The Chalk-Pit
Is this the road that climbs above and bends
Round what was once a chalk-pit: now it is
By accident an amphitheatre.
Some ash trees standing ankle-deep in briar
And bramble act the parts, and neither speak
Nor stir,' 'But see: they have fallen, every one,
And briar and bramble have grown over them.'
'That is the place. As usual no one is here.
Hardly can I imagine the drop of the axe,
And the smack that is like an echo, sounding here.'
'I do not understand.' 'Why, what I mean is
That I have seen the place two or three times
At most, and that its emptiness and silence
And stillness haunt me, as if just before
It was not empty, silent, still, but full
Of life of some kind, perhaps tragical.
Has anything unusual happened here?'
'Not that I know of. It is called the Dell.
They have not dug chalk here for a century.
That was the ash trees' age. But I will ask.'
'No. Do not. I prefer to make a tale,
Or better leave it like the end of a play,
Actors and audience and lights all gone;
For so it looks now. In my memory
Again and again I see it, strangely dark,
And vacant of a life but just withdrawn.
We have not seen the woodman with the axe.
Some ghost has left it now as we two came,'
'And yet you doubted if this were the road?'
'Well, sometimes I have thought of it and failed
To place it. No. And I am not quite sure,
Even now, this is it. For another place,
Real or painted, may have combined with it.
Or I myself a long way back in time…'
'Why, as to that, I used to meet a man -
I had forgotten, - searching for birds' nests
Along the road and in the chalk-pit too.
The wren's hole was an eye that looked at him
For recognition. Every nest he knew.
He got a stiff neck, by looking this side or that,
Spring after spring, he told me, with his laugh -
A sort of laugh. He was a visitor,
A man of forty, - smoked and strolled about.
At orts and crosses Pleasure and Pain had played
On his brown features; - I think both had lost; -
Mild and yet wild too. You may know the kind.
And once or twice a woman shared his walks,
A girl of twenty with a brown boy's face,
And hair brown as a thrush or as a nut,
Thick eyebrows, glinting eyes -' 'You have said enough.
A pair, - free thought, free love, - I know the breed:
I shall not mix my fancies up with them.'
'You please yourself. I should prefer the truth
Or nothing. Here, in fact, is nothing at all
Except a silent place that once rang loud,
And trees and us - imperfect friends, we men
And trees since time began; and nevertheless
Between us we still breed a mystery.'
poem by Edward Thomas
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A Pair Of Brown Eyes
One summer evening drunk to hell
I stood there nearly lifeless
An old man in the corner sang
Where the water lilies grow
And on the jukebox johnny sang
About a thing called love
And its how are you kid and whats your name
And how would you bloody know?
In blood and death neath a screaming sky
I lay down on the ground
And the arms and legs of other men
Were scattered all around
Some cursed, some prayed, some prayed then cursed
Then prayed and bled some more
And the only thing that I could see
Was a pair of brown eyes that was looking at me
But when we got back, labeled parts one to three
There was no pair of brown eyes waiting for me
And a rovin a rovin a rovin Ill go
For a pair of brown eyes
I looked at him he looked at me
All I could do was hate him
While ray and philomena sang
Of my elusive dream
I saw the streams, the rolling hills
Where his brown eyes were waiting
And I thought about a pair of brown eyes
That waited once for me
So drunk to hell I left the place
Sometimes crawling sometimes walking
A hungry sound came across the breeze
So I gave the walls a talking
And I heard the sounds of long ago
From the old canal
And the birds were whistling in the trees
Where the wind was gently laughing
And a rovin a rovin a rovin Ill go
For a pair of brown eyes
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Road I Travel
With in my mind, I thought I knew
That I dare not travel back,
This road so dark, dim, and blue,
With trees, ever changing of truth.
This familiar path, so like a knack,
Within my mind. I thought I knew
The way down it and what I’ll do,
But all my thoughts seemed to lack
This road so dark, dim, and blue.
I tried to stray, to part from you,
With your spiteful cement, all black,
Within my mind. I thought I knew.
But I cannot, I won’t sort through
The sky of lies that make and crack
This road so dark, dim, and blue.
