LIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE

Even if everyone else is not doing good,
I alone will
Even if everyone else is doing wrong,
I alone will not

It is our thoughts
that lead us into trouble
not the other people

Rely on the teacher's message,
not the personality,
Rely on meaning,
not just words,
Rely on the real meaning,
not the provisional one,
Rely on your wisdom mind,
not your ordinary judgemental mind.

We are what we think,
all that we are arises with our thoughts,
with our thoughts,
we make the world.

Just as water cools both good and bad,
and washes away all impurity and dust,
in the same way you should develop,
thought of love for friend and foe alike,
and having reached perfection in love,
you will attain enlightenment.

To be proud of what we have received
or to envy others.
for what they have will rob us of our peace of mind.

If we fail to look after others
when they need help
who will look after us?
Indifference brings indifference
lovingkindness brings lovingkindness.

If I want to succeed in guiding a human being towards a given goal,
I must find him where he is and right start there...
to help a person I must know more than he does,
but above all
I must understand what he understands.

If I tell You something, You will forget it,
If I show You something, You will remember it,
If I involve in something, You will understand it.

There are three ways to correct our faults,
we can change through BEHAVIOR,
we can change through UNDERSTANDING,
we can change from the Heart.

Our words should be carefully chosen
for people will hear them and be
influenced by them for good or for ill.

If you know anything that is hurtful and untrue,
don't say it.
If you know anything that is helpful but untrue,
don't say it.
If you know anything that is hurtful but true,
don't say it.
If you know anything that is helpful and true
find the right time.

by Sajith Ranatunga

THE HOOVES OF THE HORSES

By W.H.Ogilvie

"The hooves of the horses O' witching and sweet
Is the music earth steals from the iron-shod feet
No whisper of lover, no trilling of bird
Can stir me as hooves of the horses have stirred
They spurn disappointment and trample despair
And drown with their drum beats the challenge of care
With scarlet and silk for their banners above
They are swifter than fortune and sweeter than love
On the wings of the morning they gather and fly
In the hush of the night-time I hear them go by
The horses of memory thundering through
With flashing white fetlocks all wet with the dew
When you lay me to slumber no spot you can choose
But will ring to the rhythm of galloping shoes
And under the daisies no grave be so deep
For the hooves of the horses to sound in my sleep"

Source: Tim Cox Fine Art's
"GOOD HORSES AND WIDE OPEN SPACES."

WHEN I HAVE FEARS

by John Keats

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
‪
Source: Old English Literature

EARTH GIFT LOVE MAN

The earth is a canvas
Nature the artist
You damage the canvas
You enrage the artist
Our lives are a gift
The choices our own
Squander the gift
Your on your own
Show compassion and love
To your fellow man
A world without love
Makes a beast out of man.

By: Shadowlands
November 14 2014

DREAM FOR WINTER

"In the winter, we shall travel in a little pink railway carriage
With blue cushions.
We shall be comfortable. A nest of mad kisses lies in wait
In each soft corner.
You will close your eyes, so as not to see, through the glass,
The evening shadows pulling faces.
Those snarling monsters, a population
Of black devils and black wolves.
Then you'll feel your cheek scratched...
A little kiss, like a crazy spider,
Will run round your neck...
And you'll say to me : "Find it !" bending your head
- And we'll take a long time to find that creature
- Which travels a lot...

By: Arthur Rimbaud
In a railway carriage, October 7, 70
- As translated by Oliver Bernard
(French poet Arthur Rimbaud died in Marseille, France, on this day in 1891, aged 37)

Source: Everyman's Library

ODE TO AUTUMN

by John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cell.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,---
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Source: Everyman's Library

The Charge of the Light Brigade

Lord Alfred Tennyson, 1809 - 1892

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!” he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldier knew
Some one had blunder’d:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash’d all their sabres bare,
Flash’d as they turn’d in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder’d:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro’ the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel’d from the sabre-stroke
Shatter’d and sunder’d.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro’ the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder’d.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

THE LAMB

Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;
Little lamb, I’ll tell thee:
He is callèd by thy name,
For He calls Himself a Lamb.
He is meek, and He is mild,
He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb,
We are callèd by His name.
Little lamb, God bless thee!
Little lamb, God bless thee!

− William Blake, 1789

LOVE and FRIENDSHIP

by Emily Brontë

Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree—
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He still may leave thy garland green.
*
A celebration of friendship in all its aspects--from the delight of making a new friend to the serene joys of longtime devotion. Poems about best friends, false friends, dear friends, lost friends, even animal friends. These poems have been selected from the work of great poets in all times and places, including Emily Dickinson, W.H. Auden, Henry David Thoreau, William Shakespeare, Sappho, Robert Frost, Rudyard Kipling, Walt Whitman, and many others.

Source: Everyman's Library