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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Socrates Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 20-Dec-2005 at 09:25

  Forgive this wild and wandering cries

  confusions of a wasted youth

 help them where they failed in truth

 and in thy wisdom make me wise...

     A.Tennyson

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote rider Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 23-Dec-2005 at 05:54

Oh. Tennyson at last. The Charge of the Light Brigade is my Favourite, and Raven seconds it.

The Charge of the Light Brigade

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
   Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
   Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismayed?
Not tho' the soldiers knew
   Someone had blundered:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
   Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
   Volleyed and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell,
   Rode the six hundred.

Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air,
Sab'ring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
   All the world wondered:
Plunging in the battery smoke,
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the sabre-stroke
   Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not--
   Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
   Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well,
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
   Left of the six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
Oh, the wild charge they made!
   All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
   Noble Six Hundred!

There is no emotion, there is peace.
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
There is no chaos, there is harmony.
There is no death, there is the Force.
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Jhangora Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 24-Dec-2005 at 08:11
The Road Not Taken

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

                                                          ROBERT FROST

Jai Badri Vishal
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Jhangora Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 30-Dec-2005 at 10:22

The Newsboy's Dream of the New Year

Under the bare brown rafters,
In his garret bed he lay,
And dreamed of the bright hereafters.
And the merry morns of May.

The snowflakes slowly sifted
In through each cranny and seam,
But only the sunshine drifted
Into the newsboy's dream.

For he dreamed of the brave tomorrows,
His eager eyes should scan,
When battling with wants and sorrows,
He felt himself a Man.

He felt his heart grow bolder
For the struggle and the strife,
When shoulder joined to shoulder,
In the battlefield of life.

And instead of the bare brown rafters,
And the snowflakes sifting in,
He saw in the glad hereafters,
The home his hands should win.

The flowers that grew in its shadow,
And the trees that drooped above;
The low of the kine in the meadow,
And the coo of the morning dove.

And dearer and more tender,
He saw his mother there,
As she knelt in the sunset splendour,
To say the evening prayer.

His face--the sun had burned it,
And his hands were rough and hard,
But home, he had fairly earned it,
And this was his reward!

The morning star's faint glimmer
Stole into the garret forlorn,
And touched the face of the dreamer
With the light of a hope newborn.

Oh, ring harmonious voices
Of New Year's welcoming bells!
For the very air rejoices.
Through all its sounding cells!

I greet ye! oh friends and neighbours
The smith and the artizan;
I share in your honest labours,
A Canadian working-man.

To wield the axe or the hammer,
To till the yielding soil,
Enroll me under your banner,
Oh Brotherhood of Toil!

Ring, bells of the brave tomorrows!
And bring the time more near:
Ring out the wants and the sorrows,
Ring in the glad New Year!

                                       Kate Seymour Maclean

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Jhangora Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 03-Jan-2006 at 03:31

                    My Native Land

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.

                                                      Sir Walter Scott

http://quotations.about.com/cs/poemlyrics/a/My_Native_Land.h tm

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Jhangora Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 03-Jan-2006 at 13:33
                   Are You Content?
 
 

I CALL on those that call me son,
Grandson, or great-grandson,
On uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-aunts,
To judge what I have done.
Have I, that put it into words,
Spoilt what old loins have sent?
Eyes spiritualised by death can judge,
I cannot, but I am not content.
He that in Sligo at Drumcliff
Set up the old stone Cross,
That red-headed rector in County Down,
A good man on a horse,
Sandymount Corbets, that notable man
Old William pollexfen,
The smuggler Middleton, Butlers far back,
Half legendary men.
Infirm and aged I might stay
In some good company,
I who have always hated work,
Smiling at the sea,
Or demonstrate in my own life
What Robert Browning meant
By an old hunter talking with Gods;
But I am not content.

                        William Butler Yeats


http://www.poemhunter.com/p/m/poem.asp?poet=3057&poem=13 785

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Jhangora Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 04-Jan-2006 at 11:19
                                   Barter

    Life has loveliness to sell,
    All beautiful and splendid things,
    Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
    Soaring fire that sways and sings,
    And children's faces looking up,
    Holding wonder like a cup.

