Quotes about yard, page 8
Nostos
There was an apple tree in the yard --
this would have been
forty years ago -- behind,
only meadows. Drifts
of crocus in the damp grass.
I stood at that window:
late April. Spring
flowers in the neighbor's yard.
How many times, really, did the tree
flower on my birthday,
the exact day, not
before, not after? Substitution
of the immutable
for the shifting, the evolving.
Substitution of the image
for relentless earth. What
do I know of this place,
the role of the tree for decades
taken by a bonsai, voices
rising from the tennis courts --
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poem by Louise Gluck
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Facts Of Life Can Be Hard
'Tis a fact of life and facts of life can be hard
You give some people and inch and they will take a yard
They always do take far more than they are due
That greed begets greed happens for to be true
With their type it is never live and let live
They always do take far more than they do give
You give some people a yard and they do take a mile
They know how to cover deception by guile
Their three special people are me, myself and I
And that's how they will be 'til the day that they die
They leave others to live in financial hell
But karma it surely will not serve them well
Yet sad to say some even their praises do sing
But not everyone is like them which is a good thing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Lake
The yard half a yard,
half a lake blue as a corpse.
The lake will tell things you long to hear:
get away from here.
Three o'clock. Dry leaves rat-tat like maracas.
Whisky-colored grass
breaks at every step and trees
are slowly realizing they are nude.
How long will you stay?
For the lake asks questions you want to hear, too.
Months have passed since, well,
everything. Since buildings stood
black against sky, rain hissed from sidewalks
and curled around you.
O, how those avenues once seemed menacing!
I know what you miss
sings this lake. Car horns groaning
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poem by Deborah Ager
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The Tikoloshe
The whole yard becomes full, becomes full of him,
without anyone noticing
while the shadows are drawing nearer
is in the bright day he already approaches full of danger,
when darkness comes to the earth
without anyone noticing
he unexpectedly enters a house,
and someone screams agitated
when darkness comes to the earth
and he comes and goes as he wants to
with eyes gleaming red and bloodthirsty
and someone screams agitated
where he enters the bed of an innocent girl,
when he sets out to kill
with eyes gleaming red and bloodthirsty
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Butterfly (Funny Story)
Memories
today i calmly sat in a park bench,
a butterfly came dangling resting on my elbow,
it's magnificent beauty reminded me about my childhood.
I remembered that day,
carrying a big basin and creeping down the blades of grass,
with my big basin i wud try to trap the butterflies in our yard.
Everytime i tried the butterflies would fly zigzagly and escape,
mama saw it all,
she came to the yard too,
holding my tiny shoulders as i rested in the big basin,
she said 'to catch a butterfly, just relax and extend your elbow, don't say a world or tremble, the butterfly will come to you'.
Then she left.
And true, a beautiful butterfly rested in my small palm.
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poem by Prince Froggy Mwalimu
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Being Alone
As I walk within my home
Room to room I walk alone
Like a nomad I do roam
And everywhere I go I am known.
I look through my books in my book shelf
Memories I do remember of Passions I felt
And once again there is no one else
As I search alone all by myself.
I sit solemnly upon my comfortable chair
I again look and no one is there
So outside my window I do stare
I wonder for myself if anyone does care.
Outside in my yard I go for a walk
And once again to myself I begin to talk
Then I have a revelation so I had to balk
Is my life but a canvas and I its chalk.
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poem by Randy McClave
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Death Is a Mockery of Life
Death is a mockery of life
They who have lived it through, are dead
So what about death can be said
It lingers in the living room after the funeral
They who have lived it through are dead
We do not speak of death too much
It lingers in the living room after the funeral
We try not to think about the lonely grave
We do not speak of deah too much
It is always raining in the grave yard
We try not to think about the lonely grave
Where no one seems to be, but only was
It is always raining in the grave yard
Some flowers grow between the tombstones
As nature doesn’t care about it, live or death
Just carry on as usual
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poem by Ina SchrodersZeeders
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A Song In The Front Yard
I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life.
I want a peek at the back
Where it’s rough and untended and hungry weed grows.
A girl gets sick of a rose.
I want to go in the back yard now
And maybe down the alley,
To where the charity children play.
I want a good time today.
They do some wonderful things.
They have some wonderful fun.
My mother sneers, but I say it’s fine
How they don’t have to go in at quarter to nine.
My mother, she tells me that Johnnie Mae
Will grow up to be a bad woman.
That George’ll be taken to Jail soon or late
(On account of last winter he sold our back gate).
But I say it’s fine. Honest, I do.
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poem by Gwendolyn Brooks
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If You Beat Your Dog
If you beat your dog what does this say of you
That to love and compassion you cannot be true
I pity your children and I pity your wife
With you they must have the most miserable life
Your dog is the most aggressive dog on the street
The reason he is this way is that him you mistreat
Each time I pass your locked front yard gate he growls and bares his teeth
Could he escape from the yard him I'd not wish to meet
Those who beat their dog can also beat their wife, daughter and son
For cruelty does not have borders when all is said and done
Your dog does not greet you home from work at the gate
He does not respect you as his master or mate
The fear he has of you in aggression to others he does show
The sort of person you are through your aggressive dog I have come to know.
poem by Francis Duggan
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My Yard Sale
I felt a sadness come rushing across me
as I put the tables and signs away.
After selling saved childhood memories I've stored
discounted price tagged, at my yard sale today.
I seen a man wheel away your first bike
And remembered when daddy took your training wheels off.
You were a bit wobbly at first you rode
but then caught on and took off.
A lady had your Christening gown
and the sweater your Grandmother knit.
I don't know why you didn't want to keep it?
I thought you might too, have treasured it?
Your Halloweens first costume
you were Spider Man that year.
Everything you owned till age ten
It had to be your heros, Spider Man gear.
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poem by Linda Winchell
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