En.Citatepedia^®.ro

One stone

Muscles, tighten
Up and to the pond
I release, one stone
Ripples, form
Like raised voices,
I hear, squabbles,
Wounds open,
Swords drawn
All these, I see,
Cause, my one stone
I know water is deep!

poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Water so Deep and Profound

Water so sinuous and devious,
And as mystifying as you.
Water is always hiding its true self,
Never in one form.
Water can be the shimmer,
Reflecting off the light of the pond,
Making the pond seem magnificent.
Water can be the rushing sound,
As it escapes the secretive pond,
And runes down into the vast ocean,
Seeking adventure and unfound dreams.
Water can be the feeling of calmness,
As it sits there, overlooking the pond,
With wonder and seeing how it made it what it is.
Water so supple and wondrous,
The pond is born from the water.
Water so deep and profound,
Just like you,
The pond so incomplete without water,
Just like your family.

poem by Music Galore
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Existence First, Then Essence

take a stone,
from the beginning it was
a stone in form
and color and smell

and stone to stone
it shall be stone
unless you take it
in your hand
and keep it warm
in the hold of your palm
and take it home with you

you talk to it
and then it becomes
beyond itself

now
it is not just a stone
but your beloved
your lover

you will discover
that its silence also speaks
in tongues

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Silence Of Stone (revised)

take a stone,
from the beginning it was
a stone in form
and color and smell

and stone to stone
it shall be stone
unless you take it
in your hand
and keep it warm
in the hold of your palm
and take it home with you

you talk to it
and then it becomes
beyond itself

now
it is not just a stone
but your beloved
your lover

you will discover
that its silence also speaks
in tongues

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Stone and Peacock

Lend me a stone
I'll lend you a peacock
What you see in the picture, In reality you'll not
When our reality be in those pictures? ?
Look into the face of the sun
Seven colors seems flying, like a peacock
I once asked the sun
Seven horses drawn, Chariot of your, where to heading? ?
'Into the battle', replied the sun
In the battle, don't grief of what you lost
Look deep into the faceof the sun
Those stones were shaping swords sharp and shiny
Sun did borrowed it from my great grand father
Today I'm out into the battle ground
Its time now, I need that sword back
Look very deep into the face of the sun
Those stones were shaping my Great Grandfather's swords sharp and shiny
You lend me that stone
And
I'll lend you a seven colored peacock………

poem by D'menz Veen
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Einstein, Nicholas, My Fantastic Wife And Our Dog On The Beach At Home

a stone
a relative stone
a meteoric stone
a Newtonian stone
a photoelectric stone
a stone from Manhattan
a thermodynamic stone

one stone
a son

in my life
in my wife
a sun

alone

poem by Nicolas Grenier
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The Stone and I

By the edge of the mini-pond
where I sit when the weather’s fit for it,
there’s this stone.

I’d like to call it a rock
because that sounds more dignified
and metaphorical and carries
more tradition, but
it’s a stone

and on it grows a lichen;
not the vivid, flat, yellow and vermilion and red and black
lichen that grows on stone walls
by the seaside; this one
has those colours at its edge
but has a furry crop of tiny green fronds
cropping from its mossy green
which are quite vigorous in their tiny way.

I liked it so much that I tried
to get the other stones around the pond
to match, by douching them alternately
with urine and yoghourt in the approved manner
after dark for obvious reasons
but they didn't respond;
I guess stonecrop beautiful word
knows its own field so to speak
and won't be rushed, at least
it makes me treasure this one more

If I had the money which I haven’t
and the patience which I don’t
I’d have a perfect, model
Zen garden complete with sand
which I’d rake with a wooden rake
every morning into swirly lines
with graceful sweeping Tai Chi movements
until I got bored

but I just have this stone
with faintly Japanese pretensions
mine not its
however I’d like to think a Zen master
would quite approve of my modest intention
and say, less is more, more or less…

and now I think of it, the stone
has its own Zen garden; though whether
you could call this an eco-system,
whether the stone and the lichen
have a relationship, is open
to question, as is
whether the stone so agreeably placed
by the pool well OK pond
has a relationship with the pond

anyway, on a sunny day
the stone and I sit there together
if together is quite the right word
I feel we’re together whatever it feels
if it feels at all that is

and I guess it's even possible
in an evolutionary view of things,
lichen on stone, first life on earth
and all that, that the lichen
and I are really related, with
a common ancestor
which would account for a lot

and we sit there quietly in quite
a Japanese sort of Zen-ness
of being one with nature
and I become don’t laugh more stony
and still; as for the stone
I really can’t say but
It feels good

and in this state of relaxed contemplation
which I guess is the point of those
Japanese gardens
it occurs to me that the stone
and perhaps the water too

have qualities that I lack –
they know just how to be,
to be still, to be themselves

so there may be a point to what
we sometimes call with the trace
of a sneer,
communing with nature

since as Saint Augustine said
the whole cosmos is our
holy book; so why not
open it