So vain, yet suddenly true.
To this place, I still travel back,
Within my mind. I thought I knew
This road so dark, dim, and blue.
poem by Sarah2 McMahon
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The Echoing Green
he shares his dream
with his friends;
the trees, birds,
blooms and sea
in shades of blue,
red, green and brown
he carries his dream
from place to place
always with a song
a poem in his heart
come rain or shine
the breeze brings out
his dream in strange ways
splashes, splotches,
points, dots, surrealism,
inspiration trails his soul
he lets go of his dream
like a breeze
amid the sparkles,
glitters of the sea
profusely, it flows, flows
out of himself
as he negotiates his ways
through all his friends
sharing their tales
with the world
in shades of blue,
red, green and brown
inspired by
'The Echoing Green'
The sun does arise,
And make happy the skies.
The merry bells ring
To welcome the spring.
The skylark and thrush,
The birds of the bush,
Sing louder around,
To the bells' cheerful sound,
While our sports shall be seen
On the echoing green.
Old John with white hair
Does laugh away care,
Sitting under the oak,
Among the old folk.
They laugh at our play,
And soon they all say:
'Such, such were the joys
When we all, girls and boys,
In our youth-time were seen
On the echoing green.'
Till the little ones weary
No more can be merry;
The sun does descend,
And our sports have an end.
Round the laps of their mother
Many sisters and brothers,
Like birds in their nest,
Are ready for rest;
And sport no more seen
On the darkening green.
- William Blake
(1757-1827)
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Forest Road
The forest road,
The infinite straight road stretching away
World without end: the breathless road between the walls
Of the black listening trees: the hushed, grey road
Beyond the window that you shut to-night
Crying that you would look at it by day -
There is a shadow there that sings and calls
But not for you. Oh! hidden eyes that plead in sleep
Against the lonely dark, if I could touch the fear
And leave it kissed away on quiet lids -
If I could hush these hands that are half-awake,
Groping for me in sleep I could go free.
I wish that God would take them out of mine
And fold them like the wings of frightened birds
Shot cruelly down, but fluttering into quietness so soon.
Broken, forgotten things? there is no grief for them in the green Spring
When the new birds fly back to the old trees.
But it shall not be so with you. I will look back. I wish I knew that God would stand
Smiling and looking down on you when morning comes,
To hold you, when you wake, closer than I,
So gently though: and not with famished lips or hungry arms:
He does not hurt the frailest, dearest things
As we do in the dark. See, dear, your hair -
I must unloose this hair that sleeps and dreams
About my face, and clings like the brown weed
To drowned, delivered things, tossed by the tired sea
Back to the beaches. Oh! your hair! If you had lain
A long time dead on the rough, glistening ledge
Of some black cliff, forgotten by the tide,
The raving winds would tear, the dripping brine would rust away
Fold after fold of all the loveliness
That wraps you round, and makes you, lying here,
The passionate fragrance that the roses are.
But death would spare the glory of your head
In the long sweetness of the hair that does not die:
The spray would leap to it in every storm,
The scent of the unsilenced sea would linger on
In these dark waves, and round the silence that was you -
Only the nesting gulls would hear - but there would still be whispers in your hair;
Keep them for me; keep them for me. What is this singing on the road
That makes all other music like the music in a dream -
Dumb to the dancing and the marching feet; you know, in dreams, you see
Old pipers playing that you cannot hear,
And ghostly drums that only seem to beat. This seems to climb:
Is it the music of a larger place? It makes our room too small: it is like a stair,
A calling stair that climbs up to a smile you scarcely see,
Dim, but so waited for; and you know what a smile is, how it calls,
How if I smiled you always ran to me.
Now you must sleep forgetfully, as children do.
There is a Spirit sits by us in sleep
Nearer than those who walk with us in the bright day.
I think he has a tranquil, saving face: I think he came
Straight from the hills: he may have suffered there in time gone by,
And once, from those forsaken heights, looked down,
Lonely himself, on all the lonely sorrows of the earth.
It is his kingdom - Sleep. If I could leave you there -
If, without waking you, I could get up and reach the door -!
