Monet
Painting sunrise
Haystacks in sun
In snow and rain
Capturing the light
In bold brush strokes
Distinct colors
Mingling in mind's eye
Sowed seeds in art
World of impressionism
To viewers delight
Garden at Giverny
Nature's necklace
Of exquisite beauty
Of colorful flowers
Hanging strings of leaves
Of willow trees
Bridge reflected
In stillness of the pond
Water lilies abound
Like stars in the sky
Life size canvases
Of water lilies created
With eye sight fading
Steadiness of hand diminished
Stand as monumental works
For generations to come.
poem by Tirupathi Chandrupatla
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Related quotes
0021 Under the bridge of time
Oui, c'est beaux, le jardin... at this time of year;
mais... for myself,
a little too overgrown – but Monsieur
prefers it that way… you see him down there
by the lily pond, the nymphées?
He’s nearly blind now, yet he’s out all day
and nearly every day. He draws life from the garden,
je crois; and though there are some who laugh
and say, his paintings are now
mere daubs, when I see them
and then go out into the garden,
there’s a truth there, beyond what we see…
what passes, what floats serene and unaffected...
what floats on time itself...
You may find this fanciful, but I’ve watched Monsieur
over the years: first he had the garden made,
when he could afford it, and the bridge and then the pool
that slows the river… then he painted the lilies which we planted,
floating on the water, all the colours
of sunshine as you see it through a prism…then he painted
the sunlight on the water… then
he seemed to paint the flow of the water
as it passed… and then he seemed to be painting
time itself, passing under the bridge
where we’re standing here, as if
outside time… and now,
qu’est-ce qu’on dit? I think
he’s painting the philosophy of time –
Monsieur Bergson le philosophe
agrees with me – in paint; perhaps
one might say, painting
the future of painting…
yet, the flow of time and death came first, they say:
Monsieur began to paint his water-lilies
after he had seen the photos of the solemn river
of corpses in the trenches
in that terrible war; even, it's said,
the same colours of the unburied dead who putrify
are the same colours that he sees
in the water-lilies...c'est étrange, n'est-ce-pas?
a sort of redemption in the painter's palette...
this, I feel, gives these pretty paintings
the vision that drives Monsieur
to find beauty in its opposite...
but it’s cooling now; Monsieur
likes to enjoy that glowing light of early evening,
the precious departing of the light…
the light of life itself...
I’ll fetch his rug…these artists seem to
lose themselves in what they see…
they don’t seem to notice passing time,
it’s as if they think they live where time is space;
or perhaps, time’s so precious for Monsieur
that he paints it running out…
but I mustn’t keep you, M’sieur Proust –
it was so kind of you to find the time
to visit, and you too, M’sieur Debussy –
it has been quite a day to remember, n’est-ce pas? …
and now for Monsieur’s rug…
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Danse des Nympheas
(dedicated to Ms. Gitti Pirner, a talented pianist)
J'ai mis du temps à comprendre mes nympheas
water lilies
iris, willows
a little estate
in the country
a water garden
how magical
revelation
model
vision
pond
sensitivity
suggestive
at times fluid
a flow of colors
sometimes sigh
landscapes
reflections
obsession
far beyond
conveying
the mirror of water
the motif's essential
constantly being modified
by changing sky reflected in it
imbues it with life and movement
from one minute
to the next minute
they are all merely
the accompaniments
effect varies unceasingly
a stream
a garden
I love water
I love flowers
no boundaries
Un paysage ne vous imprègne pas en un jour
(inspired by Claude Monet's Le bassin aux nympheas)
poem by Ahmad Shiddiqi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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River Lilies
Saw a boy three lilies white,
Lilies in the river,
Half heart-open to the light,
Full of golden arrows bright,
Each a silver quiver.
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
Said the boy, “I’ll pluck you there,
Lilies in the river!”
Said the lilies, “If you dare
You shall drown, or homeward fare
Dripping and a-shiver!”
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
Wilful still the boy would clasp
Lilies in the river;
Tumbled in ere he could grasp,
Scrambled out with puff and gasp,
Plucked no lilies ever.
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Delphiniums Of Blue
Come follow me down the garden path,
Past the flowerbeds, planted neat.
Around the sweetbriar's scented hedge,
To the old carved wooden seat.
A tranquil arbour, where within its shade,
Lies a sheltered quiet place.
We'll hear music from the singing birds,
And let our eyes embrace.
There's clematis along the grey stone wall,
There's a maple's vivid hue.
Pots of red and pink geraniums,
And delphiniums of blue.
The pond's azure sky, mirror image,
Under which the goldfishes play.
Elegant water lilies with their floating leaves,
Recall a painting by Monsieur Monet.
This garden is a treasure and a blessing,
Just to wander in between the flowers,
To feel an informality and a freedom,
Whilst whiling away the hours.
Hold my hand and we will silently marvel,
At the beauty that nature can wear.
