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Quotes about cacti

Eight Line Poem

The tactful cactus by your window
Surveys the prairie of your room
Mobile spins to its collision
Clara puts her head between her paws
Theyve opened shops down west side
Will all the cacti find a home
But the key to the city
Is in the sun that pins the branches to the sky

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Ambrose Bierce

A Ballad Of Pikeville

Down in Southern Arizona where the Gila monster thrives,
And the 'Mescalero,' gifted with a hundred thousand lives,
Every hour renounces one of them by drinking liquid flame
The assassinating wassail that has given him his name;
Where the enterprising dealer in Caucasian hair is seen
To hold his harvest festival upon his village-green,
While the late lamented tenderfoot upon the plain is spread
With a sanguinary circle on the summit of his head;
Where the cactuses (or cacti) lift their lances in the sun,
And incautious jackass-rabbits come to sorrow as they run,
Lived a colony of settlers-old Missouri was the State
Where they formerly resided at a prehistoric date.

Now, the spot that had been chosen for this colonizing scheme
Was as waterless, believe me, as an Arizona stream.

The soil was naught but ashes, by the breezes driven free,
And an acre and a quarter were required to sprout a pea.
So agriculture languished, for the land would not produce,
And for lack of water, whisky was the beverage in use-

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Hell in Texas

The devil, we're told, in hell was chained,
and a thousand years he there remained,
and he never complained, nor did he groan,
but determined to start a hell of his own
where he could torment the souls of men
without being chained to a prison pen.

So he asked the lord if he had on hand
anything left when he made the land.
The lord said, 'yes, i had plenty on hand,
but i left it down on the Rio Grande.
The fact is, old boy, the stuff is so poor,
i don't think you can use it in hell anymore.'

But the devil went down to look at the truck,
and said if it came as a gift, he was stuck;
for after examining it careful and well
he concluded the place was too dry for hell.
So in order to get it off his hands
god promised the devil to water the lands.

[...] Read more

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Sonnet: Our campus

The sun has set and ‘sadness’ fills campus;
Though ’twill arise, it cannot shine as bright;
Rain-bearing clouds have hid it off by curse;
In noon-time, day looks as if it is night!

The rain will fall heavily here-after;
The ground will dampen indeed very fast;
No more can anyone hear good laughter;
The wilder plants will grow like in the past.

The only Orchid growing here is dead!
Dehydrated until the very last;
And many cacti will grow in its bed!
Their thorns reminding of the bitter past.

The Orchid brought the place good name and fame;
The cacti will bring snakes and only shame.

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The Five Senses Renewed

Shhh, listen my love to the wind
Hearken to her melody, the symphony of the night wind
A refrain that tells our story
One of our love a beautiful history
Shhh, listen not with your ears
For it's a sound so divine only the heart hears

Look, beyond what the eyes can see
There, next to the southern star, do you see?
A story is written of two lovers
Born of thorns upon desert soil, cacti flowers
Written in the stars, of galaxies and comets
Brighter than the morning star, born of stardust and planets

Close your eyes, take a whiff
Go on, just a tiny sniff
Inhale that hint of vanilla, a delightful fragrance
A trace of potpourri, an air of jasmine, my what a heavenly fragrance
No cologne can compare
All the flowers of Eden combined in one, a scent so rare

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Preternatural Nature

Tenebrous wolves on superstitions prey,
occult owls of mounting metaphysical panic:
internal hoot and howl
Creeping physical symptoms
causing the hollow lunatic coffin crawl
of nervous woodland critters

arid transport...
windless gust...

...landing
...at well's bottom …

...hit with the gusto of
dark matter density...

Beings of shadow...
...usher me in...

==animal gravity==

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The Mexican Breathes

Aztec in arts
Spanish in conquest
The Mexican breathes
And lives
Taking control
Controlling the taken,
Our blood hot
Like the chile we eat
Don't expect any less
Outside we are strong
Desert cacti
Sharp unforgiving and rough
On the outside
But the inside
Water flows
The love flows
For la raza
Death envies our vidas
So rich and full
Fearless

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A filigree of gold:

I have a heart ancient and old
it's core is of a rock larva...
Newly formed with a pumice soul
that absorbs its self
that absolves its self
till nothing of the whole remains...
It is as a liquid-salt, or a filigree of gold:
It is as a barren desert
It is thirstier than a cacti-flower
awaiting some other blissful dead-sun
that has no need of substance!
No need of reliance or earthly love
I have a heart ancient and old,
it's core is of a rock larva...
Searching-out the mountains top:
A mountains summit to unfold...
Endlessness it is rent with a mouth of love
unearthed but any-ways housed untold.

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0293 Black, white, gray, color

Black and white are the magic of the drama
in the world of film;
gray, the poetry –
silver-gray of Paris; sunshine gray;
dark tragic gray of lovers’ partings
on the symbolic bridge, while the Seine
flows inexorably, darkly past like life and love;

who needs Casablanca in full color?

But there’s another gray –
the gray of exhaustion.
In 1945, a trip to London was a trip
to another race, of gray to unhealthy white
exhausted survivors, of the bombs
and doodlebugs and rockets,
of dead husbands, wives, sons or daughters,
broken marriages; bomb-shelter life drained of all emotion,
and almost too tired to welcome peace;
gray as the soot-encrusted buildings,

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Aren’t they alike?

Plants, roses and cacti,
Are alike to the God,
Whose children they are.
Animals, snakes and swans,
Are alike to the God,
Whose children they are.
Must men, noble and cruel,
Be different to the God,
Whose children they are?
God’s view is not your view.
16.07.2007

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