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Show ALL Forums  > Poems And Quotes  > “Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers,      Home login  
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 woobytoodsday
Joined: 12/13/2006
Msg: 151
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“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”Page 7 of 8    (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8)
Brolga, that is so fine!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Why It Wasn't You

So tender were you in the love you made
to me, so slow against that chilly piece
of midnight -- all the house at rest, afraid
to sigh or settle, lest your patience cease --
the walls themselves continued up, without
the slightest tremor at your gentle hand,
and no such fate as may squeeze faith from doubt
could hear those words you breathed, or understand.
So tender were you in your love to me,
but so inured was I to indiscretion,
outside, the rousing remnants of the sea
drowned out its cry, and I its soft confession,
even as your selfless body drowned the skin
that housed my heart, and whose love hid within.

~~Jennifer Reeser

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 Brolga
Joined: 8/29/2006
Msg: 152
“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 3/19/2007 9:11:28 AM
..."against that chilly piece/of midnight"
and "the rousing remnants of the sea"....Wow! Great language.
 woobytoodsday
Joined: 12/13/2006
Msg: 153
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“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 3/23/2007 7:53:59 PM
She is good, isn't she, Brolga?
 woobytoodsday
Joined: 12/13/2006
Msg: 154
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“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 3/25/2007 7:24:13 PM
Spring and Fall, to a Young Child

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

-- Gerard Manley Hopkins

.
 woobytoodsday
Joined: 12/13/2006
Msg: 155
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“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 4/1/2007 9:14:05 AM
Sudden Light

I have been here before,
But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet, keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.
You have been mine before,—
How long ago I may not know:
But just when at the swallow’s soar
Your neck turned so,
Some veil did fall—I knew it all of yore.
Then, now,—perchance again!…
O round mine eyes your tresses shake!
Shall we not lie as we have lain
Thus for Love’s sake,
And sleep, and wake, yet never break the chain?


~~ Dante Gabriel Rossetti



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 cdnreader
Joined: 6/7/2006
Msg: 156
“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 4/2/2007 2:09:56 AM
Variation on the Word Sleep


I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame

in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary

--Margaret Atwood
 woobytoodsday
Joined: 12/13/2006
Msg: 157
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“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 4/3/2007 5:01:49 PM
cdnreader ~~ Thank you for reminding me how MUCH I love Margaret Atwood. ♥
 .tiamat.
Joined: 12/19/2006
Msg: 158
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“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 4/4/2007 5:29:57 AM
Thank you - one of my favourites from Margaret Atwood as well...
So many inspiring works in this thread, I thought I'd bring a little something to this potlatch.

A Tethered Falcon

My heart sits on the Arm of God
Like a tethered falcon
Suddenly unhooded.

I am now blessedly crazed
Because my Master’s Astounding Effulgence
Is in constant view.

My piercing eyes,
Which have searched every world
For Tenderness and Love,
Now lock on the Royal Target –
The Wild Holy One
Whose Beauty Illuminates Existence.

My soul endures a magnificent longing.

I am a tethered falcon
With great wings and sharp talons poised,
Every sinew taut, like a Sacred Bow,
Quivering at the edge of my Self
And Eternal Freedom,

Though still held in check
By a miraculous
Divine Golden Cord.

Beloved,
I am waiting for you to free me
Into your mind
And Infinite Being.
I am pleading in absolute helplessness
To hear, finally, your Words of Grace:
Fly! Fly into Me!

Who can understand
Your sublime Nearness and Separation?

-- Hafiz, rendered by Daniel Ladinsky
 dali999
Joined: 3/18/2007
Msg: 159
“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 4/4/2007 5:36:16 AM
Oh ...
I know I'm unloveable
You don't have to tell me
I don't have much in my life
But take it - it's yours
I don't have much in my life
But take it - it's yours
Oh ...

