Related quotes: The book, the Art of...

humor ***** ART OF WAR

The book, the Art of War by Sun Zsu, had inspired a lot with my aunt especially when she came acrossed the highlighted points of the book,
' ferocious as the fire, silent as the forest, immovable as the mountain, fast as the wind.'
She implanted those thoughts on her son for his everyday real battle in life but it went in different direction:
Fire: her son became a hot-tempered fellow
Forest: he loved messy things and untidy
Mountain: yes immovable as the laziest guy on earth
Wind: full of airy thoughts son and with empty head
My aunt was totally disappointed. She thought her son would be like Napoleon Bonaparte, Mao Zedung, Adolf Hitler and others who once treasured the book, the Art of War.

poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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Dancing in the Wind with Aunt Ana

‘Lectrical storm,
prophesied my aunt Ana,
All fire and precious little water.

Drum-rolls of thunder
bounced about on the western horizon
like pin-balls.
Ribbony fingers of lightning
pointed toward town.

The wind has caught fire,
shrilled my aunt.
Reach up and douse the wind.

I reached up.
I squeezed the wind.
The wind warmed my hand.

My being is all
birdsongs, wind chimes,
a clarinet in the dark.
Dance with me.

I danced.

poem by Sonny Rainshine
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Lonesome Winds Collection

Though some wind strikes catastrophic end
some blows concrete chills
some are ferocious as fire
gists no gust at all

winds are like self-acclaimed laurel
crowning an empty head
who keeps on bragging himself

perhaps the wind pushing my pen
misread by curious men
as strayed bullet
hitting aimless aim

and by now they would know
the wind I've revealed
still and motionless
a breathless wind traps
on a book pocket -
a random diaries
of time with rhythm
of defeated and triumphant dreams

poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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I Was On Cross Road!

Strange I am,
I think different,

Whatever things,
I like not,
liked by others,
whatever I like,
Not liked by others!

I opened my heart,
Others then felt bad.
Open heart of them,
Looked ugly to me!

Whenever I laugh,
They felt as cough,
But for my every cough,
They enjoyed their laugh,

My every tears
they enjoyed,
My enjoyment,
Made them hard.

I loved life and them,
They live forgetting love!
So I was at cross road,
What to do and
what not to do!

I stood where,
Four roads met,
Life -was my pet
How can I set?

One road lead to town
Another to mountain,
Third one to forest,
Fourth, where dead rest!

A piece of rope,
Or loss of hope,
I stood at by a yard,
Away from road to graveyard!

I thought of solitude
haunting in multitude,
I stood at road to forest,
Where I may get some rest

Looked at the mountain,
I thought my life can sustain,
like that lonely mountain
it became inspiring fountain!

I took the way to town,
Removed masks of clown,
I stood there as lovely tree,
I kicked off idea of other three!

I built a house by side of the road,
My mind became clean and broad,
I gazed at passers on street,
My thought really is treat,

Fed of pains and sorrow,
Shed off all thoughts narrow,
Fed birds and animals and men,
Started using book and pen!

I felt solitude everywhere
And carried to anywhere,
Worked like a horse or ox
Removed all that were hoax!

No pain, no strain, no stain of guilt!
Life full of rain and green
Life full of love and compassion
Happiness and bliss I felt!

Alone in company of all;
With all, when I am alone
Escaped the great fall
Gained lost paradise on own!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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The Best Book In The World

the best book
in the world
the only true book
is the world itself
the Book of Nature

the best book is the silence
the wordless-ness in
the clouds and the sky
and the rivers and the oceans
and the lands
and the grass that breaks through the concrete;
and in the deserts and the volcanoes
and the stars
and the moon
and the creatures of the earth
and in all fellow beings
and the vastness beyond
and the vastness within

the best book
the only true book
(every other book is distortion)
is the world itself
the Book of Nature:
read it

poem by Raj Arumugam
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Fire Spirit

