little home

It is home, sweet home that counts on and matters
In my sound sleep also sometimes I utter
I long for those atmosphere and beautiful walls
Some type of magnetic pull that always gives call

All sweet and bad memories are deeply attached
Not for a moment it takes us away and keep detached
Birth place, childhood and youth very happily spent
Protection under kind parents and happy moments

I will never forget the place which helped to build?
Kind love, affection and impregnable protective shield
So much influence form all over and everything to yield
Fresh air, lovely atmosphere and free games in open field

You long for your own home when gain maturity
It goes on in succession with continuity
You have your home with kids and beautiful wife
Days are passing off very smoothly in life

The end of universe is your dear home
You may not find beautiful city like Rome
But home is called home and has no parallel
When you reach at home you feel so well

You may get tired while working at sites
It may compel you to work and more wishes to ignite
You are lifeless when returned home at night
Your mind is not at rest and continues to fight

When you reach home and find everything alright
You may be able to think what is wrong or right
You may find all comforts at home when reach
You may feel at the top of the world and rich

You may have to work hard for your livelihood
You too may have to care for your neighborhood
Home is where you get all comforts and joy
You will have to make it heaven and completely enjoy

No where on earth you will feel at ease
Tension and worries altogether may cease
Morning sun may brighten your hope
Yu may be well prepared to walk on rope

All individual dream of happy home to take refuge
You can have easy access, free entry and no one can refuse
It is for us to make it worth while and suitable
No other place can make us happy or comfortable

I shall pray for suitable house with complete peace
Where I can hang on for all times to come at ease
It is place to seek solace and new energy release
Opening of new relation and not try it to freeze

Home has remained a holy place
Nobody every could replace
It is complete reality
Go for it and improve the quality

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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I Find It Hard To Say

[Lauryn Hill Talking]
...I've written it about the whole Amadou Diallo situation...
...It was such a hot time in the city at that point, I was afraid that if I
put the record out, people would Misunderstand what I meant by "Rebel" and
they just take it to the streets...
[One and only verse]
Ok, yeah, alright...
I find it hard to say, that everything is alright
Don't look at me that way, like everything is alright
Cuz my own eyes can see, through all your false pretenses
But what you fail to see, is all the consequences
You think our lives are cheap, and easy to be wasted
As history repeats, so foul you can taste it
And while the people sleep, too comfortable to face it
His life so incomplete, and nothing can replace it
And while the people sleep, too comfortable to face it
Your lives so incomplete, and nothing can replace it
Fret not thyself I say, against these laws of man
Cuz like the Bible says, His blood is on their hands
And what I gotta say, and what I gotta say, is rebel
While today is still today, choose well
And what I gotta say, is rebel, it can't go down this way
Choose well, choose well, choose well...
...choose well, choose well, choose well
And while the people sleep, too comfortable to face it
Your lives are so incomplete, and nothing, and no one, can replace it
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no
And what I gotta say, and what I gotta say
And what I gotta say, and what I gotta say
And what I gotta say, and what I gotta say
And what I gotta say, and what I gotta say
Is rebel... rebel, rebel, rebel, rebel, rebel, rebel
Rebel, rebel, rebel, rebel, rebel
Repent, the day is far too spent, rebel... rebel!
Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up...
Wake up and rebel
We must destroy in order to rebuild
Wake up, you might as well
Oh are you... oh are you satisfied
Oh are you satisfied
Rebel... ohhh rebel
Why don't you rebel, why don't you rebel?
Why don't you rebel?
I'm fading myself down now...

song performed by by Lauryn Hill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Roads

Two roads life takes;
Happiness or heartbreaks.
Neither easy, but one less strain;
The other offers only pain.

Why many choose the hard way
With its high price to pay.
Is beyond wildest dreams.
But so many times it seems
Attractions of the hard way
Are disguised as best today.
No thought of the morrow
With its impending sorrow
For those who blithely say,
'It's best for me today.'

Tomorrow's today will survive
If tomorrow can be kept alive.
Knowing what's best now
Must be viewed by how
It affects your plan
Of what you want and how you can.

poem by Gregory Huyette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Be Or Don't Be (A Song)

I be or don’t be
Would be spreading whiff
As a blossom, As a bud
In the orchard of love
I be or don‘t be

Whatever the weather
I always will be there
To keep the orchard fresh
And in colour of desire
Will be watering it ever
As a blossom as a bud
The orchard of love
I be or don’t be

I will unfurl my shirt
And sway in the breeze
Will glow like flower
On the blossom trees
Would spread fragrance
As a blossom as a bud
In the garden of love
I be or don’t be

When I won’t be there
Her eyes with tears
Would be finding me
She would stop in reverie
Where I will meet her
As a blossom, as a bud
In the orchard of love
I be or don’t be

poem by S.D. Tiwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Little Cottage

