Neither the baskets of the farmer nor the baskets of the abbey.
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A Healthier Easter
This is the first Easter
No candy baskets will be here
But we had so many baskets
Each and every year.
The kids are older now
Candy they don’t want anymore
So this Easter the baskets sit empty
Behind the closet door.
Somehow I want the Easter Bunny here
Want those baskets filled with eggs so bright
But my teens want to be healthier
So they make sure that they eat right.
They forfeit sugar and junk
No more Peeps or a big chocolate bunny
But being without Easter Baskets on Easter
Seems to be very odd and funny.
So I am putting the word out
To the Easter Bunny in my town
That I don’t think the teens will mind
If you decide to come around.
Maybe you could leave some health bars
Perhaps some fruit and veggies too
And maybe you could put some books in there
Those things could still say “I love you”.
poem by Connie Webb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Basket Dance
Dance!
Dance!
The priest is yellow with sunflower meal,
He is yellow with corn-meal,
He is yellow as the sun.
Dance!
Dance!
His little bells are ringing,
The bells tinkle like sunlight,
The sun is rising.
Dance!
Dance!
Perhaps I will throw you a basket,
Perhaps I will throw you my heart.
Lift the baskets, dancing,
Lower the baskets, dancing,
We have raised fruits,
Now we dance.
Our shadows are long,
The sunlight is bright between our shadows.
Do you want my basket?
Catch it!
Catch it!
But you cannot catch me,
I am more difficult.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Odd Balls
Who needs other people coming to deliver,
Baskets of grief as if fruit to eat.
Respect is what is needed,
To help lift those tensions,
With relief.
Expressing respect,
Should be one's prime delivery.
False sympathies spoken,
From those hearts deep in misery.
Hinders the healing of the ones who leave,
Agonies felt,
Behind them as they mend.
They wish not to hear them over and over again.
Those that are able to reflect from mistakes,
Are free to welcome happiness,
With a shedding of that which has caused heartbreak.
And doing what it takes,
To stand strong and tall to then walk away.
Who needs other people coming to deliver,
Baskets of grief as if fruit to eat.
With a convincing attempted,
To get attention as they speak...
How people who are honest and truth seekers,
Are the 'odd balls' to disbelieve.
People nourishing insecurities,
Love to feed them as if they are welcomed company.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It's dress in?a man, bindings in baskets' edge.
It's dress in a man, bindings in baskets' edge.
(It’s useless to attempt to) carry water in baskets.
A bush that doesn't rotate baskets must not grow mushrooms.
There is no distinction among the common baskets made of palm branches.
All that we know is nothing, we are merely crammed wastepaper baskets, unless we are in touch with that which laughs at all our knowing.
quote by David Herbert Lawrence
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is only the early risers who succeed in filling their baskets with white ants.
Season of Mists
I thank you for your view of a view of autumn, Keats
who never saw your own autumn with its actual pitfalls.
Yours was the autumn of childhood, of hope, or romance, of belief,
my mother's autumn though not that of her hardworking family,
yours was never my father's autumn, season of mists,
and yours is not mine. My autumn
for all I would like to subscribe to your lavish play,
is like yours only in single ways each year,
perhaps there are swallows making a din,
or plums and apples falling wasp-eaten, unharvestable.
There is no sickle in my vocabulary or shed,
my autumn is based more on dread of the winter
and having had so little time each summer
to tidy or attend to the garden. Last year
early snow fell on flower baskets ditched from the street
and remained both snow and baskets until the spring
leaving me two seasons behind, without strategy
for a fast approaching repeat autumn, little wonder
and no chance to make anything faintly rhyme,
such is our modern poetry and life
poem by Sally Evans
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THE Road
Baskets
All are full
On the road
Tommrow...
Road is
Basket...
In india...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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We can either allow our youth to shoot baskets or watch them continue to shoot people.
quote by Henry Cisneros
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who makes baskets, makes some ugly and some beautiful.
Today a Windy Monday
Today a windy Monday,
brisk, businesslike north wind,
I would make a great altar
and pile it high as heaven
with washing straight off the line
shirts like roly-poly hunchback
astronauts like human kites
a sharp flapping of hemmed edges
the squawk of hens surprised
laundry baskets full of the smell
of Spring and freshness and new beginnings
laundry baskets that smell as if
a walk along the shores of love
all Your wind and air and water, and
sunlight soap, soapy sunlight making
iridescent bubbles in the washtub
the squeak of the mangle,
dripping into the sink
stained heavenly with Dolly Blue
the smell of love and motherhood
the hot iron’s steamy smell
the starch, the sharp warm ironed piles
ready for the cupboard shelves
and say, look everyone
this is a woman’s lifetime of unspoken love
see it made of the holy elements themselves
as on the first day of Creation
that is ever a woman’s life
men, worship this
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Instead of kids just hearing about beads and baskets and fringe, and about what 'was' and 'were,' we present Native American culture as a living contemporary culture.
quote by Buffy Sainte-Marie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Getting Old Graciously....
there was this old man bent to his
weaving mats and baskets,
and his wife too, as old as he is,
eighty or so,
gazes upon the patterns of colors
and shapes
both know, what grace and love have
made from out of them,
mellowed backbones, like bending flowers
to the setting sun
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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