Quotes about sandy, page 6
To The Eastern Shore
I'S feelin' kin' o' lonesome in my little room to-night,
An' my min's done los' de minutes an' de miles,
W'ile it teks me back a-flyin' to de country of delight,
Whaih de Chesapeake goes grumblin' er wid smiles.
Oh, de ol' plantation's callin' to me,
Come, come back,
Hyeah's de place fu' you to labouh an' to res',
Fu' my sandy roads is gleamin' w'ile de city ways is black;
Come back, honey, case yo' country home is bes'.
I know de moon is shinin' down erpon de Eastern sho',
An' de bay's a-sayin' 'Howdy' to de lan';
An' de folks is all-a-settin' out erroun' de cabin do',
Wid dey feet a-restin' in de silvah san';
An' de ol' plantation's callin' to me,
Come, oh, come,
F'om de life dat's des' a-waihin' you erway,
F'om de trouble an' de bustle, an' de agernizin' hum
Dat de city keeps ergoin' all de day.
I's tiahed of de city, tek me back to Sandy Side,
Whaih de po'est ones kin live an' play an' eat;
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poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Beachcombing
As the tide retreats, it leaves behind
Once hidden treasures, for folk to find.
Left revealed, is a long strip of shiny, wet sand,
Where treasures, now at their journey’s end, will land.
By the sea, small pieces of glass have been ground,
Leaving their once sharp edges, smooth and round.
There are a few fallen feathers from visiting gulls.
Smooth, egg-shaped pebbles – both shiny and dull.
Shells of all shapes, such as cones, conches, and scallops,
Are washed ashore by the powerful sea, as it gallops.
There are lions’ paws, kings’ crowns, tulips, angel wings,
Slipper shells, jewel boxes, moon snails and other things.
Sugar Kelp, Bladderwrack and Dead Man’s Fingers,
Are some of the seaweeds which, on the shore, linger.
The sight of numerous pieces of discarded litter,
Leaves behind a taste, in my mouth, that is bitter.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Shaking Earth
You call them Sandy, Andrew, Catherine and Neelam
The powers of the skies and the blue oceans
Have begun to work on the lands you own.
Many Americans thrown into misery and rendered homeless,
The President of the land articulating the power of the Sandy!
Many Philippians and Indians are never defended
And their kings mantle the role of cynics!
As ever and ever before we see the indifference
And unheeding goes the warning of nature.
She has been vociferous of late,
She knows to behave like a task mistress.
Man`s folly of living an intoxicated life
Far from the small woes of his grandfather, the ape
Has begun to show him the door of extinction
Like the dinosaurs and the larva were ever once.
Stop here brother, or else we are all doomed.
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poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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The Storms Of Life, Pleasing God & Hurricane Sandy
The storms of life come to everyone
There are none who are immune.
Some approach in our later years
While others come to soon.
The Bible is our anchor
Our lifeline to endure.
Without it's presence, we falter
And our future is unsure.
The Bible is our compass
To lead us through the dark.
Our souls lie among the lions
As we face the dogs that bark.
We cry out to our God Most High
Who performs all things in life.
To save us from our own plunder
Falsehoods, rebellion, and strife.
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poem by Tom Zart
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The Mango-Tree
He wiled me through the furzy croft;
He wiled me down the sandy lane.
He told his boy's love, soft and oft,
Until I told him mine again.
We married, and we sailed the main;
A soldier, and a soldier's wife.
We marched through many a burning plain;
We sighed for many a gallant life.
But his-God kept it safe from harm.
He toiled, and dared, and earned command;
And those three stripes upon his arm
Were more to me than gold or land.
Sure he would win some great renown:
Our lives were strong, our hearts were high.
One night the fever struck him down.
I sat, and stared, and saw him die.
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poem by Charles Kingsley
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The Daly River
By those northern river banks,
There in days gone by I wandered,
By clear streaming waters pondered,
Youthful hours were never squandered,
By those sandy verdant flanks.
Saw the rain in torrents falling,
Heard the native dogs there calling,
Saw from sea the rain clouds squalling,
By the Daly river banks.
Born upon a distant range,
All the streams that feed the Daly,
Flowing slow or tumbling gaily,
Come the rains it rises daily,
In a flash the seasons change.
Down the stony gullies creeping,
From the fissured hillside seeping,
Rolling clouds their tears are weeping,
Over all the monsoon's range.
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poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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Desert
It simply strikes our mind with barren land
Love, gestures, good will and flowers in hand
Look beyond horizons and you find no friend
Eyes get tired and find nothing in the end
This is description of desert in our mind
Nothing friendly and nature too seems unkind
Sands all over with no lively movements in sight
It is nature versus human being for rightful fight
It has its own beautiful land and surroundings
Earth and sky meet present very good bonding
Sandy winds and dry climate force us to think
Eyes get widened to see vast tracks and wink
Desert has got its own source of greenery
Palm trees and sweet water present good scenery
How beautifully camel swim on sandy soil?
