Tumgik
#english poems
unknownrhymer · 7 months
Text
Inadequate
No water left to fill the bucket to the brim. Not enough tea leaves to make a good drink. Insufficient salt, so the dish was really bland. (like me) Limited time, so the day didn't go as planned. Pathetic tune, so the song was displeasing. (like me) Dimmed bulb, so the darkness wasn't leaving. Broken promises, so the dreams were diminished. (like me) Ripped pages, so the stories were unfinished. Forgotten language, so the book was worthless. (like me) Empty hearts, so the smile remained mirthless. Soulless lives, so the ground often weeped. (like me) Faded ink, so the love never reached. Dull colours, so the painting was an eye sore. (like me) I am laced with inadequacy yet I wish I was something more.
~Naazima K. (Me)
16 notes · View notes
qaasid · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
97 notes · View notes
nikolasongsa · 6 months
Text
Tumblr media
When Julius Fabricius, Sub-Prefect of the Weald, In the days of Diocletian owned our Lower River-field, He called to him Hobdenius—a Briton of the Clay, Saying: "What about that River-piece for layin' in to hay?"
And the aged Hobden answered: "I remember as a lad My father told your father that she wanted dreenin' bad. An' the more that you neeglect her the less you'll get her clean. Have it jest as you've a mind to, but, if I was you, I'd dreen."
So they drained it long and crossways in the lavish Roman style — Still we find among the river-drift their flakes of ancient tile, And in drouthy middle August, when the bones of meadows show, We can trace the lines they followed sixteen hundred years ago.
Then Julius Fabricius died as even Prefects do, And after certain centuries, Imperial Rome died too. Then did robbers enter Britain from across the Northern main And our Lower River-field was won by Ogier the Dane.
Well could Ogier work his war-boat—well could Ogier wield his brand— Much he knew of foaming waters—not so much of farming land. So he called to him a Hobden of the old unaltered blood, Saying: "What about that River-piece; she doesn't look no good ?"
And that aged Hobden answered "'Tain't for me to interfere. But I've known that bit o' meadow now for five and fifty year. Have it jest as you've a mind to, but I've proved it time on ' time, If you want to change her nature you have got to give her lime!"
Ogier sent his wains to Lewes, twenty hours' solemn walk, And drew back great abundance of the cool, grey, healing chalk. And old Hobden spread it broadcast, never heeding what was in't— Which is why in cleaning ditches, now and then we find a flint.
Ogier died. His sons grew English—Anglo-Saxon was their name— Till out of blossomed Normandy another pirate came; For Duke William conquered England and divided with his men, And our Lower River-field he gave to William of Warenne.
But the Brook (you know her habit) rose one rainy autumn night And tore down sodden flitches of the bank to left and right. So, said William to his Bailiff as they rode their dripping rounds: "Hob, what about that River-bit—the Brook's got up no bounds ?"
And that aged Hobden answered: "'Tain't my business to advise, But ye might ha' known 'twould happen from the way the valley lies. Where ye can't hold back the water you must try and save the sile. Hev it jest as you've a mind to, but, if I was you, I'd spile!"
They spiled along the water-course with trunks of willow-trees, And planks of elms behind 'em and immortal oaken knees. And when the spates of Autumn whirl the gravel-beds away You can see their faithful fragments, iron-hard in iron clay.
Georgii Quinti Anno Sexto, I, who own the River-field, Am fortified with title-deeds, attested, signed and sealed, Guaranteeing me, my assigns, my executors and heirs All sorts of powers and profits which—are neither mine nor theirs,
I have rights of chase and warren, as my dignity requires. I can fish—but Hobden tickles—I can shoot—but Hobden wires. I repair, but he reopens, certain gaps which, men allege, Have been used by every Hobden since a Hobden swapped a hedge.
Shall I dog his morning progress o'er the track-betraying dew ? Demand his dinner-basket into which my pheasant flew ? Confiscate his evening faggot under which my conies ran, And summons him to judgment ? I would sooner summons Pan.
His dead are in the churchyard—thirty generations laid. Their names were old in history when Domesday Book was made; And the passion and the piety and prowess of his line Have seeded, rooted, fruited in some land the Law calls mine.