I know I'm unloveable
You don't have to tell me
Oh, message received
Loud and clear
Loud and clear
I don't have much in my life
But take it - it's yours

I know I'm unloveable
You don't have to tell me
For message received
Loud and clear
Loud and clear
Message received
I don't have much in my life
But take it - it's yours

I wear Black on the outside
'Cause Black is how I feel on the inside
I wear Black on the outside
'Cause Black is how I feel on the inside

And if I seem a little strange
Well, that's because I am
If I seem a little strange
That's because I am

But I know that you would like me
If only you could see me
If only you could meet me

Oh ...
I don't have much in my life
But take it - it's yours
I don't have much in my life
But take it - it's yours
Mmm ...
Oh ...


-Morrisey

-he was able to put into words the boredom-isolation-desperation of growing up bored, isolated, and desperate in a small town
-of course
it was just a phase i grew out of hours ago
 scally and moulder
Joined: 3/28/2007
Msg: 160
“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 4/4/2007 5:45:03 AM
as a bloke who drinks,smokes
but does not lend his a//rs//e about
mad beer drinking gremlin from afore steven s had a name
i shall pass and when i do i shall be mourned
why

arethra franklin explained it best

do unto others
 scally and moulder
Joined: 3/28/2007
Msg: 161
“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 4/4/2007 5:46:44 AM
as will you but you have simply not realised it as yet
 scally and moulder
Joined: 3/28/2007
Msg: 162
“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 4/4/2007 5:49:03 AM
so go and grow
never forget there may be a guardian
 woobytoodsday
Joined: 12/13/2006
Msg: 163
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“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 4/15/2007 4:55:45 PM
tia, Kevin, Scally --Thanks!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Buy for Me the Rain

Buy for me the rain, my darling, buy for me the rain;
Buy for me the crystal pools that fall upon the plain.
And I’ll buy for you a rainbow and a million pots of gold.
Buy it for me now, babe, before I am too old.

Buy for me the sun, my darling, buy for me the sun;
Buy for me the light that falls when day has just begun.
And I’ll buy for you a shadow to protect you from the day.
Buy it for me now, babe, before I go away.

Buy for me the robin, darling, buy for me the wing;
Buy for me a sparrow, almost any flying thing.
And I’ll buy for you a tree, my love, where a robin’s nest may grow.
Buy it for me now, babe, the years all hurry so.

I cannot buy you happiness, I cannot by you years;
I cannot buy you happiness, in place of all the tears.
But I can buy for you a gravestone, to lay behind your head.
Gravestones cheer the living, dear, they’re no use to the dead.


Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
 .tiamat.
Joined: 12/19/2006
Msg: 164
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“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 4/15/2007 6:59:13 PM
Anodyne

I love how it swells
into a temple where it is
held prisoner, where the god
of blame resides. I love
slopes & peaks, the secret
paths that make me selfish.
I love my crooked feet
shaped by vanity & work
shoes made to outlast
belief. The hardness
coupling milk it can't
fashion. I love the lips,
salt & honeycomb on the tongue.
The hair holding off rain
& snow. The white moons
on my fingernails. I love
how everything begs
blood into song & prayer
inside an egg. A ghost
hums through my bones
like Pan's midnight flute
shaping internal laws
beside a troubled river.
I love this body
made to weather the storm
in the brain, raised
out of the deep smell
of fish & water hyacinth,
out of rapture & the first
regret. I love my big hands.
I love it clear down to the soft
quick motor of each breath,
the liver's ten kinds of desire
& the kidney's lust for sugar.
This skin, this sac of dung
& joy, this spleen floating
like a compass needle inside
nighttime, always divining
West Africa's dusty horizon.
I love the birthmark
posed like a fighting c0ck
on my right shoulder blade.
I love this body, this
solo & ragtime jubilee
behind the left nipple,
because I know I was born
to wear out at least
one hundred angels.