    Life has loveliness to sell,
    Music like a curve of gold,
    Scent of pine trees in the rain,
    Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
    And for your spirit's still delight,
    Holy thoughts that star the night.

    Spend all you have for loveliness,
    Buy it and never count the cost;
    For one white singing hour of peace
    Count many a year of strife well lost,
    And for a breath of ecstacy
    Give all you have been, or could be.

    Sara Teasdale

http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/teasd01.html

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Kapikulu Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 29-Jan-2006 at 09:17

I really like William Blake...

Some is born to the sweetest light,

Some is born to the endless night...

William Blake

We gave up your happiness
Your hope would be enough;
we couldn't find neither;
we made up sorrows for ourselves;
we couldn't be consoled;

A Strange Orhan Veli
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote ulrich von hutten Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 29-Jan-2006 at 10:07
 The Hąvamąl - the words of the high.  Ošins words
1.
The man who stands at a strange threshold,
Should be cautious before he cross it,
Glance this way and that:
Who knows beforehand what foes may sit
Awaiting him in the hall?

2.
Greetings to the host,
The guest has arrived,
In which seat shall he sit?
Rash is he who at unknown doors
Relies on his good luck.

3.
Fire is needed by the newcomer
Whose knees are frozen numb;
Meat and clean linen a man needs
Who has fared across the fells.

4.
Water, too, that he may wash before eating,
Handcloth's and a hearty welcome,
Courteous words, then courteous silence
That he may tell his tale.

5.
Who travels widely needs his wits about him,
The stupid should stay at home:
The ignorant man is often laughed at
When he sits at meat with the sage.

6.
Of his knowledge a man should never boast,
Rather be sparing of speech
When to his house a wiser comes:
Seldom do those who are silent
Make mistakes; mother wit
Is ever a faithful friend.

7.
A guest should be courteous
When he comes to the table
And sit in wary silence,
His ears attentive, his eyes alert:
So he protects himself.

8.
Fortunate is he who is favoured in his lifetime
With praise and words of wisdom:
Evil counsel is often given
By those of evil heart.

9.
Blessed is he who in his own lifetime
Is awarded praise and wit,
For ill counsel is often given
By mortal men to each other.

10.
Better gear than good sense
A traveller cannot carry,
Better than riches for a wretched man,
Far from his own home.

11.
Better gear than good sense
A traveller cannot carry,
A more tedious burden than too much drink
A traveller cannot carry.

12.
Less good than belief would have it
Is mead for the sons of men:
A man knows less the more he drinks,
Becomes a befuddled fool.

13.
I-forget is the name men give the heron
Who hovers over the fast:
Fettered I was in his feathers that night,
When a guest in Gunnlod's court.

14.
Drunk I got, dead drunk,
When Fjalar the wise was with me:
Best is the banquet one looks back on after,
And remembers all that happened.

15.
Silence becomes the Son of a prince,
To be silent but brave in battle:
It befits a man to be merry and glad
Until the day of his death.

16.
The coward believes he will live forever
If he holds back in the battle,
But in old age he shall have no peace
Though spears have spared his limbs.

17.
When he meets friends, the fool gapes,
Is shy and sheepish at first,
Then he sips his mead and immediately
All know what an oaf he is.

18.
He who has seen and suffered much,
And knows the ways of the world,
Who has travelled, can tell what spirit
Governs the men he meets.

19.
Drink your mead, but in moderation,
Talk sense or be silent:
No man is called discourteous who goes
To bed at an early hour.

20.
A gluttonous man who guzzles away
Brings sorrow on himself:
At the table of the wise he is taunted often,
Mocked for his bloated belly.

21.
The herd knows its homing time,
And leaves the grazing ground:
But the glutton never knows how much
His belly is able to hold.

