Quotes about vista, page 3
Ana's Painting, Ephemera
Legs like brush strokes
streak down
over
the wrinkled vista,
sepia crumpled
in its folded ruptures—
feet levitation,
steps left to hover
above where they would sink;
where the imprints lie,
firmly imbedded into the faulty Earth,
a crumbling sheet of petrous land
nestling between what was
before us
and whatever resides
deep in the
[...] Read more
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Missing
Dismantling the vista
for a missing link.
A moon rises behind the ruins.
I see only the water
and a sunken ship in shallow bed.
The wings have carried away the wind.
A beautiful sin to become
polyamorist worshipping many goddesses
dying everyday.
The blood draws a line
around the chaste bed, where
half-brothers will kill each other.
I tie the knot with hanging
fountain of virtual image.
There will be no consummation tonight.
poem by Satish Verma
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Influences
My eyes now behold larger vista's
From potted plant to the wild flower
I am a trembling galaxy of For-Get-Me-Nots
That bloom incessantly-hour after hour
I am a fully realized Soul
In this World i am utterly at home
Embracing a Universal Oneness
But more importantly-Never alone
My Spirit transcends all petty concerns
Of many the ordinary kind
Resting securely under a brillant nebulae
While in deep thought-Walt Whitman comes to mind
poem by Theodora Onken
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With Kit, Age 7, at the Beach
We would climb the highest dune,
from there to gaze and come down:
the ocean was performing;
we contributed our climb.
Waves leapfrogged and came
straight out of the storm.
What should our gaze mean?
Kit waited for me to decide.
Standing on such a hill,
what would you tell your child?
That was an absolute vista.
Those waves raced far, and cold.
'How far could you swim, Daddy,
in such a storm?'
'As far as was needed,' I said,
and as I talked, I swam.
poem by William Stafford
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I am looking for the Little Boy
I am looking for the Little Boy
Who liked to visit his grandparents at age 5
I am looking for the Little Boy
Who liked to go fishing with his father at age 15
I am looking for the Little Boy
Who became a Mortician at age 21
I am looking for the Little Boy
Who had 54 years of a happy marriage
I am looking for the Little Boy
Who is happily living at the Edgewood Vista
Who is the Little Boy
The Little Boy is me
January 12,2007, Clarence A. Graham, Jr.
poem by Jr. Clarence A. Graham
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Nightfall
Sun vanishes 'neath far horizon
Vista blurred by twilight haze
Earth defined by jagged shadows
Night smells waft heavy
Birds rest on leafy boughs
Day creatures go to ground
A brief silence…
Moon peeks thru distant clouds
Beams of silver light night sky
Nocturnal creatures awaken
Anxious to fill hungry bellies
Night sounds pervade
A cricket chirps his call
Ever hopeful for a mate
Mice scurry about, unaware
Of an owl perched above
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poem by Ray Lucero
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Why
For a messenger of lies
I lay down the script.
A kick starts the game.
I am the only visitor to the
gallery. Kamasutra suicide displayed
was a way of expression
of a revolt against honour
killing of your own daughters
whose bodies were found in the canal.
The tall sacred walls of home
made kilns, where you empty your sixpence
traditions on the name of native justice.
A sightless vista opens before the
inward eye. I take hold of a brush
and wipe out the faces.
poem by Satish Verma
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Now Tell Me
Now tell me
what evening romance
I must endure
to lust over this magnificent skyline
and euphoric vista
in the eye of the storm
there are grey clouds
haloed with glowing tints
luring the cluster of trees
and innocent brush of breeze
lull the mind
like a glass of red wine
stirring desire
to cry for more
I watch in awe
and crave this view will last
as long as the sky
wears new dresses everyday
matching the mood
in my being
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poem by Leonard Dabydeen
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I have walked that long road to freedom. I have tried not to falter; I have made missteps along the way. But I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. I have taken a moment here to rest, to steal a view of the glorious vista that surrounds me, to look back on the distance I have come. But I can rest only for a moment, for with freedom come responsibilities, and I dare not linger, for my long walk is not yet ended.
quote by Nelson Mandela
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-78
Rangoon Creeper(Quisqualis indica)
A sudden sprout and you grow
Up my mind-walls so intent
Clamping my memoir to blow
To my vision a vista distant
In the childhood street mine
At the sixth porch opposite
White to pink to red blooms
Pendulous trumpets you there
Who's it? my curiosity asked
Fragrant with magical colours
Five lobed On hardy wood held
Elliptic leaves in huge bliss
Who's it? -you Rangoon creeper
Till now and always perennial
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poem by Indira Renganathan
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