*

[with a namaste to Augustine and Eckhart Tolle]

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Rainy Day Women #12 & 35

Well, they'll stone ya when you're trying to be so good,
They'll stone ya just a-like they said they would.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to go home.
Then they'll stone ya when you're there all alone.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone ya when you're walkin' 'long the street.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to keep your seat.
They'll stone ya when you're walkin' on the floor.
They'll stone ya when you're walkin' to the door.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
They'll stone ya when you're at the breakfast table.
They'll stone ya when you are young and able.
They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to make a buck.
They'll stone ya and then they'll say, "good luck."
Tell ya what, i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone you and say that it's the end.
Then they'll stone you and then they'll come back again.
They'll stone you when you're riding in your car.
They'll stone you when you're playing your guitar.
Yes, but i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.
Well, they'll stone you when you walk all alone.
They'll stone you when you are walking home.
They'll stone you and then say you are brave.
They'll stone you when you are set down in your grave.
But i would not feel so all alone,
Everybody must get stoned.

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Pebble

I toss a pebble in the brook.
I close my eyes then take a look.
I see the ripples in circular form
and watch it increase in size.

When the water becomes still again
I toss another stone.
Being able to do this continuous thing
while I’m all alone

calms my mind and brings me peace.
And I forget for these minutes of time
everything that troubles me.
And I understand that I’m

just like the pebble I throw.
I create an effect that I know
makes ripples on the folks I meet
wherever it is I go.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Stone That You Love

you are unique
for having loved a stone

how did the stone
entice you?
are you seduced by
its silence?
are you tempted by
its solitude?

you take the pain
poking the stone to
your heart
and you bleed
you rub the stone
in the skin of your body
hoping that someday
the stone may have
feelings and
love you

but this is all useless
the stone is a stone is a stone
and there is no love
in its blank stare
there is no softness in its
belly

i ponder upon this
and come to think of it
you and the stone
are the same
on this hardheadedness
this futility
this numbness
this suffering without end

the stone can never give
a part of its cracks
it will never part with its
dust

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hunger Moon

Under a full hunger moon
her children in a ring
she stands at the hub
a basket of stones at the right
a February-cold jug of water
fresh from the stream
on the other.

Each one came barefoot
touching the earth
bare arms reaching up
to an unrelenting sky.
'Choose a stone' she said
'Place it under your left foot.
Stone does not yield. There will
be times when you must be
like stone.'

And over the reaching arms
walking within her family circle
she gently rained water down.
'Water does not resist. There
will be times when you must be
like water. Close your eyes
feel like stone like water.'

poem by Beryl Baigent
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King Of Stone

Once again hes all alone
Here I am the king of stone
Gave away the love hed know
Just to be the king of stone
The only life hes ever known {the empty world that hed made his own}
But I dont believe Im made of stone
Now youve seen me
Now you dont
Can you hear me
Because quite soon you wont
So save your whispers
For some other man
Because I can hear you you
And I know who I am
Once again hes all alone
Here I am the king of stone
Once again hes all alone
Here I am the king of stone
Once again hes all alone
Here I am the king of stone

song performed by by Omd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Loving A Widower

your way of loving a widower
is a way of saving your life

not that it is this kind of long
distance love with nothing
to use but
just a voice in your wilderness
and some sweet talk
for at least once a week
or twice a month

but this can make what you have
in suspense
another four years to wait till
his youngest daughter graduates
in college

you wait
you like the drag of a promise
the years pass by
and then you look yourself at the mirror
the wrinkles tease you
you have been deceived
and now you find the chance
of saying no
time passed and you say
i had enough of waiting
now i can have my own life
within my hands
and i will shape it the way i like

and then you are alone again
but happier this time
deep inside you
it is what you actually wanted
and you have chosen it

like it is your destiny
you say you want it and
then finally declare
you don't want any

like you throw a stone to the sea
to make the ripples
but what you wanted to see
are ripples disappearing one by one
and the stone finally sinking
deep down under
until it is gone and you sit and stare
and heave a sigh

finally you leave a smile to the setting sun
and then take your way back home

i guess no one is still waiting
you take the key from your purse and then open your door

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Steppin' Stone

(i'm not your) steppin' stone
By tommy boyce and bobby hart
I i i i i'm not your stepping stone
I i i i i'm not your stepping stone
You're trying to make your mark in society
Your using all the tricks that you used on me.
You're reading all them high fashion magazines
The clothes you're wearin' girl are causing public scenes.
I said
I i i i i'm not your stepping stone
I i i i i'm not your stepping stone
Not your stepping stone,
Not your stepping stone.
When i first met you girl you didn't have no shoes
Now you're walking 'round like you're front page news.
You've been awful careful 'bout the friends you choose
But you won't find my name in your book of who's who.
I said
I i i i i'm not your stepping stone
I i i i i'm not your stepping stone
Not your stepping stone,
Not your stepping stone.