22.
An ill tempered, unhappy man
Ridicules all he hears,
Makes fun of others, refusing always
To see the faults in himself.

23.
Foolish is he who frets at night,
And lies awake to worry'
A weary man when morning comes,
He finds all as bad as before.

24.
The fool thinks that those who laugh
At him are all his friends,
Unaware when he sits with wiser men
How ill they speak of him.

25.
The fool thinks that those who laugh
At him are all his friends:
When he comes to the Thing and calls for support,
Few spokesmen he finds.

26.
The fool who fancies he is full of wisdom
While he sits by his hearth at home.
Quickly finds when questioned by others.
That he knows nothing at all.

27.
The ignorant booby had best be silent
When he moves among other men,
No one will know what a nit-wit he is
Until he begins to talk;
No one knows less what a nit-wit he is
Than the man who talks too much.

28.
To ask well, to answer rightly,
Are the marks of a wise man:
Men must speak of men's deeds,
What happens may not be hidden.

29.
Wise is he not who is never silent,
Mouthing meaningless words:
A glib tongue that goes on chattering
Sings to its own harm.

30.
A man among friends should not mock another:
Many believe the man
Who is not questioned to know much
And so he escapes their scorn.

31.
The wise guest has his way of dealing
With those who taunt him at table:
He smiles through the meal,
Not seeming to hear
The twaddle talked by his foes.

32.
The fastest friends may fall out
When they sit at the banquet-board:
It is, and shall be, a shameful thing
When guest quarrels with guest.

33.
An early meal a man should take
Before he visits friends,
Lest, when he gets there, he go hungry,
Afraid to ask for food.

34.
To a false friend the footpath winds
Though his house be on the highway.
To a sure friend there is a short cut,
Though he live a long way off.

35.
The tactful guest will take his leave
Early, not linger long:
He starts to stink who outstays his welcome
In a hall that is not his own.

36.
A small hut of one's own is better,
A man is his master at home:
A couple of goats and a corded roof
Still are better than begging.

37.
A small hut of one's own is better,
A man is his master at home:
His heart bleeds in the beggar who must
Ask at each meal for meat.

38.
A wayfarer should not walk unarmed,
But have his weapons to hand:
He knows not when he may need a spear,
Or what menace meet on the road.

39.
No man is so generous he will jib at accepting
A gift in return for a gift,
No man so rich that it really gives him
Pain to be repaid.

40.
Once he has won wealth enough,
A man should not crave for more:
What he saves for friends, foes may take;
Hopes are often liars.

41.
With presents friends should please each other,
With a shield or a costly coat:
Mutual giving makes for friendship,
So long as life goes well.

42.
A man should be loyal through life to friends,
To them and to friends of theirs,
But never shall a man make offer
Of friendship to his foes.

43.
A man should be loyal through life to friends,
And return gift for gift,
Laugh when they laugh, but with lies repay
A false foe who lies.

44.
If you find a friend you fully trust
And wish for his good-will,
exchange thoughts, exchange gifts,
Go often to his house.

45.
If you deal with another you don't trust
But wish for his good-will,
Be fair in speech but false in thought
And give him lie for lie.

46.
Even with one you ill-trust
And doubt what he means to do,
False words with fair smiles
May get you the gift you desire.

47.
Young and alone on a long road,
Once I lost my way:
Rich I felt when I found another;
Man rejoices in man.

48.
The generous and bold have the best lives,
Are seldom beset by cares,
But the base man sees bogies everywhere
And the miser pines for presents.

49.
Two wooden stakes stood on the plain,
On them I hung my clothes:
Draped in linen, they looked well born,
But, naked, I was a nobody.

50.
The young fir that falls and rots
Having neither needles nor bark,
So is the fate of the friendless man:
Why should he live long?

51.
Hotter than fire among false hearts burns
Friendship for five days,
But suddenly slackens when the sixth dawns:
Feeble their friendship then.

52.
A kind word need not cost much,
The price of praise can be cheap:
With half a loaf and an empty cup
I found myself a friend.

