Quotes about palm, page 10
Lovely Lap
Vavroovahana patra
River valley beneath the palm trees
glows with funeral pyre.
Hymns reverberates the air
with the marital fire.
The soul searches ‘Lord Siva’s realm;
The bride ties the bride groom’s palm.
She smiles on the altar,
Lustrous radiant silvery face glitters.
Conjugal life blooms with desire;
Like the morning sun’s fire.
Eternal love is pregnant with dream.
Like the blow of a wood land stream.
Lovers find love
as devotees pray God.
Its as to ‘Siva linga’ an offering of
Garland of champak and from him desire a perennial
brook of nectar to flood.
Bridal songs and cradle songs
Have cadences of sorrow;
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poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Memories Of The Pacific Coast
I know a land, I, too,
Where warm keen incense on the sea-wind blows,
And all the winter long the skies are blue,
And the brown deserts blossom with the rose.
Deserts of all delight,
Cactus and palm and earth of thirsty gold,
Dark purple blooms round eaves of sun-washed white,
And that Hesperian fruit men sought of old.
O, to be wandering there,
Under the palm-trees, on that sunset shore,
Where the waves break in song, and the bright air
Is crystal clean; and peace is ours, once more.
There Beauty dwells,
Beauty, re-born in whiteness from the foam;
And Youth returns with all its magic spells,
And the heart finds its long-forgotten home,--
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poem by Alfred Noyes
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Girl In The Sunset
Girl in the sunset
I only saw you for a second
Yet your voice penetrated my brain
And echoed endlessly
'Stay with me' you cried
As Your golden blond hair was spinning
And as your lavender shirt caught the slow warm wind's
Under a palm tree that was swaying back and forth in that very same wind
I cannot put a name to your face
Yet you looked so familiar
Were have I seen you before?
In my many years of sailing to come will we ever meet?
That sense of togetherness I felt was indescribable
Passion I have not felt in nearly a decade
Girl in the sunset
I wish to stay under that palm tree
And view the orange sunset with you in my arms in that slow blowing warm winds
On that cobblestone road
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poem by Mike Casola
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The Bracelet of Grass
The opal heart of afternoon
Was clouding on to throbs of storm,
Ashen within the ardent west
The lips of thunder muttered harm,
And as a bubble like to break
Hung heaven's trembling amethyst,
When with the sedge-grass by the lake
I braceleted her wrist.
And when the ribbon grass was tied,
Sad with the happiness we planned,
Palm linked in palm we stood awhile
And watched the raindrops dot the sand;
Until the anger of the breeze
Chid all the lake's bright breathing down,
And ravished all the radiancies
From her deep eyes of brown.
We gazed from shelter on the storm,
And through out hearts swept ghostly pain
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poem by William Vaughn Moody
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Sleeping Mouse
Sleeping Mouse
In front of me, on the track that leads into the bushes, a tiny field mouse.
Picked it up and put it in the palm of my hand. The mouse was brown and
white, absurdly cute when it curled up and fell asleep in the morning light.
Eyes, lungs and heart, like me, so what’s next? I couldn’t stay here with my
hand outstretched waiting for it to wake up from its slumber, nor could
I take it home. Behind me I heard the shepherd with his sheep and dogs,
Put the mouse in my pocket. When dust had settled and the baaing stopped
I put my hand in pocket to pick it up, only it wasn’t there anymore. To have
a mouse in the palm of my hand, is one thing, but to have it crawling about
inside my pants? I took my trousers off. I took my shirt off. I stood there
naked as Adam in Paradise, no mouse. As I slowly dressed, butterflies flitted
making the woods enchanting.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Little Negro
Ah! the poor little blackamoor, see there he goes,
And the blood gushes out from his half frozen toes,
And his legs are so thin you may see the very bones,
As he goes shiver, shiver, on the sharp cutting stones.
He was once a negro boy, and a merry boy was he,
Playing outlandish plays, by the tall palm tree;
Or bathing in the river, like a brisk water rat,
And at night sleeping sound, on a little bit of mat.
But there came some wicked people, and they stole him far away,
And then good bye to palm-tree tall, and merry merry play;
For they took him from his house and home, and ev'ry body dear,
And now, poor little negro boy, he's come a begging here.
And fie upon the wicked folks who did this cruel thing!
I wish some mighty nobleman would go and tell the king;
For to steal him from his house and home must be a crying sin,
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poem by Ann Taylor
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The High-Toned Old Christian Woman
Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame.
Take the moral law and make a nave of it
And from the nave build haunted heaven.Thus,
The conscience is converted into palms,
Like windy citherns hankering for hymns.
We agree in principle.That's clear.But take
The opposing law and make a peristyle,
And from the peristyle project a masque
Beyond the planets.Thus, our bawdiness,
Unpurged by epitaph, indulged at last,
Is equally converted into palms,
Squiggling like saxophones.And palm for palm,
Madame, we are where we began.Allow,
Therefore, that in the planetary scene
Your disaffected flagellants, well-stuffed,
Smacking their muzzy bellies in parade,
Proud of such novelties of the sublime,
Such tink and tank and tunk-a-tunk-tunk,
May, merely may, madame, whip from themselves
A jovial hullabaloo among the spheres.
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poem by Wallace Stevens
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3%
3%
My shirt is torn I’m bloodied by thorns of anger. The bushes by the narrow track
are almost covering It, I tried to fight my way trough, the maze but lost. I have to
leave this territory to its own device; it will not listen to my 3% growth rate as
they expand at will. Born free, just like the Taliban. I could have made a nice
suburban garden here, one with rules, respect for law & order with democratic
trimmed hedges, soft lawn and palm trees, palms tend to decorate resorts, they
lend dignity to places that charge a lot of money so city dwellers can enjoy tame
nature with their Martinis. Palm trees have good genes, perfect education, Eton,
the rest of us are trained apes, we pick the coco nuts stand in awe, we admire
our exploiters. I walk in our town’s park now, gardeners keep, it trim, it’s as lovely
as unwritten postcards bought at a tourist route that has a growth rate of 3 %.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Palmist's Prediction
Pardon me beloved, for me
Words don’t fall with ease like leaves
Yesterday you were
A cob of maize on its stalk unripened
Waited upon to ripen by the farmer and the birds
By Jove! O my! Brought low by stem borers
Hopes shattered! Bury Yesterday
Utilize the balls in the socket
Onward Christian soldier.
Today you are
Some fresh cotton balls - the weaverbird’s toy
Tortured on the loom to be an ornament
For the dresser and the nude
Take the strain with ease
Launch an offensive against your adversaries
Onward Christian soldier.
Tomorrow you will be
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poem by Olu'kayode Gbadamosi
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For you woman I shall not die
For you woman I shall not die
You woman of notorious name and high fame
Only foolish men with piercing eyes you may slay
But I and they are not the same
Why should I expire
for your eyes' fire
Ha slender waist? So what?
And for your swanlike limbs? I say tat
But I run from your round breast
the fresh skin, the crimson checks
hair like a waterfall, long and rich
Indeed, Indeed I shall hold
through sturdy high walls and wide moat
Please God! Not me for any such
yet the golden hair my eyes enthralled
the forehead thin, the gracious ears
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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