(gun club)
I can see clearly from my diamond eyes
Im going to the mountain with a fire spirit
No one will accept all of me, so the fire will stop
And for the straights that got fire cars
Im going to the mountain with a fire spirit
No one will take all of me, and the fire will stop
I will be cheating the whole ritual
Im going to the mountain with a fire spirit
No one will accept all of me, and the fire will stop
Someone weird read: pen down a circle
Yeah, someone left on a burned out world
Someone knows Im dead as hell
Where the old north wind blows through southeast hell, yeah
And then john was betrayed by the machine
A proper circuit was a promise to me
Im going up to the mountain to see
How blessing will set me free, yeah
I had to do something
I was wearing down
I was going down
Why can no one ever touch a fire spirit?
Why can no one ever hold a fire spirit?
Why can no one ever feel a fire spirit?
I am going to the mountain
Yeah, I can see clearly from my diamond eyes
Im going to the mountain with a fire spirit
And no one will accept all of me, so the fire will stop
With too much patience and too much pain
Im going to the mountain with a fire spirit
To make amends for all of me, and the fire will stop

song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wind

I felt the wind come in today
and felt the gusts that blew.
I thought of warmth and summer
and then I thought of you.
No leaves are left upon my trees.
The wind has blown them away.
And as it blows unmercifully
my thoughts have gone astray.

I must gather them in once again
and let them keep me warm.
If but for no other reason
than to quiet my mental storm
that is just as ferocious as the wind
and chills the thoughts that appear.
I can't figure out which is worse,
the thoughts or the wind that's here?

poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Blank Pages...

each day
we open the pages of a book

each page is empty
this book of our lives

we write some words
we are careful not to hurt

and be dismayed
we always take the opportunity

the somehow
we also know how to enlighten

ourselves and be happy
with the originality of our thoughts

everyday is always an opportunity
to discover the little wonders of our

unique beings
there is no one like me, and this

i will always say.
i love myself.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Why.............?

The American book of 'why',
The Asian book of 'why',
The European book of 'why',
The African book of 'why',
The Australian book of 'why',
The most asked question in the valley of world events;
Especially when one explodes a bomb!

The Christian book of 'why',
The Muslim book of 'why',
The Jewish book of 'why',
The Hindu book of 'why',
The Krishna book of 'why',
lLife is like the yeast which makes the bread rise;
But, the writer always has his or her own mind.

The Pagan book of 'why',
The Buddhist book of 'why',
The Protestant book of 'why',
The Confucian book of 'why',
To all life's aspects with the remaining books of 'why';
Poetry is the literature that muses with the mind.

Shall the trumpet be blown in the city and,
The people will not be afraid?
Seven bulls and seven rams,
I am the planted tree by the rivers of waters.
I am very young in years but,
The word 'why' is the question that goes around easily.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Books

Books take me to a place like no other
When I'm reading no one else madders
All my problems go away and it's just my books and me.
Books I like that word but when I read
My mom and dad and all my brothers and sisters go away
And I'm left there with no one but a book.
And then I pick it up and the word isn't so empty any more
It's full again. Like when you're a kid and your mom or dad
Come home after a long trip without you and you missed them
And then you're crying, laughing and happy all at the same time.
That how I get with a book I just found.
Happy because it's by my favorite Author but yet sad because
The book ended with questions still in my head.
And laughing because it was funny at one point in the book.
I love that felling when I pick up a book.
How do you fell when you pick up a book?
Happy, sad, a funny felling? You tell me please come on now don't be shy.

poem by Alley Rodriguez
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Open Book's Monologue (revisited the years later portion of part 16)

Maybe I'm the book, and maybe you're the reader
but who is you? is it not everyone
since I'm open, for all to point at laugh at, out of malice or for fun
because they know my thoughts, they know i love her? !
what did i do?
i never said i love you! ! !
how can they know?
how did i reap what i did now sow? !
The worst part
about being an open book,
is an open book can't close itself, can't have a heart
anyone can know all from just one look
there seems to be something wrong with being too open and honest
but it's too late a book can't close itself
can't move by its own accord to a shelf
an open book can never rest
so now I'm the book, so since im there just read
just read.... and watch my heart, my purpose, my soul, my life, me
watch.... watch them bleed

poem by David Knox
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What Do You Want With Me

You live in a mansion, with your own private harbor
And you own an island, where you go every summer

What do you want with me, Earth, wind, water, or fire

You're been educated in the best schools all around the world
Life is simple when people hang on your every word