In this bower that's so hidden and secluded,
We'll start our secret love affair.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Big Tree
Big tree
Standing tall
Against setting sun
Majestic silhouette
Geometer's delight
Deep rooted trunk
Branches reaching the sky
Tree depicts life...
Every leaf
Shape so unique
Defining tree family...
Magical colors applied
By Creator's bold strokes
With the brush of seasons
Amazing panorama spreads out
Everywhere and all around.
Flowers spring out
Beauty and fragrance
Magical transformation
Into fruits
Nature transports seeds
To far off lands
It's a new cycle
Trees..forest...life.
Big tree
Stands still
Stands waving
I keep watching
Its far reaching ways
Tree gives us life
Tree gives us shade
To rest and contemplate.
poem by Tirupathi Chandrupatla
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If I Were A Painting
If I were a painting
Captured on canvas
Alone in the portriat I would stand
And brush strokes bold
Yet soft as a whisper
The work of a feminine hand.
Caught in a still life
Surrounded by shadows
And lost in a background of blue
If I were a painting
My price would be pain
And the artist would have to be you.
I imagine the colors
Would all run together
If you ever allowed me to cry
So don't paint the tears
Just let me remember me
Without you in my eyes.
It's only the frame
That holds me together
Or else I would be falling apart
If I were a painting
I wouldn't feel
And you wouldnt be breaking my heart...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deep in Spring, the Rain's Passed
Spring deep rain pass west lake good
Hundred grass vie beauty
Butterfly confused bee noisy
Clear day hurry flower warm almost blaze
Lily oar paint barge unhurried go
Suspect be spirit
Reflected light ripple in
Water broad wind high carry pipes strings
Deep in spring, the rain's passed- West Lake is good.
A hundred grasses vie in beauty,
Confusion of butterflies, clamour of bees,
The clear day hurries the blossom to burst forth in the warmth.
Oars in lilies, a painted barge moving without haste.
I think I see a band of sprites-
Light reflected in the ripples,
The high wind carries music over the broad water.
poem by Ouyang Xiu
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Babies of Walloon
He was lengthsman on the railway, and his station scarce deserved
That “pre-eminence in sorrow” of the Majesty he served,
But as dear to him and precious were the gifts reclaimed so soon—
Were the workman’s little daughters who were buried near Walloon.
Speak their names in tones that linger, just as though you held them dear;
There are eyes to which the mention of those names will bring a tear.
Little Kate and Bridget, straying in an autumn afternoon,
Were attracted by the lilies in the water of Walloon.
All is dark to us. The angels sing perhaps in Paradise
Of the younger sister’s danger, and the elder’s sacrifice;
But the facts were hidden from us, when the soft light from the moon
Glistened on the water-lilies o’er the Babies at Walloon.
Ah! the children love the lilies, while we elders are inclined
To the flowers that have poison for the body and the mind.
Better for the “strongly human” to have done with life as soon,
Better perish for a lily like the Babies of Walloon.
For they gather flowers early on the river far away,
Where the everlasting lilies keep their purity for aye,
And while summer brings our lilies to the run and the lagoon
May our children keep the legend of the Babies of Walloon.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Water Lilies
Where the water-lilies go
To and fro,
Rocking in the ripples of the water,
Lazy on a leaf lies the Lake King's daugher,
And the faint winds shake her.
Who will come and take her?
I will! I will!
Keep still! Keep still!
Sleeping on a leaf lies the Lake King's daughter. . . .
Then the wind comes skipping
To the lilies on the water;
And the kind winds wake her.
Now who will take her?
With a laugh she is slipping
Through the lilies on the water.
Wait! Wait!
Too late, too late!
Only the water-lilies go
To and fro,
Dipping, dipping,
To the ripples of the water.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Village Pond
Here, there, women, children and men
Talk animatedly, little water waves disrupted by scooping
Water vessels, the faded green water lilies, shoved aside.
Cows moo, the goats bleat,
School children scramble for a spill,
The edges, slippery and muddy, non of a bother.
The gold, liquid of life, simmers under the hot sun,
Though, shrinking in size, by every draw,
The earth is bare, the pond tags their hope.
Here in the pond, they see, sigh and fall
The feminine and masculine bodies attract
The gossip, filters, confirmed, a new life sees dawn.
Wild tree fruits, like monsters surround the village pond
I'm told the fruits, purify the village pond
Lives ruled, made to see day, Honor to the village pond.
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Country Song
`Lily of the Valley (Convalaria Majalis, fam. Lilliaceae). Grows wild in N. England. Commonly cultivated. Flowers in May. Berries red when ripe. Leaves particularly poisonous because three constituents depress the heart, like Foxglove.'