song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The moss that loves the stone

It is the moss that loves the stone
Most. No matter what or when, the
Moss somehow manages to stay
Even without a why, they say.
But the moss keeps on sticking
To the body of the stone that
Keeps its nonminding stiffness.
It is cold, it is hard, it is unfeeling
At all. It is the moss that keeps its
Love. It sticks with it, rain or shine.
It rolls with it. It stays with it even
In the desert, even it if means its
Own death. It is the moss that sticks
To the stone. It is its true lover.
In the river, the water has ordered
The moss to leave. It ordered the stone
To crush it. The moss cannot be
Removed. It covered the stone.
It is loving it whole.The stone has
Become the moss, and the stone
Is gone.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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(I'm Not Your) Steppin' Stone

I I I I I'm not your stepping stone
I I I I I'm not your stepping stone
You're trying to make your mark in society
Using all the tricks that you used on me.
You're reading all those high fashion magazines
The clothes you're wearin' girl are causing public scenes.
I said
I I I I I'm not your stepping stone
I I I I I'm not your stepping stone
Not your stepping stone,
Not your stepping stone.
When I first met you girl you didn't have no shoes
Now you're walking 'round like you're front page news.
You've been awful careful 'bout the friends you choose
But you won't find my name in your book of Who's Who.
I said
I I I I I'm not your stepping stone
I I I I I'm not your stepping stone
Not your stepping stone,
Not your stepping stone

song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dance

Dance!
When you get the chance.
It's okay to pat your feet.
And sway as you move,
To the rhythmic beat.

Dance!
Enhance your prancing,
By letting loose.
Get up and shake that butt.
Give all those excuses up!

Wave your hands and feel free to do it.
Remove those restrictions with thoughts deluded.
What is there to prove if you don't or do?
Improve your health and state of mind too!
Tighten up those muscles in that sagging behind...
And,
Dance!

Treat it like a mental release!
Dance!
From your head down to your feet.
Dance!
Get rid of those excuses you keep.

Dance.
Dance.
Dance.
Dance.
Dance!

Treat it like a mental release!
Dance!
From your head down to your feet.
Dance!
Get rid of those excuses you keep.
And...
Dance.
Dance.
Dance.
Dance.
Dance!

Wave your hands and feel free to do it.
Remove those restrictions with thoughts deluded.
What is there to prove if you don't or do?
Improve your health and state of mind too!
Tighten up those muscles in that sagging behind...
And dance.
Treat it like a mental release!
Dance!
From your head down to your feet.
Dance!
Get rid of those excuses you keep.
And...
Dance.
Dance.
Dance.
Dance.
Dance!

Treat it like a mental release!
Dance.
Treat it like a mental release!
Dance.
Treat it like a mental release!
Dance.
Dance.
Dance.
And keep on dancing!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A winner doesn’t walk over cloud

Mile stone
Pebble stone
Tricky stone
Stone wall
A winner doesn’t walk from the sky

Rolling stone
Stepping stone
Slipping stone
Grinding stone
A winner doesn’t walk over cloud

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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To Turn The Stone

The moon retreats behind a silver cloud
As darkness throws its cloak towards the earth
And mystery replaces what thought we knew
To turn the stone, to turn the stone
The one dimension only shows one side
But do we see the same through different eyes
As you and I peer into lifes kaleidoscope
To turn the stone, to turn the stone
Eternal sands of time shift endlessly
Behind a veil of motionless disguise
An eyelid flash is all it really seems to need
To turn the stone, to turn the stone
To turn the stone, to turn the stone

song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Roll Away The Stone

Baby, if you say you still care, I follow you most anywhere
Roll away the stone, roll away the stone
And in the darkest night, Ill keep you safe and alright
Roll away the stone, roll away the stone
Wont you roll away the stone, why be cold and so alone
Wont you roll away the stone, dont you let it lie
No matter if fools say we cant win, I know Ill fall in love again
Roll away the stone, roll away the stone
So sing, we still got a chance, baby for love and sweet romance
Roll away the stone, roll away the stone
Wont you roll away the stone...
..dont you let it die
Just kick it away..
Ian hunter/1973

song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sacrifice Of The Stone

a stone has always been a stone
numb and
silent on the side
of the pond
cool on the top
of clay

it likes it that way
no sadness
no happiness either

today
it ceases to be mindless
to the clouds
that it has long disliked

floaters
and drifters
these clouds
have always
chided his
numbness

the mosses beside
its belly
are dying of
dehydration

rain is needed
for its friends to survive
and so
here is the stone
smiling
and humble and
begging

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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