Relentless struggle with natural odds to toil
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Frond Bond Standing Under, Above and Beyond Understanding - after Bryan Waller Procter Pre-Existence
One dreams beyond the palm-tree fronds tinged pink by sunset which
paints picture pink, inspires to think, on comings, goings, rich
that here inspire the poets lyre to muse on present, past,
on currents' flows, on Natures shows, on shadows all things cast.
One feels at ease amid light breeze beneath palm trees by beach,
sand dunes behind have underlined deep themes that seem to teach
Life journeys on, no soon begun than done, sun story passed
to higher planes - to start again chance karmic dance at last?
One sits beside wide sea to see wee sandy grain once rock
which doubtless stood out centuries would, mighty, lightly mock
sun, wind and rain that Time's reign trained to slowly infiltrate
nooks, chinks and crannies summer heat expanded at a rate
which seemed so slow - years ebb and flow - when measured by the clock
whose hands crept fast as seasons passed relentlessly, tick-tock.
One sits on sand to understand and silently take stock
of passing time which in rhyme's chime stands out and, with a shock,
one asks again how fame, task, gain can matter; what seemed great
is shattered, tattered, blown away one day by ebb tide Fate.
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Sweet Jamaica
Jamaica, Jamaica! Fly me away so I can feel your sweet embrace once more. How I do long to be in your arms once again to feel your heat up against my body. Fly me away on down to your sweet paradise. I want your lips kissing my cheek, your warm shores wrapped around me, and your sea melting away my pain. I want to stroll along your narrow streets; I want to behold your picture perfect sunsets. I want to lie in your warmth and hold you as I slumber. Make me feel safe and wanted once more.
Jamaica, Jamaica! I said farewell so long ago. I miss you so much now. Sweet is your memory to me. In my solitude I ponder your memory. So long ago and so far away you are to me. I want to smell your sweet perfume in the air. I want to see your gentleness swaying in a mystical caribien wind. Gentle are your curves so womanly and majestically. I want to see the sun rise as we are naked to the world. Your gentle rain beckons me back to the place I feel most at home. Home is where the heart is and my heart eternally is with you.
So long ago you left me and life does not seem the same. Take me home to greener pastures, ferny hills, fertile soil, and your fruits abundant. Plant me in your soil and relieve my pent-up frustrations once again even if it’s only for a brief moment’s pleasure. Let me run my hands aside your sandy shores. Let me play in your fields of exciting delight. Allow me to return to the place of my birth. Let me taste you fruit once more before I lay all my burdens behind me. Fulfill me for the last time as I walk alone in the shadows of my own mortality.
Jamaica, Jamaica! How it saddens me not to be with you any more. My heart screams for you day and night, you possess my dreams, and you are the keeper of my soul. Your curvy roads set my soul afire. The sandy mound you possess I want to climb again. Let me swim in your ocean and recapture my youth. I don’t long to be in yesterday. All I want is to live again. Leave me no more unhappy as I am for you. Lonely is the night of my solitude.
Jamaica, Jamaica! You are like a beautiful woman with your long black hair flowing in a mid-summer breeze. Your earth is your tender brown skin pressed gently against mine. Your eyes reflect your torques spirited seas. Your lips are the hibiscus plant. Your voice is the sweet sounds of the humming bird. Your mouth is the voice of generations past. Your body so perfectly curvaceous that is sets the sun a blaze. You are the soul that makes many loose control of there faculties.
Let me get lost in your arms once more for old time sake. Jamaica it is so true that I love you. What more can I ever hope for. From once I came shall I return to thee. Closer I want to be. Closer and closer to thee shall I ever be. Your perfume wraps in me in your ascents. Fly me away so I can come on down.
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Blunt And Instructive
Words can be blunt and instructive,
but frequently they are destructive.
Far better perhaps to be Trappist
than savagely, hip-hoppy rappist,
but silence is no vow I’m able
to take, so I put up with Babel,
and hope you, also, dear reader,
accept like a Lebanon cedar
that destruction of forests cannot
be avoided when you have a lot
set aside for a temple. The same
applies to the words that we maim
when writing a poem, but silence
is, passive-aggressively, violence.
You have to destroy when instructive;
if not, you will be counterproductive.
Michael Kuczynski in Bryn Mawr Review reviews Sandy Bardsley’s “Venomous Tongues: Speech and Gender in Late Medieval England, “ Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press,2006:
Speech, Chaucer explains in the House of Fame is only broken air. The definition is intended (however scientifically accurate) as
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poem by Gershon Hepner
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