What do you want with me, Earth, wind, water, or fire

Your father is a leader and unknown to the world
A puppet master of billions, and your his little girl

What do you want with me, Earth, wind, water, or fire

You mother has a club in Rome where the elite come to gather
Illuminated by fine conversation, while enjoying their evening supper

What do you want with me, Earth, wind, water, or fire

Your riches can't buy everything
Your riches can't buy everything

You are a collector of unique and very precious things
And store them for safe keeping, hoping to save them

What do you want with me, Earth, wind, water, or fire
What do you want with me, Earth, wind, water, or fire

poem by Colin Coplin
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The Chornicles of a Dark Heart Part 16 The open book's monologue

Red what is it to you black the color of death? maybe maybe not? anyone here play video games? FOR CHAOS? ring any bells help spread the taint more quickly? what might an open book write
what would a open book draw
what would an open book think
open books are predictable
so predict what the picture means
why is black black? why is red O infused? what is the meaning only you know maybe only me...

(added years later)

poem by David Knox
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Who is the Best..?

Once there was this Rishi
Living under a banyan tree
Meditating on Him, all his life
Alone, without worries or wife..

It was a sunny day, bit hazy
Rishi was relaxed and lazy
A mouse came running and fell at his feet
A cat came chasing to eat

The mouse prayed 'Gimme shelter or u sin'
The cat said 'Protecting my food is no less a thing'
Rishi had to decide one way or other
Rishi blessed the mouse to be his daughter

The daughter grew into a beautiful woman
Time came for Rishi to think of her man.
He asked the daughter for any criteria or test
She said she wanted only the Best

Best of a man is a Rishi, said the father
Not really so, said the daughter
When Rishi said, better than a Rishi is the only Sun
No, said the daughter, not the burning hot one!

Rishi asked the Sun, if he knows anyone better
The Sun said, try the Cloud, it hides my power
When Rishi told her of the Cloud's valor
No, said the daughter, I hate the dark color

Rishi asked the Cloud, who betters it
The Cloud said, surely the Wind, it blows me out
Rishi asked the daughter, if Wind is her choice
No, said the daughter, It just makes noise.

Rishi asked the Wind, for a better person
The Wind said, It is the immovable Mountain
Rishi asked the daughter, if Mountain passes her test
No, said the daughter, full of trough and crest

Rishi asked the Mountain for the best in the land
The Mountain said, It is the Mouse that crushes it to sand
Rishi asked the daughter, if Mouse is her groom
Yes, said the daughter, I love his eyes that zoom..

Rishi made his daughter back into a mouse
They married and lived in a hole as their house
The Best for a mouse is mouse, for Rishi a Rishi, for crook a crook
It depends on what you look out for; your outlook!

poem by TheBigThinkg Human
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Book Of Life

Is my name written there on those pages bright and fair
Is my name written in the book of life
If you want to be up there then down here you must prepare
And your name must be in the book of life
Get down on your knees and pray you from sin must turn away
Or your name won't be in the book of life
If you'll turn to Jesus now at his feet just humbly bow
Then your name will be in the book of life
Don't you know that Christ was sent that from sin you could repent
So your name could be in the book of life
You will have a great surprise if you fell to recognize
That your name must be in the book of life
Get down on your knees and pray you from sin must turn away
Or your name won't be in the book of life
Don't delay and don't forget that from sin you could repent
Then your name will be in the book of life
Is my name written in the book of life

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode to the Book

When I close a book
I open life.
I hear
faltering cries
among harbours.
Copper ignots
slide down sand-pits
to Tocopilla.
Night time.
Among the islands
our ocean
throbs with fish,
touches the feet, the thighs,
the chalk ribs
of my country.
The whole of night
clings to its shores, by dawn
it wakes up singing
as if it had excited a guitar.

The ocean's surge is calling.
The wind
calls me
and Rodriguez calls,
and Jose Antonio--
I got a telegram
from the "Mine" Union
and the one I love
(whose name I won't let out)
expects me in Bucalemu.