53.
Little a sand-grain, little a dew drop,
Little the minds of men
All men are not equal in wisdom,
The half-wise are everywhere.

54.
It is best for man to be middle-wise,
Not over cunning and clever:
The fairest life is led by those
Who are deft at all they do.

55.
It is best for man to be middle-wise,
Not over cunning and clever:
No man is able to know his future,
So let him sleep in peace.

56.
It is best for man to be middle-wise,
Not over cunning and clever:
The learned man whose lore is deep
Is seldom happy at heart.

57.
Brand kindles brand till they burn out,
Flame is quickened by flame:
One man from another is known by his speech
The simpleton by his silence.

58.
Early shall he rise who has designs
On anothers land or life:
His prey escapes the prone wolf,
The sleeper is seldom victorious.

59.
Early shall he rise who rules few servants,
And set to work at once:
Much is lost by the late sleeper,
Wealth is won by the swift.

60.
A man should know how many logs
And strips of bark from the birch
To stock in autumn, that he may have enough
Wood for his winter fires.

61.
Washed and fed, one may fare to the Thing:
Though one's clothes be the worse for Wear,
None need be ashamed of his shoes or hose,
Nor of the horse he owns,
Although no thoroughbred.

62.
As the eagle who comes to the ocean shore,
Sniffs and hangs her head,
Dumfounded is he who finds at the Thing
No supporters to plead his case.

63.
It is safe to tell a secret to one,
Risky to tell it to two,
To tell it to three is thoughtless folly,
Everyone else will know.

64.
Moderate at council should a man be,
Not brutal and over bearing:
Among the bold the bully will find
Others as bold as he.

66.
Too early to many homes I came,
Too late, it seemed, to some:
The ale was finished or else un-brewed,
The unpopular cannot please.

67.
Some would invite me to visit their homes,
But none thought I needed a meal,
As though I had eaten a whole joint,
Just before with a friend who had two.

68.
These things are thought the best:
Fire, the sight of the sun,
Good health with the gift to keep it,
And a life that avoids vice.

69.
Not all sick men are utterly wretched:
Some are blessed with sons,
Some with friends, some with riches,
Some with worthy works.

70.
It is always better to be alive,
The living can keep a cow.
Fire, I saw, warming a wealthy man,
With a cold corpse at his door.

71.
The halt can manage a horse,
the handless a flock,
The deaf be a doughty fighter,
To be blind is better than to burn on a pyre:
There is nothing the dead can do.

72.
A son is a blessing, though born late
To a father no longer alive:
Stones would seldom stand by the highway
If sons did not set them there.

73.
Often words uttered to another
Have reaped an ill harvest:
Two beat one, the tongue is head's bane,
Pockets of fur hide fists.

74.
He welcomes the night who has enough provisions
Short are the sails of a ship,
Dangerous the dark in autumn,
The wind may veer within five days,
And many times in a month.

75.
The half wit does not know that gold
Makes apes of many men:
One is rich, one is poor,
There is no blame in that.

76.
Cattle die, kindred die,
Every man is mortal:
But the good name never dies
Of one who has done well.

77.
Cattle die, kindred die,
Every man is mortal:
But I know one thing that never dies,
The glory of the great dead.

 W.H.Auden & P.B.Taylor translation. Believed to be public domain. Source Rob Goodson.



Edited by ulrich von hutten

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Jhangora Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 02-Feb-2006 at 09:20

World Peace

by Andrea Hill

Mystifying beauty
Captivating dreams
Never-ending rainbows
A world so full of dreams

These are misled thoughts
Our world is not like this
Hate has scoured our minds
Hate will cause our deaths

Looking to the future
Right now seem very bleak
War is now an issue
Peace is for the meek

Ignorance of man
To look beyond ones faults
Has caused a misconception
Of others like ourselves

A join of hand and heart and will
Would put and end to this
The same value placed on others
Like we place upon ourselves
Would end the hate and violence
That’s tearing out our hearts

When this is done
Our world’s complete
The pain and hardship gone
And once again, just like before
Peace will lead us on

http://www.netpoets.com/poems/society/0191007.htm

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote dirtnap Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 16-Mar-2006 at 00:56
by Roselle Montgomery:

In them immortal gods are still astir,

The towers of Ilium are lifted still;

The Parthenon sits lovely on its hill,

And Rome’s magnificence is left to her.