We used to go together. - Shut, scared eyes,
Poor, desolate, desperate hands, it is not I
Who thrust you off. No, take your hands away -
I cannot strike your lonely hands. Yes, I have struck your heart,
It did not come so near. Then lie you there
Dear and wild heart behind this quivering snow
With two red stains on it: and I will strike and tear
Mine out, and scatter it to yours. Oh! throbbing dust,
You that were life, our little wind-blown hearts!
The road! the road!
There is a shadow there: I see my soul,
I hear my soul, singing among the trees!
poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
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Sometimes I Ponder
sometimes i ponder on the useless
things that i think i have done with so much importance
for the day:
1.stopping on a white bridge in Dikayo
and seeing the flood of the brown river
seeing the floating coconuts and
some drift woods
stopping the car.
2. standing beside a bay window
seeing the sea torn into halves
brown on the shore and blue on the
upper portion
stop the reading.
3. setting aside the curtain to
let in the light from the morning sun
turning off the lights and getting
away from the hazards of the
computer screen
stopping, stopping.
stooping.
4. looking over the road from
this two-storey building left by
the Spaniards that once ruled
this old town
aimlessly.
5. stopping for a while. wanting
this world to stop revolving.
wishing.
sometimes i wonder, if all these useless
things that i do can change the world
or just my small world.
I am doing all these. Without thinking much
if the time is wasted.
i sit back on my chair. Staring on a blank wall
that is painted with the color of
the chalk.
Back to writing. The chalk reminds.
The chalk that resembles
the pen.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I'Need a kiss
Sunday is a holiday then we are going to that place.
That silent place full of silence, we are there standing,
we saw the so many coloured greenish leaves big trees.
so many birds, and butterflies decorating the blue sky
Then a butterfly dancing in the sky.
Together we Keep a released longing.
sitting near in the shallow river.
We see fishes in the depth so calm
We look up at the rainbow in the sky.
So many days you have never kiss me.
I'need a kiss, here in the silent place near in the river.
Trees, butterflies, fishes, please we are given a chance.to make a perfect kisses.
Here in the silent place.
My lips are longing after so many days you have never kiss me.
See my eyes, do you know my yearning?
Oh love***kiss me softly now*
everything will be quiet.
Just you and me enjoyed***kiss***
then my heart full of desire, you will know everything.
Your kiss fly with me.
Your kiss will stun me.
Your kiss will softly me soft.
Your kiss is sweet hearted.
Your kiss is a pray.
Your kiss is wanted
your kiss so bright
your kiss is everything.
Choked
Trees above her, below her, to each side of her
Fog obstructing her view, where should she be?
She cannot tell what day it is any more than she can tell what time it is
Which way should she turn?
The fog swallows her feet
When she thinks she has found the right path, she sees an opening...
Then the fog swallows it
She has been misled again
...and again
......and again
She screams, she’s tired; she is choked by the fog, betrayed by the trees
Feels like she’s been here forever
Trees that don’t talk back anymore
No one is there to guide her
She is lost
The trees and fog are making her second guess every step she makes
Mocking her, humiliating her, laughing at her
At one time she thought they would lead her
Following each way the breeze decided to sway the trees
Going with the fog because where there is fog there is water
Water leads her to place she needs to be
If only the fog was not so thick
if only the trees would talk again
If....If....IF! !
If only she was not lost
The trees and the fog swallows her
Then spits her out when she is nothing more
Nothing is left
Besides a new start
God! Please help me!
poem by Ashley Joyce Forbus
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Heaven
Im longing for some space
Im longing for the place
Im longing for the days,
Where you start listening to me
Sometimes I cry
Sometimes I hide
Sometimes I buy a holiday
In seven heavenly skies
You think youre free
But the breed has got you
You think youre free
But the need has got you
You think you need the breed of greed,
You rule my world
With the breed thats got you
Chorus:
Heaven is a place I long to go
Has a face when I see you
Is a hell in seven skies
Tell me truth not holy lies
Show me the world of peace
Show me what I cant see
Show me that place and face your
Breed of greed
My mind is shaded blue,
I dont know what to do,
Shall I just leave or is there
Anything left to do
You think youre free
But the breed has got you
You think youre free
But the need has got you
You think you need the breed of greed,
You rule my world
With the breed thats got you
Chorus
1:st verse
song performed by by H-BlockX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chocked
Trees above her, below her, to each side of her
Fog obstracting her view, where should she be?
