Quotes about paddy, page 16
Where Are the Birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
‘The skies are empty and grey at dawn,
They’re empty and brown at noon,
Where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
Deep in the afternoon?
Even at dusk when the air is still
Or the cool breath heaves from the sea,
I wait for the beat of wings then, Bei Bei
Rushing to comfort me.’
‘The birds were once when the paddy fields
Ran down by the river tides,
When the sky was blue and the air was clean
And the trees reached up to the stars.
The birds were here when the skies were clear
No buildings blocked the view...’
‘But where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
Why have they gone from you? ’
‘They left when the smog came rolling in
And the insects died on the ground,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Day that is Dead
Ah, Jack! Time finds us feeble men,
And all too swift our years have flown.
The days are different now to then -
In that time when we rode ten stone.
The minstrel when his mem'ry goes
To old times, tunes a doleful lay -
Comparing modern nags with those
Which Lee once bred down Bathurst way.
The type to-day's a woeful weed,
Which lacks the stoutness, strength and bone
Of horses they were wont to breed
In those days - when we rode ten stone.
But all of us remorseless Fate
O'ertakes, and as the years roll on
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poem by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant
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The Barking Weasel
You say, John Irish, Mr. Taylor hath
A painted beard. Quite likely that is true,
And sure 'tis natural you spend your wrath
On what has been least merciful to you.
By Taylor's chin, if I am not mistaken,
You like a rat have recently been shaken.
To wear a beard of artificial hue
May be or this or that, I know not what;
But, faith, 'tis better to be black-and-blue
In beard from dallying with brush and pot
Than to be so in body from the beating
That hardy rogues get when detected cheating.
You're whacked about the mazzard rather more
Of late than any other man in town.
Certes your vulnerable back is sore
And tender, too, your corrigible crown.
In truth your whole periphery discloses
More vivid colors than a bed of posies!
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poem by Ambrose Bierce
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On The Eastern Ghats On A Monsoon Day
a benevolent sky
a silken road
uplifting green on either side
the blue-grey hills move farther away
as i move closer to them
always standing on a hill
the other hill looked more welcoming
never there a high point
nor a lower point!
hills to the right
hills to the left
hills in front
hills behind
down in the valleys
green stretches of paddy
dotted by men, women
from the virgin ghats
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poem by Indira Babbellapati
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The Natural Love Story
With full of unwillingness
the water evaporates
The natural love story ends
as heat - the villain infests.
The water can't be disunited
from the soil, so it dies;
In the hope of being reunited
the soul of water flies.
In the memory of the earth
the water becomes light;
It is separated too distantly
and the earth remains no more bright.
The dead-body of the water
remains as a cloud;
It has nothing, just to wander
and this sinister can't even shout.
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poem by Himanshu Mishra
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A Penny for a Tick
If the dreams come true how beautiful the ugliest life!
The slippery Zig Zag road ends at the village Manor
And we got down, myself & wife from our tumbledown car!
It's a small drizzle and a Twilight
The Sun offs for the day it seems.
The Baron and the Baroness happy with us
For their advertisement in the Pennysaver
And he says; ' You are the ideal couple we expected
And really satisfied by seeing you! '
Wife makes different names of spicy meals
And cleans the household things.
The two Doberman familiar with me
And I pluck their ticks a penny for each.
Cut their high grass in the lawn
And night I read my poems.
The kind Baron offers me a Cuban cigar and a nightcap
And now I don't steal pennies from my beloved's piggy till.
In the night she wears her old nightgowns
And she looks like the Baroness!
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poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Breaking It Gently
ALL WAS UP with Richard Tanner—
‘Wait-a-Bit’ we called him. Dead?
Yes. The braceman dropped a spanner,
Landed Richard on the head;
Cracked his skull, sir, like a teacup,
Down the pump-shaft in the well.
Braceman hadn’t time to speak up,
Tanner never knew what fell.
Tell the widow? Who’d go through it?
No one on the shift would stir;
But Pat Ryan said he’d do it—
‘Nately break the news to her.’
Pat’s a splitter, and a kinder
Heart I never wish to know.
Stephens told him where to find her,
Begged him gently deal the blow.
In a very solemn manner
Ryan met the dead man’s wife—
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poem by Edward George Dyson
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Devastation around Pattadakkal (Karnataka)
Are they spectres from the alien planet
to the wet tracts of Satavahanas
for braving the inundating floods
and weeping over the loss of crops?
The paddy fields have been layered with mud
and the rotten ground nuts are smelling bad
The darkened stems of sugar-cane go waste
and water is not receding in haste.
People dump their refuse on the narrow road
where the cattle stand awaiting fodder.
People thresh and winnow for some grains
and the children sow tears in pangs of hunger.
How will these tillers tide over the year?
There the buses too don’t tread in fear.
The vegetables hesitate to pour in
and the nude kids sell curd in earthen jars.
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poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Living Idol
Her face is black and shiny
Like a just burnished ebony
When Sun rays swept
Into beads of her cold sweat
Hundred more Suns did reflect
At once, glowing bright
Her toil since childhood
Bestowed her the best shape
To make jealous any Miss World
Her rhythmic movements
While at work or when
She does simply walk
Can sure invoke poetic zest
To follow her elegant gait
To run eloquent into metrical beats
Those countless tears and holes in her sari
Struggling to cover her raw, rustic beauty
Are like windows to her explicit misery
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poem by Sathya Narayana
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Serena
Strong
Elegant
Robust
Energetic
Natur al
Agile
Your cherubic face that frequently
Explodes with iron-melting smiles
Is like dry season moon
In its full bloom
That tames every darkness
On her enchanting path
An open invitation
To African men
Of valour to attend
Gainful moonlight games
Without chilling fairy tales
Mother Africa epitomized
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poem by Chris Jibero
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