No book has been able
to wrap me in paper,
to fill me up
with typography,
with heavenly imprints
or was ever able
to bind my eyes,
I come out of books to people orchards
with the hoarse family of my song,
to work the burning metals
or to eat smoked beef
by mountain firesides.
I love adventurous
books,
books of forest or snow,
depth or sky
but hate
the spider book
in which thought
has laid poisonous wires
to trap the juvenile
and circling fly.
Book, let me go.
I won't go clothed
in volumes,
I don't come out
of collected works,
my poems
have not eaten poems--
they devour
exciting happenings,
feed on rough weather,
and dig their food
out of earth and men.
I'm on my way
with dust in my shoes
free of mythology:
send books back to their shelves,
I'm going down into the streets.
I learned about life
from life itself,
love I learned in a single kiss
and could teach no one anything
except that I have lived
with something in common among men,
when fighting with them,
when saying all their say in my song.

poem by Pablo Neruda
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Forest Follies

The Green Man
and the gargoyle
sat idly by.

As the forest
caught fire
and the flames
they grew high.

Till mountains of smoke
had covered the sky.

Then down flew the fairies
in fury they came.

And battle they did
with that furious flame.

Sending in torrents
of free falling rain.

Then away
to the mountain
the fairies did fly.

As the souls
of the forest
did softly sigh.

poem by Lynne FincherSpringarden
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Colors Of The Wind

You think you own whatever land you land on
The earth is just a dead thing you can claim
But I know evry rock and tree and creature
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name
You think the only people who are people
Are the people who look and think like you
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
Youll learn things you never knew you never knew
Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned ?
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain ?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind ?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind ?
Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest
Come taste the sun-sweet berries of the earth
Come roll in all the riches all around you
And for once, never wonder what theyre worth
The rainstorm and the river are my brothers
The heron and the otter are my friends
In a cirle, in a hoop that never ends
Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
Or let the eagle tell you there hes been
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain ?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind ?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind ?
How high does the sycamore grow ?
If you cut it down, then youll never know
And youll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
For whether we are white or copper-skinned
We just sing with all the voices of the mountain
Need to paint with all the colors of the wind
You can own the earth and still
All youll own is earth until
You can paint with all colors of the wind

song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I read a book

I read a book
Not to enhance my looks

I read a book
Maybe to avoid being a crook

I read a book
Not just to learn how to cook

I read a book
To ascertain how to defend my rights
Not just to acquire knowledge
Reading a book I pledge,
Is one of the roads to the light

I read a book
To understand how a kings territory
Is defended with pieces such as the rook

I read a book
So there will be no questions asked
When I count correctly what you took

I read a book
So that I play not ignorant
Now on life I’ve a different outlook

I read a book
So if I come up with all the right answers
I will know for sure it is not merely a fluke

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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A Closed Book

A book unopened
leaves words to die.
A book unopened
leaves words to lie
in perpetuity,
never alive, never free
to deliver its thoughts
for any to see.

Who was the writer?
What did he pen?
The absence of readers
are lost and then
the book lies quietly
on a shelf
and maybe all by itself it knows.

It will never be opened.
It will always be closed,
just like some people
who won't open up
and speak their words to you.
Their life is something
you'll never know,
something you won't view.
For they are a closed book too.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Through The Fire...

Ever thought of a sentence
that you immediately just shot directly at the book

The pen is the sword
Piercing the paper
Through the fire

Against the human soul
Digging deep and penetrating
Your soul
My soul

Circulating words
taking over the position
of my hot blood

As the pen keeps writing
It is an Addiction

When you stick, stab, and pierce the body
at each stroke

The human addiction of writing
The souls..
Feelings and Inner thoughts

Thoughts that can kill the human flesh
through the flames of fire

Would you decide to get through the fire or continue my story?

poem by Sophanie Occean
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En.Citatepedia®.ro

humor ***** ART OF WAR

Related quotes

Dancing in the Wind with Aunt Ana

Lonesome Winds Collection

I Was On Cross Road!

The Best Book In The World

Fire Spirit

The Wind

The Blank Pages...

Why.............?

Books

Open Book's Monologue (revisited the years later portion of part 16)

What Do You Want With Me

The Chornicles of a Dark Heart Part 16 The open book's monologue

Who is the Best..?

Book Of Life

Ode to the Book

Forest Follies

Colors Of The Wind

I read a book

A Closed Book

Through The Fire...

En.Citatepedia^®.ro