Not for any beast that burrows, not for any bird that flies, Would I lose his large sound counsel, miss his keen amending eyes. He is bailiff, woodman, wheelwright, field-surveyor, engineer, And if flagrantly a poacher—'tain't for me to interfere.
"Hob, what about that River-bit ?" I turn to him again, With Fabricius and Ogier and William of Warenne. "Hev it jest as you've a mind to, but"—and here he takes command. For whoever pays the taxes old Mus' Hobden owns the land.
-The Land, "Diversity of Creatures"
5 notes · View notes
frogofcamelot · 2 years
Text
"The absence of the Witch does not invalidate the spell"
Emily Dickinson (Long years apart- can make no)
Tumblr media
63 notes · View notes
my-forest-library · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
Teachers,
they introduce young minds to the world outside
and shape the souls present inside,
their lives committed for future development,
they make possible our every achievement.
Their love,
their care
and the knowledge they share,
create gems, each rare,
each different, each unique
in their own way.
They make the person we are today.
With all my heart,
I thank you
for everything you say
and everything you do.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am a bit late for Teacher's day. ( exams...)
But, I recently completed school, Teacher's day was a few days back and this poem also happens to fit in the timeline!
So, this is to all the teachers out there.
A very Happy ( belated) Teacher's day!
10 notes · View notes
sheraayasher · 1 year
Text
I have forever hated uncertainty, I have forever hated devious people. And in midst of constant meeting with strangers, You’re becoming predictable to me.
Although you’ve never rambled on the reason, I know why your favourite season is spring. Even though you have never pointed it out, I know why you always suggest watching sad movies whenever I’m feeling down.
It is comforting to me. This, whatever this is, is it allowed? This unusual feeling, is it permitted for wanting to lay affectionately in its warmth?
- z.t.
4 notes · View notes
s-strangebird · 2 years
Text
As spring takes its place in the world I am just one more among the flowers that bloom;
Watered by the rain that is your tenderness Safe from harm in your embrace Joyous in the light that is your wonder My peace of heaven in everyplace
Last night I saw you in my dreams Gingerly you smiled and told me:
Do not fear, my little bird In the silence you'll find peace in me Our love will last through all the seasons From this moment to eternity.
- Nandini Marson
12 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
From collected poems by John Berger
5 notes · View notes
fromdarzaitoleeza · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
{Quotes:Nitya prakash/Richard siken ,crush}
74K notes · View notes
mysterieuxclairdelune · 10 months
Text
I am jealous of those who think more deeply, who write better, who draw better, who look better, who live better, who love better than I.
-Sylvia Plath
33K notes · View notes
rainreads · 5 months
Text
Tumblr media
"Tired" by Langston Hughes.
15K notes · View notes
qaasid · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
26 notes · View notes
musicloveryashi-blog · 2 months
Text
Lover💕
Lover❤️ Click here to Gift your loved one’s something special and express your love.
Tumblr media
View On WordPress
0 notes
indigokashmir · 6 months
Text
Tumblr media
Summer Memories
The beauty and harmony of the natural world are intertwined with human experience. Nature serves as a source of inspiration and solace for the human soul, especially when the mind is troubled by thoughts of what humanity has done to itself and to nature.
"Lines Written in Early Spring" by William Wordsworth
I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.
Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.
The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
But the least motion which they made,
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.
Tumblr media
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tumblr media
0 notes
my-forest-library · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
Tubelight
Slower than the others,
Nicknamed a tube light.
But give them some time
And they will shine bright.
Let them grow more,
They will show their might.
Give them some time
And they will reach new heights.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This was a request from my cousin last year. She liked it. I hope you do too. :)
4 notes · View notes
starrfairy · 7 months
Text
Enjoying myself
Amidst solitude, I find my grace,No reliance on another’s embrace.A portrait of cool, a visage so fair,In my own company, I’m beyond compare.Self-love blooms, a radiant light,No need for approval, my soul takes flight.Unburdened by change, habits remain,For my essence is not for another’s gain.No pretense to display, no image to mold,In my fairytales, my dreams unfold.Free from judgment’s grasp,…
Tumblr media
View On WordPress
1 note · View note