She cannot tell what day it is anymore than she can tell what time it is
which way should she turn?
The fog swallows her feet
When she thinks she has found the right path, she sees an opening...
Then the fog shollows it
She has been mislead again
...and again
......and again
She screams, shes tired, she is choked by the fog, betrayed by the trees
Feels like shes been here forever
Trees that dont talk back anymore
No one is there to guide her
She is lost
The trees and fog are making her second guess every step she makes
mocking her, humilating her, laughing at her
At one time she thought they would lead her
Following each way the breeze decided to sway the trees
Going with the fog because where there is fog there is water
water leads her to place she needs to be
If only the fog was not so thick
if only the trees would talk again
If....If....IF! !
If only she was not lost
The trees and the fog swallows her
Then spits her out when she is nothing more
Nothing is left
Besides a new start
God! Please help me!
poem by Ashley Dowdy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A journey through an interminable poetic landscape
In the midst of the dense thicket
of the poet-milky wood, just beyond the gas pumps
standing as lonely as a trio of crows
waiting for a poet’s metaphor, and just beyond
where the pavement ends,
the road divided:
I took the road less travelled,
- unlike, say, a wise purveyor of ice-cream;
pausing only to think, as the evening
fell like sadness from my cigarette, that
the other road will be for me
for ever, the road I did not take
into the landscape which I did not see,
in the time that will not return;
but the road I took, led past
plum-trees, showering Spring’s wild daffodils
as with a late Spring snow, falling quietly
like the sighs of young slant-eyed girls thinking of love;
I’m glad I took that road; for later, when Autumn
with its mists and mellow plumful fruitiness,
came silently, so silently,
I took that road again; although I’m told
the other road was much the same;
but now, as the brown leaves fell and swirled,
the small, hard plums had fallen;
I took some home, put them in the ice-box;
were they juicy, cold on my morning lips?
No. They’d gone; along with the girl
I’d brought home, and the crate of beer;
just a note on the ice-box door:
‘I used to worship your poetry; now
I know that you’ve sold out… loser…’
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Visiting Julie
Chocolates and cigarettes?
Julie says
as you sit in a chair
opposite her
in the rest room
of the hospital
in the psychiatric ward
I thought you'd prefer them
to flowers
you reply
yes
she says
flowers tend to lie
heavy in my gut
and she smiles
and you look at her there
with her dark hair
long but dishevelled
I haven't brushed my hair
or bathed yet
she says
seeing you look at her
but you can scrub my back
if you want
she says
watching you blush
best not
you say looking away
seeing out the window
a small garden
with summer flowers
but sensing
a slight movement
in your groin
at the mere thought
of her suggestion
how did you find me?
she asks
of all the hospitals
and all the wards
in this area
you managed to walk
into mine
she adds
you make me sound
like Bogart to Bacall
you say shyly
how about a drink later
down the road to the bar?
she says
You're permitted to drink
while on drugs?
you ask
studying her eyes
and her lips slightly parted
only cola
she says pulling a face
but at least it gets me
out of this place
for an hour or so
you look at her
a small stirring
still taking place
between your thighs
there's a small room
where they keep brooms
and brushes and such
where we can go
for a quickie
she says
looking at you
studiously
then breaking
into a laugh
at the sight
of your shocked face
some other time
you say
some other place
cigarette?
she asks
opening up
the pack you'd brought
you nod
and she hands you one
between her slim fingers
and you place it
between your lips
and she lights it
with a small red
plastic lighter
and you heave in
and feel the smoke
hit the back
of your throat
she inhales deep
and says
I prefer the ones
that make me float
and you see hollowness
open up in her
and her eyes
become wide open spaces
like cold winter skies.
