Quotes about girth, page 8
Potted Banyan
Somebody had pinched it
Of its swiftness and vigor
Its might, its hands
Its roots, its girth
Its fearlessness that could
Challenge the sky
Somebody somebody
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poem by Indira Babbellapati
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My Beau
I sat, my back resting against a tree trunk,
The sun shining full on my face,
I felt as if my whole being had shrunk,
As I looked out, at this huge open space.
This tree was enormous, such girth must have been
Created by vast centuries of time,
I was but a speck, when from such distance seen,
Yet it stood strong, as if just in its prime.
The views were stupendous, and over the lake,
Four herons were skimming in pairs,
So elegant were they, as each circle they'd take,
No, rushing with time, and no cares.
And as I sat pondering, the lake sparkled on,
The tree trunk, at my back, my support,
Then all of a sudden the sunshine had gone,
And a shadow across me was wrought.
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poem by Ernestine Northover
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'Vulgarised'
All round they murmur, 'O profane,
Keep thy heart's secret hid as gold';
But I, by God, would sooner be
Some knight in shattering wars of old,
In brown outlandish arms to ride,
And shout my love to every star
With lungs to make a poor maid's name
Deafen the iron ears of war.
Here, where these subtle cowards crowd,
To stand and so to speak of love,
That the four corners of the world
Should hear it and take heed thereof.
That to this shrine obscure there be
One witness before all men given,
As naked as the hanging Christ,
As shameless as the sun in heaven.
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poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Old Heads
Old heads, leaning bodies supporting clusters of gargoyle grins.
An illusion? Simply a confusion of a thousand crooked noses?
I perceive eyes spinning in their orbits attempt to settle into poses.
There they stand tattooed with wrinkles, crowned with antlers
Whose numbers and girth reflect their power immortal.
These sleepers old, these sleepers new, born aloft to be
Soaked in dew. Hanging on for dear life, some prefer to wrap
Their roots around another’s, clinging with the might of Titans,
Hanging on as if the Earth herself was the fairest of lovers.
Twisted torsos of headed sleepers weep over long forgotten lore.
If only they could keep their memory safe, if only they were given
The opportunity to recite their wisdoms before they are slain,
Laid down the woodsman. The crown of the forest is fallen,
Will man in his folly never cease is the rape of his Mother?
What charm he shows in his care for the fairest of lovers.
poem by David Lacey
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On Saturn's Moon
If viewed in black and white, it could be Earth,
with river deltas, shores and sculpted rock.
But sands in endless dunes round half its girth,
are ever- frozen grains of ice which flock,
enslaved by Saturn's tidal-driven winds.
Revealed in filtered amber twilight haze,
the similarity to Earth rescinds.
Volcanic slushy ice spreads tar-film glaze,
to coat ice landscapes; ranges, plains and dust.
And methane clouds replenish methane lakes,
reflecting skies which glow like vapoured rust.
Up high, a prebiotic cocktail shakes,
as sunlight strafes an elemental mix
and smog drifts down past rainbows infrared.
Our dying sun in future will transfix
the Earth with bloodshot eye; prognosis- dead.
But creeping warmth is outer planet's boon.
Ammonia and water oceans form.
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poem by Diane Hine
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On Our Marriage Anniversary,2012
Twenty-two years have sped off fast,
And nuptial knot untied remains,
But keeps two hearts united still,
Unlike many others, we see!
Time flies as love keeps changing girth,
And problems keep us quite busy;
We yearn for days just for us two,
But that eludes in life somehow!
The days of love-making - a dream!
Realities have cast their spell!
Our duty to our children prime,
Just takes away most of our time!
The hype is gone but love still sways!
With vanished dreams, our wedding stays!
Our love has climbed up dizzy heights,
But waning health gives us some frights!
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poem by John Celes
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Conscientious Objector
I shall die, but
that is all that I shall do for Death.
I hear him leading his horse out of the stall;
I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.
He is in haste; he has business in Cuba,
business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.
But I will not hold the bridle
while he clinches the girth.
And he may mount by himself:
I will not give him a leg up.
Though he flick my shoulders with his whip,
I will not tell him which way the fox ran.
With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where
the black boy hides in the swamp.
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death;
I am not on his pay-roll.
I will not tell him the whereabout of my friends
nor of my enemies either.
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poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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In Hot Pursuit
The tiger rested, gently laid,
Now in a placid mood,
Until his belly sighed dismayed
In hopes of some fresh food...
So up he stood and stretched a while,
His hunting ears alert
And gone that tiger's placid smile,
For main course and dessert...
He slowly trod the ground he walked
With one intent in mind,
For his next meal would soon be stalked,
As he sneaked up behind...
The chase was on! He saw his prey!
His coat was now a blur!
His next meal mustn't get away!
No, no! That can't occur!
So like the wind that strikes the earth
With storms of utmost rage,
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poem by Denis Martindale
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The Unbound
He shut himself away
Far from the worldly sway
On a mountain top
Off the beaten path
Assets entombed in the past `
Self indulgence on the cast
A flip side for the modern day
He chose to go by the mountain's way
Time lost its charm
Years passed by
He sat on its edge
The flora and fauna passed by
Beheld what fell across his sight
Sought out what fell across his might
Chanting his words of wisdom
Eavesdropping on the sounds of his kingdom
Time lost its hue
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poem by Falky Flakes
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After Having One Good Cry
Oh dear, I have gained such a lot of weight,
now to learn how to make my peace with it,
then start shedding as much as possible
Won’t confess to Rudi how much it bothers
me, he’ll say I’m vain – and he’ll be right, of
course, I only need to look good for him and
Myself, nobody else - I hate my new picture,
I’ll start eating right and focus on being content
with life, apparently eating is an emotional crutch
To create a feeling of well-being artificially, I know
the postponement of the wedding and everything
that happened caused a great upset
But now’s the time to become emotionally mature
and make some new year’s resolutions, I will stop
feeling sorry for myself and seeking comfort
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poem by Louise Tredoux
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