Quotes about barn, page 7
Tender Buttons [a Chair]
A CHAIR.
A widow in a wise veil and more garments shows that shadows are even. It addresses no more, it shadows the stage and learning. A regular arrangement, the severest and the most preserved is that which has the arrangement not more than always authorised.
A suitable establishment, well housed, practical, patient and staring, a suitable bedding, very suitable and not more particularly than complaining, anything suitable is so necessary.
A fact is that when the direction is just like that, no more, longer, sudden and at the same time not any sofa, the main action is that without a blaming there is no custody.
Practice measurement, practice the sign that means that really means a necessary betrayal, in showing that there is wearing.
Hope, what is a spectacle, a spectacle is the resemblance between the circular side place and nothing else, nothing else.
To choose it is ended, it is actual and more than that it has it certainly has the same treat, and a seat all that is practiced and more easily much more easily ordinarily.
Pick a barn, a whole barn, and bend more slender accents than have ever been necessary, shine in the darkness necessarily. Actually not aching, actually not aching, a stubborn bloom is so artificial and even more than that, it is a spectacle, it is a binding accident, it is animosity and accentuation.
If the chance to dirty diminishing is necessary, if it is why is there no complexion, why is there no rubbing, why is there no special protection.
poem by Gertrude Stein
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A Man and His Goat
In this gallant democracy
Where endeavours are proven free
A man's love surpasses boundaries
Including interspecies sprees
For underneath a country sun
Lived poor Tommy Michael John
Who was raised in isolation
Taught the trade of agriculture
Quite intelligent but awkward
With a tenant for introversion
He never had a single friend
Unless a tail was it conclusion
There was Elmer the potty pig
Plus Stuart the klutzy rooster
With Matilda the bovine cow
And Pamela the Foxy Goat
And yes she was a foxy gal
With a coat of auburn locks
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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The Manger Mouses Story
john john the story telling mouse
sat high on a toadstool house
telling the story as it was told to him
and at the children he did grin.
he started to tell the story of peter mouse
and how story telling came about.
this was the story as it was told to me
and been passed down throughout our history.
when the angels came down to bless
the child in the barn, they did not see.
a distant relative of you and me.
he was peter mouse who would
crawl into the barnyard house.
he was there putting away his goodies
at that time, and everything that night was going fine.
when entered the human couple
with all their belongings on the donkeys back.
the man human started piling up the hay
where his wife would now stay.
from his hiding place he could see
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poem by Louis Rams
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This Space Between the Gate, the Garden Lovely - Eternal Rounds of Determined Variations
.
...variations determined of rounds eternal -
lovely garden the gate
the between space
this...
All
this space between the gate and the garden lovely
within the hole of the ring in the breath flung in
the dirt's cool dank breath
the hand of the digger becomes the tree
shall hang
language surpasses itself breaks
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poem by Warren Falcon
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Judging Distances
Not only how far away, but the way that you say it
Is very important. Perhaps You may never get
The knack of judging a distance, but at least you know
How to report on a landscape: the central sector,
The right of the arc and that, which we had last Tuesday,
And at least you know
That maps are of time, not place, so far as the army
Happens to be concerned-- the reason being,
Is one which need not delay us. Again, you know
There are three kinds of tree, three only, the fir and the poplar,
And those which have bushy tops to; and lastly
That things only seem to be things.
A barn is not called a barn, to put it more plainly,
Or a field in the distance, where sheep may be safely grazing.
You must never be over-sure. You must say, when reporting:
At five o'clock in the central sector is a dozen
Of what appear to be animals; whatever you do,
Don't call the bleeders sheep.
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poem by Henry Reed
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Telling the Bees
Here is the place; right over the hill
Runs the path I took;
You can see the gap in the old wall still,
And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook.
There is the house, with the gate red-barred,
And the poplars tall;
And the barn's brown length, and the cattle-yard,
And the white horns tossing above the wall.
There are the beehives ranged in the sun;
And down by the brink
Of the brook are her poor flowers, weed-o'errun,
Pansy and daffodil, rose and pink.
A year has gone, as the tortoise goes,
Heavy and slow;
And the same rose blows, and the same sun glows,
And the same brook sings of a year ago.
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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Epistle to Mrs. Scott
Gudewife of Wauchope-House, Roxburghshire
Gudewife,
I Mind it weel in early date,
When I was bardless, young, and blate,
An' first could thresh the barn,
Or haud a yokin' at the pleugh;
An, tho' forfoughten sair eneugh,
Yet unco proud to learn:
When first amang the yellow corn
A man I reckon'd was,
An' wi' the lave ilk merry morn
Could rank my rig and lass,
Still shearing, and clearing
The tither stooked raw,
Wi' claivers, an' haivers,
Wearing the day awa.
E'en then, a wish, (I mind its pow'r),
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poem by Robert Burns (March 1787)
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The Hogarth Experiment Part 4
Professor Robert Hogarth sat
and looked out the window,
what he saw each day amazed him.
Where the remnants of his burnt out laboratory,
he watch each day the quickness of the new growth there.
Tiny shrubs were the next day mature plants.
He noted in his journal,
which kept hidden, everything he saw.
Each day the remains of his laboratory
slowly disappeared from sight under a sea of green foliage.
It was not only the plants
that were growing out of proportion.
Other things much more scary had begun to appear.
These made him order that none of his staff
go out during the day under any circumstance.
It was almost dusk when the empty battery was found.
The police notified the Army,
but couldn’t give them no explanation
as to why the soldiers had disappeared,
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poem by David Harris
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Family Romance
Sister once of weeds & a dark water that held still
In ditches reflecting the odd,
Abstaining clouds that passed, & kept
Their own counsel, we
Were different, we kept our own counsel.
Outside the tool shed in the noon heat, while our father
Ground some piece of metal
That would finally fit, with grease & an hour of pushing,
The needs of the mysterious Ford tractor,
We argued out, in adolescence,
Whole systems of mathematics, ethics,
And finally agreed that altruism,
Whose long vowel sounded like the pigeons,
Roosting stupidly & about to be shot
In the barn, was impossible
If one was born a Catholic. The Swedish
Lutherans, whom the nuns called
“Statue smashers,” the Japanese on
Neighboring farms, were, we guessed,
A little better off ....
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poem by Larry Levis
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The Season of the Witch
Most of the country is hushed out there
As the Moon climbs over the hill,
The creatures out in the wild beware
And the air is breathless, still,
The deer is stood at the edge of the wood
Afraid to go in too soon,
With the animals skittish, out in the yard
A hare stares up at the Moon.
There's something amiss in the air tonight
Both furtive and dark, unclean,
Shadows are lurking by old stone walls
In wait for a sign to be seen,
The men all sit in a vacant trance
As the women go out by the ditch,
Wearing their smoke-black cloaks in the dance
For the Season of the Witch.
Then like the flutter of vampire bats
The witches take to their brooms,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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