poem by Terry Collett
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Love in A Romantic Place
My heart is where I wanted to go
I was up but now feel low
This feeling I have will not last long
As long as I don't ever hear that song
I imagine olives trees close to the rugged coast
Sitting on my deck drinking coffee, having a slice of toast
The sun would be warm and devoid of mist and rain
These places I see will remove the pain
News has come my trip can be delayed
My heart feels empty, as if there was a raid
I need to go to see this new place
When I go, I will wear a different face
We are resilient, time has shown
We each own our hearts, the good times and bad, we own
I know this little town near the sea awaits me
On the Mediterranean is where I need to be
She waits for me there, so young and beautiful for sure
I know our time together, so romantic, is my cure
Friends tells us this to be our place
To be happy and free, to get out of the dating race
Such a romantic place, old structures and vines filled with color
A place where you are an artist instead of a scholar
The old sea vessels docked and revealing the age
Free to be untied to sail free, not remain in a cage
I have to leave, I can't bear this place no more
My clothes are in a suitcase, not in a drawer
Her love will test me, more than ever, and forever
Our feelings are so strong, I know unable to sever
This is to those who find love in a romantic place
There is a woman there you may want to embrace
The two of you with a glass of wine at a scenic overlook
You will know you will not be a person in a phone book
poem by Michael Crawford
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At The Beach On A Sunday Morning
this is an isolated place
the coconut trees are growing uninterrupted
by the talisay trees long ago cut by papa
fenced by barbed wires and planted with carabao grass
this is one thing that sometimes i miss in my life
the molave gate is left open
for the caretaker knows that i am coming
to spend my sunday here...
i told them that i prefer being alone this time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How I Can Smell Like Dusts And Molds....
i take a walk this morning
in this village of trees where there are no houses of
dwellers,
i am looking for a peaceful place as i carry with me a load of some
thoughts heavy on my hair
i do not think that i am being punished with these
i am just trying to take my time
listening to my own footsteps
to the sound of the leaves on those grasses and trees
a river walks along with me
that is how i see it
it is a water traveler wanting a companion
towards a far end
that it knows too well for i am but new here
a lost stranger to his view
a novice of distance
i bring peace in my heart, i have set some pigeons free
my gifts to the balding mountains and to the hills with brown grasses
no pen, no paper, nothing about personal computers or cellphones
no signal, i am satisfied,
i am sucking air, words are carried with it in my nostrils
the river smiles, flows, and winds itself like a snake smooth on the grass
i listen too much, i become this earth
the river winds around my hair, birds are building nests,
the owl sleeps for the night beside my ears,
how peaceful is this place, how foolish had i been for all those years
hiding behind those rooms and rooms of books,
which explains why the river says that i smell nothing but
dusts and molds.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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No Place To Hide
Ha, ha, ha!
I see your faces and I do not understand why
Each time I dream youre standing there right by my side.
Why do you make me? you take my pride
And in my eyes you kinda rape me... inside
I have no place to run and hide
I have no place to hide, which I like
Some will look at the time I looked back into my life.
You wanna touch me to see whats in my eyes.
Why do you make me, remember my hate, all this shame?
Dont you hate me? ... sometimes?
I have no place to run and hide.
I have no place to hide, which I like.
I have no place to run so come on follow me
I have no place to run
Which I like... I like
I have no place to run and hide.
I have no place to hide, which I like.