—YUSEF KOMUNYAKAA
 Brizo
Joined: 2/19/2006
Msg: 165
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“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 4/15/2007 7:35:45 PM
Encounters with Mrs. Raccoon


Once I spotted her up on our roof
And brought in the news, I should have known
my wife would want to see for herself
without wasting any more time talking,
so I watched as she gingerly climbed
ten rungs of our aluminum ladder
to where the porch roof started,
then peered intently through the rungs,


and, as she told me minutes later,
found those two deep brown saucers of eyes
set above the black button of a nose
staring back at her (from well underneath
the slanting house-roof's overhang)
with such an intensity it was no contest right away
for Mrs. Raccoon, and all my wife could do
was whisper a parting word or two,
climb down, as she said, feeling compassionate
even in her defeat.


Now as I remount the same ladder
before the day's darkness falls,
I rehearse one final time
my very well thought-out,
very practical, humane plan.
One: if she's not there I'll spread
the moth-balls I clutch in a package
all around the corner where she likes to lie,
then hope and pray she can't stand their lousy smell.
Two: if she's still in her corner, won't budge
when I poke my broom at her, I'll fetch the garden hose,
struggle with it up the ladder, turn it on
full force at the stubborn animal.


But when I reach the roof's edge,
peer over it as intently as my wife did
not four short hours ago, I see I've barged in
where I'm definitely not wanted at all --
because at least three baby raccoons
(much smaller saucers of eyes,
miniature black-button noses),
lie across her belly, sucking hungrily at what I imagine
are juicy, endlessly milk-flowing teats.


And the question comes immediately to mind
for which I haven't any answer --
what power do wild animals have
to melt our strong, hard human hearts
in the faintest stirring of an eyelid?
Whatever the answer
there's no living doubt
that a fresh, new-born surge of understanding
has swept all my hostility away.


Next I back down the ladder slowly,
shying openly away
from an encounter I never desired,
with a creature struggling here and now
much the same as all of us creatures do --
just trying to keep ourselves alive
in a world forcing more and more people
to leave the light, seek out the darkness,
where they steal, deceive, survive by cunning,
like the lady up on my roof,
our own Mother Courage, Mrs. Raccoon.

Raymond Souster
 woobytoodsday
Joined: 12/13/2006
Msg: 166
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“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 4/17/2007 9:46:19 PM
tia and Brizo -- wonderful wonderful! I should check in here more often!! Such gifts!


.
 Brizo
Joined: 2/19/2006
Msg: 167
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“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 4/25/2007 7:58:18 PM
I appeal to any white man to say if he ever entered Logan's cabin hungry, and he gave him not meat; if he ever came cold and naked and he clothed him not. During the course of the last long and bloody war, Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate for peace.

Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as I passed, and said, "Logan is a friend of the white man." I have even thought to live with you but for the injuries of one man, Colonel Cresap, who last spring in cold blood and unprovoked murdered the relatives of Logan, not even sparing his wife and children.

There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. This has called on me for revenge. I have sought it; I have killed many; I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country, I rejoice in the beams of peace.

But do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one.

Mingo Chief Logan (1725-1780)- refusing to sign Dunmore's Treaty
 woobytoodsday
Joined: 12/13/2006
Msg: 168
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“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 5/31/2007 1:57:12 AM
PASSING REMARK

In scenery I like flat country.
In life I don't like too much to happen.

In personalities I like mild colorless people.
And in colors I prefer gray and brown.

My wife, a vivid girl from the mountains,
says, "Then why did you choose me?"

Mildly I lower my brown eyes —
There are so many things admirable people do not understand.