A little cottage nestled in the hills,
its roof is thatched
and it windows carry Georgian squares.
In its garden pretty flowers grow;
while in the fields,
seeds of corn are sown.
Snug within its stonewalls
lives a family,
husband, wife and their two sons.
Sadness filled the cottage one day
when the sons were called to war.
Candles were lit; prayers were said
for their safe return.
Years rolled by, paintwork peeled,
but the little cottage was still a home
with its fire warm.
Day after day, year after year
they waited for their sons return.
Then came what they dreaded most,
letters laced with black
to say that their sons had fallen
in fields far away
and would not be coming back.
A wreath of black hangs on the door
for their soldier boys
who will come home no more.
Sorrow again gripped the walls.
As years followed,
the little cottage fell into disrepair.
Within this once happy home
only sadness rang.
The husband and wife
grew old in their years,
but always held the memory
of two young lost lives.
Slowly they too faded away.
Now the little cottage
stands silent for all to see.
Falling down from lack of repair,
but always holding memories
of happiness once there.

poem by David Harris
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Doghouse

Out to the doghouse with you, thats what she said
Youve been inside too long now, I must clean the mess
Go in the backyard will you, practice your tricks
Go take yourself for a walk, you make me sick
Youre just a doggy, in a snap youre fetching the bone
And youre barking when she calls
Youre hiding behind the fence, youve been disobedient
Your fun and playfulness is so very becoming
But she has got you by the reins, and there is no running
Conditioned to salivate at the first sound of the bell
Feeding you the remains of yesterdays meal
Can you hear her calling from within the house?
Youre just a doggy, in a snap youre fetching the bone
And youre barking when she calls
Youre hiding behind the fence, youve been disobedient
Shape up boy!
Can you hear her calling, from within the house?
If you would stop barking, she might let you out
At last she opens the back gate, youre released, youre now free to
Roam
Youve been waiting for this moment for sometime and now you must
Go
Into the fields where there is laughter, there is peace and youre
Comfortable
Try to hold on now before she calls you home!
Youre in the doghouse
cause youre just a dog!

song performed by by Gwen Stefani
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Red Rooster

I am the little red rooster, too lazy to crow today
I am the little red rooster, too lazy to crow today
Keep everything in the farmyard
Upset in evry way
The dogs begin to barkin, hounds begin to howl
Dogs begin to barkin, hounds begin to howl
Watch out strange cat people
Little red roosters on the prowl
If you see my little red rooster, please drive him home
If you see my little red rooster, please drive him home
Aint no peace in the farmyard
Since my little red roosters been gone

song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walk Where He Walked

There's a man on TV claims he killed 23
Burnt their bodies and collected their teeth
There's another man at home with his wife and family tree
Who agreed this would make a good movie?
And I'm sittin' here, wonderin' what this is all doin' to me
He sold the book rights, and he was set for life
A woman on a talk show wants to be his wife
Another man decides to purchase his knife
A court decides he's got the right
And I'm sittin' here, wonderin' how he can ever sleep at night
I don't want to walk where he walked
I don't want to talk to who he stalked
I don't want to walk where he walked
First it was a book, and then it was a movie
They cut it all up and they put it on the TV
The starring role was played by Christopher Reeves
He was fine, he was something to see
And I'm sitting here, wondering what this is all doing to me
I don't want to walk where he walked
I don't want to talk to who he stalked
I don't want to walk where he walked
Oh Lord I didn't catch how he got caught

song performed by by Wilco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Country-Dogs but…

Who says that country-dogs are unworthy,
And dogs that roam the streets are to be shot?
So, people use the term in sense filthy;
But Dogs or Dogs where-ever from they’re brought.

The Dogs I see are sensible enough,
And keep their bodies clean in ways they can;
But human beings to them appear rough;
By looking once, they know the kind of man!

And some have excellent memory also,
And remember your kindness for long years;
When strangers come at nights, barking they do;
Ev’n children need not have any fears.

They scour the land and become prey to snakes;
And some are dead, sometimes in nearby lakes.

6-20-2001

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Song of Her Garden

She builds her pleasant garden
Where the winds are not so strong
The sun sometimes relenting
Becomes her companion

The garden spreads its arms to her
Thick shoulders, fragile hands
The creepers and the vines that bear
Her flowers from many lands

There is shade upon her shadow
And a path of leaves and stones
That were inlaid imperceptibly
Through years of life alone

There's a trickle of river water
Breaking on a precipice
An ornately painted corner
Where she sees the light of bliss

Papaya trees and lemon trees
That the hurricanes forgot
The garden is her mirror
It reflects her, then does not

Wind chimes in the moonlight
Songbirds awake till dawn
She cultivates the seasons,
Leaves the garden to be born.

poem by Frank Bana
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Home

Where you can truly
Be safe
Respected
Comfortable
Worriless
Cong ratulated
To be loved
A place you could be who you are
To be free
That’s the wish we all want is it not
Many people don’t have homes
All they have is a house
It’s where your not
Safe
Respected
Comfortable
Worril ess
Congratulated
Or even loved
It’s just where you live not where you belong
Or where you fit in it’s what you hate
If you’ve ever had a home then it’s worse
Then you know what you’re missing
Well I had a home
Then we moved away
And everything ran down hill from there

poem by Mrs. Cynosure
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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