(x2)
song performed by by Korn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Femagas
This is the simplest place
I'd been
Througout my life
The roads pure clay
The mountains pure trees
Nothing bald
No patch of brown
The flowers here bloom
All year round
And fogs hang on
Mountain sides like
Guavas
The children knows nothing
But the laughter of the rivers
The playfulness of worms and birds
The freedom of the monkeys
The staple food is brown rice
The best viand is City Sardine
The one with the Boat trademark
The best desert is a chunk
Of brown sugar
When one gets sick here
There is no doctor
They just consult all their gods
In their sacred caves
And when they die
No one mourns
The other side of the River
Where the boatman takes them
Is their perfect resting place
The Silence golden
The Quiet diamond-like
So Perfect & So Secluded
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Hope In Being Lost
i love being
lost
it is another
adventure
of my lifetime
to be lost
is a plan
it is a kind of
desire
like summer
it is a place
where you have
never been
you plunge
upon a darkness
upon a depth
into something
narrow
and uncertain
it is not a
kind of road that
is clean
and smooth and
unending
and free from
the mess of the
forest
and its trees
tall grasses
compete there
snake pits
are abounding
venomous bites
are impending
possibilities
moss and lichens
crowd upon a tree
trunk
lizards and
wild butterflies
and frogs
are cautious
upon each others'
preying
the seconds
are some kind of
twist and turns
of their lifetimes
deadly bees and
exciting canopies
create the
combination of
fright and frills
and instant
kills
being lost is
an excitement
i feel this
despite the
tension
you do not know
where to find
yourself
there is no map
yet
created in this
personal
situation
you cannot name
a place
you cannot simply
write an address
or email a
pic to someone
else
on the net
you become a new
man yourself
renewed to all these
anxieties
you may be killed
in the process
and that will be
so unfortunate
for one who has only
one life to live
it will take time
to adjust
sleeping under
the moon
the trees at
night
and listening to
all these
sounds of horror
and animal calls of
survival
you hope
and this is the
real cue
to find someone
new
like you
someone who can
give you
another exciting
beginning....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Take Another Road
Take another road
By: jimmy buffett, jay oliver, roger guth
1989
Seen the false horizons fade away like bisons
Headed for the jungle, cowboy cant endure
Never look back, thats what he swore
Ill take my pony to the shore
Somewhere, somewhere
Chorus:
Take another road to a hiding place
Disappear without a trace
Take another road to another time
On another road in another time
Like a novel from the five and dime
Take another road another time
Follow the equator, like that old articulator
Sail upon the ocean (oooh, sail away) just like mr. twain
Never look back, this is my plan
Run my pony through the sand
Somewhere, somewhere
Chorus:
Take another road to a hiding place
Disappear without a trace
Take another road to another time
On another road in another time
Like a novel from the five and dime
Take another road another time
Leave my cares behind
Take my own sweet time (take my own sweet time (time))
Oceans on my mind
Chorus:
Take another road to a hiding place
Disappear without a trace
Take another road to another time
On another road in another time
Like a novel from the five and dime
Take another road another time
Take another road to a hiding place
Disappear without a trace
Take another road to another time
On another road in another time
Like a novel from the five and dime
Take another road another time
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh! Lisa With These Lovely Eyes
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
So please tell my soul to sympathize,
We shall cry forever in overcast skies
Lisa with the dark brown eyes,
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Heartbroken heart spoken, not taken back
To change a mind so is lifes dream
Lisa with the dark brown eyed
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
That blends your butter scotch face insight
Smiles which brings sparkles to my mind
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Many pre thoughts of your strays hypnotize
French, African, English culture dies
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
She dabbles her life in fiction trash
her soul with curious follies
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Loneliness, has come far a sad. sad day
Emptiness in your mind and heart pay
Lisa with the dark brown eyes
Lisa with the dark, dark, brown eyes
You walk the world in beauty forgotten
They speak about you something forbidden
Lisa with the dark, dark, brown eyes
Lisa with the dark, dark, brown eyes
Your body your mind so whole same so
Your gave birth and I wish I could understand, understand
Lisa with the dark dark raven eyes
Lisa with the dark dark brown eyes
Curiosity is so special time flies, my sighs
Persuaded a fool to be wise, so wise how wise
Lisa with the dark dark brown eyes.
poem by Klayne Mario Burton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spring and All
By the road to the contagious hospital
under the surge of the blue
mottled clouds driven from the
northeast -- a cold wind. Beyond, the
waste of broad, muddy fields
brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen
patches of standing water
the scattering of tall trees
All along the road the reddish
purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy
stuff of bushes and small trees
with dead, brown leaves under them
leafless vines --
Lifeless in appearance, sluggish
dazed spring approaches --
They enter the new world naked,
cold, uncertain of all
save that they enter. All about them
the cold, familiar wind --
Now the grass, tomorrow
the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf
One by one objects are defined --
It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf
But now the stark dignity of
entrance -- Still, the profound change
has come upon them: rooted they
grip down and begin to awaken
poem by William Carlos Williams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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