What are the constituents that depress the heart?
the scent of lilies in dark green silences under trees
milkweed and ragwort and sunshine in hedges
small flowers picked amongst trees when it's raining
A year ago
You planted lilies in the valley of my mind
There were lilies at the bottom of my garden
And ferrys at the bottom of my street
Now
I sit here in sunlight with the smell of wild garlic
Trying to tape record the sound of windflowers and
celandines
Wondering What are the three constituents that depress the heart Without you here in the country?
poem by Adrian Henri
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The Sunshine after The Rain
The sunshine after the rain
The grey darkness is gone
The sun back mighty in glory
crowned with golden rays
Sending love and warmth
to inhabitants of the world
Nature beauty is revealed
in remarkable way
the rain water drops lingering
kissing the roses,
the flowers and lilies
spreading over the fields
the pastures sparkling green
the awesome trees
the skies painted in crystal blue
the white shades of clouds
slowly passing
All bringing joy
nourishing our soul
The sunshine
The sunshine after the rain
poem by Sherif Monem
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51. On “Bridge Over a Pool of Water Lilies” by Monet
Transparent Bridge
between
reality and reality
across
people’s dream
Time is frozen on the bridge
In the dream,
memory
reflects the trees, the grass
and leaves and water lilies and the bridge
memory
begins from inside the trees
and ends at reality
when the wind comes in
poem by Eugene Issaus
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Awaken to Beauty
Sun, sparkling on water
Rainbow in sky.
Full moon, shimmering over cities,
Beauty, beauty is by.
See through the black, the grey,
To colours all around,
Brightening your world, your life;
Beauty, beauty surrounds.
The new leaves on spring trees,
Buds on daffodils.
Flowers, trees bursting with glory,
Beauty, beauty fills.
Snow covering, crystal white,
Summer, green, grass.
Each season brings new pleasures,
Beauty, beauty lasts.
Stand still awhile and see
If you can discern
The loveliness in front of you,
Beauty at every turn.
Bring happiness to your senses,
Bear gladness into you,
Take sometime for yourself,
Beauty is there; stays true.
Water so Deep and Profound
Water so sinuous and devious,
And as mystifying as you.
Water is always hiding its true self,
Never in one form.
Water can be the shimmer,
Reflecting off the light of the pond,
Making the pond seem magnificent.
Water can be the rushing sound,
As it escapes the secretive pond,
And runes down into the vast ocean,
Seeking adventure and unfound dreams.
Water can be the feeling of calmness,
As it sits there, overlooking the pond,
With wonder and seeing how it made it what it is.
Water so supple and wondrous,
The pond is born from the water.
Water so deep and profound,
Just like you,
The pond so incomplete without water,
Just like your family.
poem by Music Galore
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New green leaves are all over the willow tree
New green leaves are all over the willow tree
and wherever I look
some pretty wild flowers I do see,
and arum-lilies are blooming in the brook
on this, the very first day of spring,
and it's if all of nature is welcoming me,
as if the birds do sing
and rejoice quite happily
as if to this great new world I do belong
as if everything around me is covered in beauty,
in a kind of innocence far from the trampling throng
and the feeling of the presence of God becomes strong
as the river forever rushes on merrily,
as if this place in nature is where I am meant to be.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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For a Picture of St. Dorothea
I bear a basket lined with grass;
I am so light, I am so fair,
That men must wonder as I pass
And at the basket that I bear,
Where in a newly-drawn green litter
Sweet flowers I carry,—sweets for bitter.
Lilies I shew you, lilies none,
None in Caesar’s gardens blow,—
And a quince in hand,—not one
Is set upon your boughs below;
Not set, because their buds not spring;
Spring not, ’cause world is wintering.
But these were found in the East and South
Where Winter is the clime forgot.—
The dewdrop on the larkspur’s mouth
O should it then be quench`d not?
In starry water-meads they drew
These drops: which be they? stars or dew?
Had she a quince in hand? Yet gaze:
Rather it is the sizing moon.
Lo, linkèd heavens with milky ways!
That was her larkspur row.—So soon?
Sphered so fast, sweet soul?—We see
Nor fruit, nor flowers, nor Dorothy.
poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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Looking for Water
Still the leaves are spinning 'round
Take my hand as we go down, and down, and down
Looking for water
Well, our light's gone in a New York minute
Don't know about you, but my heart's not in it
(Looking, looking, looking)
I'm looking for water
I'm looking for water
(Looking, looking, looking)
I can't breathe the air, can't raise a fact
'Cause all we've got left is a beat in the night, and I'm
(Looking for water)
Looking for water
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
Take my hand as we go down, and down
Leave it all behind, nothing could be found
(I'm, looking for water)
I'm looking for water
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
(I, looking for water)
Looking everywhere
(Looking for water)
Looking here and there
(I'm looking for water)
I'm looking for water
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I can't live in this cage, I can't eat this candy
The edge of the earth to the spin in my head
The look in your eyes and never means never
The dawn's early light, baby, dark is forever
(Looking, looking)
(Looking, looking)
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for water)
(Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for watter)
Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for watter)
Looking, looking)
I
(Looking for water)
(Looking for watter)
song performed by by David Bowie, music by David Bowie, lyrics by David Bowie from Reality
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sitting silently
water lilies on the pond
bathing in water.
quote by by Heather Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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