The fleece still beckons the adventurer,

The face of Helen moves men to desire,

And desperate Dido builds a dreadful fire

To light the way of her lost voyager.

In them survive all glamorous, dream-touched things.

If these be dead, the gods indeed are dead.

Splendor, enchantment, and romance are fled,

If Pan no longer pipes, and Psyche’s wings

No longer poise. This dull world is bereft,

And youth is robbed, with only drabness left.










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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Gyadu Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 23-Mar-2006 at 08:56
woodcut 3

banner

Deep in the crouching mist, lie the mountains.

Climbing the mountains are forests

Of rhododendron, spruce and deodar -

Trees of God, we call them - soughing

In the wind from Kumaon and Garhwal;

And the snow leopard moan softly

Where the herdsmen pass, their lean sheep cropping

Short winter grass

And clinging to the sides of the mountains,

The small stone houses of Garhwal,

Their thin fields of calcinated soil torn

From the old spirit-haunted rocks.

Pale women plough, they laugh at the thunder,

As their men go down to the plains;

Little grows on the beautiful mountains

In the east wind.

There is hunger of children at noon; and yet

There are those who sing of the sunset

And the gods and glories of Himaal,

Forgetting that no one eats sunsets.

Wonder, then, at the absence of the old men;

For some grow old at their mother's breasts,

In cold Himaal.

- Ruskin Bond

http://uttarakhand.prayaga.org/poem.html



Edited by Gyadu
Izan zirelako gara...... Izan garelako izango dira....
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Ponce de Leon Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 23-Mar-2006 at 15:37
YOu think anyone made a poem about farting?
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Gyadu Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 23-Mar-2006 at 16:24

                   Fart Poem

A fart can be quiet,
A fart can be loud,
Some leave a powerful,
Poisonous cloud.

A fart can be short,
Or a fart can be long,
Some farts have been known,
To sound just like a song.

Some farts do not smell,
While others are vile,
A fart may pass quickly,
Or linger awhile.

A fart can create
A most-curious medley,
A fart can be harmless,
Or silent, but deadly.

A fart can occur
In a number of places,
And leave everyone
With strange looks on their faces.

From wide-open prairies,
To small elevators,
A fart will find all of us
Sooner or later.

So be not afraid
Of the invisible gas,
For always remember,
That farts, too, shall pass.

http://bathroomjokes.com/fart/poem.htm

 

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Gyadu Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 24-Mar-2006 at 10:46

I found a Tomato Poem......

Introduction

(To the tune of 'Guantanamera' gone wrong)

A Seedy Love Story

I'm going to tell you a story
That's neither gruesome nor gory
About a boy in the farmland
He was but a simple farmhand
He gazed into the sky blue above
And dreamed of meeting his true love

Chorus:
He wanted to meet her
Oh how he wanted to meet her
Wanted to meet her
Oh how he wanted to meet her

He'd seen her only from behind
While standing in the check-out line
Her hair was long fine and golden
Her beauty had him beholden
She smelt of oils exotic
It made her seem so erotic

Chorus:
He wanted to meet her
Oh how he wanted to meet her
Wanted to meet her
Oh how he wanted to meet her

He knew if he could impress her
Then may he could undress her
Because he was a great farmer
He knew just how to charm her
He'd grow a special surprise for her
Then she'd know that he adored her

Chorus:
He grew a one tonne tomato
He grew a one tonne tomato
One tonne tomato
He grew a one tonne tomato

Then he bribed the local mailman
Who went and showed him her mailcan
He waited till the dead of night
Then drove to her house on his plight
He put the tomato on her porch above
The note attached told of his true love