William Stafford (1914-1993)
from Stories That Could Be True (1961)



.
 alyosha
Joined: 11/13/2006
Msg: 169
“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 5/31/2007 6:35:05 AM
How many times have we wished to say:
Madam, I do not like the colour
of your coat or of your politics;
I do not like
the haughty way you carry yourself
--but, Madam, I do like you!
Oh my, how much
I do like you!

 woobytoodsday
Joined: 12/13/2006
Msg: 170
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“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 6/6/2007 3:38:47 PM
In This Life : .

for all i've been blessed with in my life
there was an emptiness in me
i was imprisoned by the power of gold
with one kind touch you sent me free

let the world stop turning
let the sun stop burning
let them tell me love is not worth going through
if it all falls apart
i will know deep in my heart
the only dream that mattered had come true
in this life i was loved by you

for every mountain i have climbed
every raging river crossed
you were the treasure that i longed to find
without your love i would be lost

let the world stop turning
let the sun stop burning
let them tell me love is not worth going through
if it falls apart
i will know deep in my heart
the only dream that mattered had come true
in this life i was loved by you

i know that i will live forever
but forever i'll be loving you

let the world stop turning
let the sun stop burning
tell me love's not worth going through
if it all falls apart i will know deep in my heart
the only dream that mattered had come true
in this life i was loved by you





. :Israel Kamakawiwo Ole' -
 windkist
Joined: 9/14/2006
Msg: 171
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost
Posted: 6/6/2007 5:52:49 PM
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
 windkist
Joined: 9/14/2006
Msg: 172
“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 6/6/2007 5:55:40 PM
THE RUNAWAY by Robert Frost

Once when the snow of the year was beginning to fall,
We stopped by a mountain pasture to say 'Whose colt?'
A little Morgan had one forefoot on the wall,
The other curled at his breast. He dipped his head
And snorted at us. And then he had to bolt.
We heard the miniature thunder where he fled,
And we saw him, or thought we saw him, dim and grey,
Like a shadow against the curtain of falling flakes.
'I think the little fellow's afraid of the snow.
He isn't winter-broken. It isn't play
With the little fellow at all. He's running away.
I doubt if even his mother could tell him, "Sakes,
It's only weather". He'd think she didn't know !
Where is his mother? He can't be out alone.'
And now he comes again with a clatter of stone
And mounts the wall again with whited eyes
And all his tail that isn't hair up straight.
He shudders his coat as if to throw off flies.
'Whoever it is that leaves him out so late,
When other creatures have gone to stall and bin,
Ought to be told to come and take him in.'
 windkist
Joined: 9/14/2006
Msg: 173
“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 6/6/2007 5:58:29 PM
THE ROAD NOT TAKEN by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.


While I like so much of his work, this poem in particular changed me. Made me think about where lifes crossroads might be taking me. Made me more willing to march to the beat of my own drum.
 woobytoodsday
Joined: 12/13/2006
Msg: 174
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“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 11/20/2009 12:50:05 PM
Eliot ~~ The Waste Land

When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said—
I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself, 140
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
Now Albert's coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set, 145
He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you.
And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said.
Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said. 150
Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said.
Others can pick and choose if you can't.
But if Albert makes off, it won't be for lack of telling. 155
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
(And her only thirty-one.)
I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face,
It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.
(She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.) 160
The chemist said it would be alright, but I've never been the same.
You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said,
What you get married for if you don't want children?
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME 165
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. 170
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.



.
 *mandrake*
Joined: 9/19/2006
Msg: 175
“Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers, 'Grow, grow.'”
Posted: 11/20/2009 12:56:58 PM
Hi Wooby, this was one of the first poems that had a huge influence on me. We had to memorize it for English class, and I still ove it today!

Abou ben Adam



Abou ben Adam (may his tribe increase!)

awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,

And saw, within the moonlight of his room,

Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,

an angel, writing in a book of gold.

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adam bold,

And to the Prescence in the room he said:

"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head,

And, with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."

"And is mine one?"said Abou, "Nay, not so,"

Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,

But cheerily still, and said, "I pray thee, then,

Write me as one who loves his fellow men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night

It came again, with a great awakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had blest,

And lo! Ben adam's name led all the rest.



- Leigh Hunt
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