Chorus:
He left his one tonne tomato
He left his one tonne tomato
One tonne tomato
He left his one tonne tomato

Well it's been over a year now
And still the laugher you hear now
As folks recall all the drama
Of the young girl and the farmer
And of what happened the next week
When the tomato began to leak

Chorus:
It was a one tonne tomato
It was a one tonne tomato
One tonne tomato
It was a one tonne tomato

She'd been away on holiday
And come back home on that Sunday
To find her home grown all over
The farmer's note said he loved her
She was amazed how he'd figured it
That big tomatoes were her favourite

Chorus:
Of course she wanted to meet him
Oh yes she wanted to meet him
Wanted to meet him
Oh yes she wanted to meet him

They fell in love, then they married
A tomato bouquet she carried
Tomatoes cooked to perfection
Were served up at the reception
As they drove off they were showered
...Not with tomatoes but flowers!

Chorus:
Oh how they loved their tomatoes
They fell in love with tomatoes
They loved their tomatoes
And their love grows like tomatoes

And again:
One tonne tomato
He grew a one tonne tomato
One tonne tomato
He grew a one tonne tomato

Copyright; Arcadia Flynn
Email: funnypoets@yahoo.com
Web Site:
http://www.funnypoets.com

http://www.funnypoets.com/



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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Gyadu Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 24-Mar-2006 at 12:09

A Fat Man Poem.....

When the prophet, a complacent fat man,

When the prophet, a complacent fat man,
Arrived at the mountain-top,
He cried: "Woe to my knowledge!
I intended to see good white lands
And bad black lands,
But the scene is grey."

Stephen Crane

http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/stephencrane/11799

A comment.....

As I progress through my life, it is harder and harder to see too much in very stark, black & white terms, on most crucial matters the truth lies in the gray

Verna OBrien from United States
http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/stephencrane/11799/commen ts

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Gyadu Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 24-Mar-2006 at 23:17

and a Jew Poem.....

First They Came for the Jews

First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Communists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left
to speak out for me.

Pastor Martin Niemöller

http://www.telisphere.com/~cearley/sean/camps/first.html

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote DukeC Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 25-Mar-2006 at 12:51

 

    Survivor

I've been through the storm

looked the hurricane in the eye

I've felt the bitter sting of driven rain

been buffeted mercilessly by the wind

I've stood alone against the elements

hoping against hope that tomorrow the weather would clear

       DCM

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Gyadu Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 26-Mar-2006 at 19:44
SPRING POEM

While watching all these early buds and swallows,
I can feel tonight
that my heart's slowly growing over sorrows
as someone's horizon on smiley days might;

that it's getting bigger like all plants around
and light as a feather,
and that all happiness that's above the ground
and a Hell of pain wouldn't really matter:

It's longing for all things that a life as such
could give nice to thy,
and completely nothing wouldn't be too much--
its eager desire and hopes are so high.

Everything that's happened has been just a play
of my heart on fire;
my true love has never been given away
as much as I could and as I desire;

There are, in my deeps, gentle tides of words
never let outside;
I could give my heart to everyone on worlds,
yet, it would remain a lot of it inside.

Desanka Maksimovi
Translation: Dragana Konstantinovi

http://www.geocities.com/draganakonstantinovic/library/maksi movic-e-springpoem.html

 



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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Gyadu Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 28-Mar-2006 at 19:49

My Soccer Shoes

My Soccer Shoes As I walk on the field,
Ready to play,
I think myself,
Will I play hard today?
Will I be fierce, pumped, passion
Filled,
Or will I stand there and just get killed?

Then I think to myself,
What would my shoes say?
I think they would say I would play
Hard today!
They would say would say I would
Be hungry to fight for the ball, I
Would go through my opponent like they aren't there at all.
Whistle blows, muscles tighten,
My body surges,
The goal is in sight.

Ally Dutton

http://www.fundamentalsoccer.com/members/PlacerPoem2.html

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