Dreams in Africa
In the mouth of the wide savannah
The air of the hot midday
Casts on us a veil of stillness
Undisturbed by the remotest breeze
Time hovers almost motionless
As weaver birds build their family nests
Their busy conversations all at one
With the crickets and crackling leaves
The high sky is a backcloth
To the baobab tree outlined on the horizon
The acacias adorned with thorns
And the numberless red ants under our feet
The trails we examine have no direction
No men have passed here in this century
Any danger is fast of foot
And unconcerned with our reverie
Wordless with each other, our eyes scan the horizon
And gaze upon the vastness of the bush lands
Our hands, our fingers barely touch
As we stand unthinking, veiled by the stillness.
In the hour of siesta falling
The bush surrounds our common dreams.
poem by Frank Bana
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Related quotes
Kalahari Weavers
The weaver birds build homes together
Great thatch domes
They enter and leave
Circling in their thousands
Nests embracing great thorn trees
And no wisp or stalk is wasted
The weaver birds build commune homes
That stately sway in the breeze of dawn
Freezing under the midday blaze
Defiant in the cruellest evening storm
Tireless desert artisans
Peerless design skills
Resolved to live together by
Savannah stripped bare of life
And grasses of which few survive
If I had a week, a shade
And water-bottle filled
I would stay to watch them build.
poem by Frank Bana
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Octavian This Time
motionless. this is the circle. you are out.
motionless. open,
parenthesis, i am inside, i am a pause, i am enclosed,
close parenthesis, and you are out. ousted. a bird, a pigeon, born to fly
to get the bud, and tell me, there is peace on the land,
trance. my tongue shrinks inside my throat. i am silent.
i keep things inside. they are gifts of silence. i treasure them
inside my heart, they become my priceless treasures.
my hands. do you touch them like greek gods? what do you offer?
a goat, a calf, a turtledove. rise up, and be a star. reborn,
a chasm, you fall, and you keep on falling,
darkness, and light, getting married in that chasm, and you
are there cradled between them
light. so much light. blindness. gaze. stare. close and sleep.
you ask, where are we? where i am taking you? you ask if i am still
holding your hand?
through your eyes. this is the passage of time. through your eyes.
leaves. flowers. clouds. the sun kissing the mountain top.
let all these stay. in your heart. let them sing about the birds
that build their nests in your dreams.
we arrived. we shall now leave.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Imagination
intentionally i let my right hand hold my left hand
my left hand holds the branch of a tree that
holds some leaves,
my feet are on the trunk of a tree
beforehand i mentioned
there are clouds getting near us
fog that promise a cover
out there oceans sing
stars hang themselves upon a path of the horizon
all imaginary ceilings
where the moon behaves like one big chandelier
there are moment when stars and moon are simply themselves
as moon and stars without
self-imposed meanings and then all that we describe
is that it is the moon and they are the stars
no sauce for more words
nothing added nothing subtracted
faithful to the phenomenon of the stillness of what we see
to still this restlessness
we focus on what we have
a hand holding another hand
a head that looks upward to the heavens
a foot rooted like the roots of a tree
leaves falling like the wind
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Inside me was the stillness
Woven, high between bare branches
rooks nests gather where new growth sprouts,
amidst the stillness inside me.
A tiny blue tit twittering,
flitters towards a coconut,
feeding the stillness inside me
The sky, open, glistening blue,
white clouds sailing, a seagull soaring,
through the stillness inside me.
A purple pansy perfect as the stillness inside me
until............
people came
knocking, ringing, wanting
Then the stillness was gone.
poem by Diana Rosser
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Warrior Red-Ants
I crushed some warrior-ants to death,
And wondered what, others would do;
And very promptly, came more ants
To investigate scene of crime!
These ants build nests upon the trees,
By gluing leaves with strange substance;
Their nests look like army barracks,
With sentry-ants guarding smartly!
The dead ants lay all strewn about;
A few of them were moving still;
And very soon, they too lay dead,
Like soldiers killed in battle-field!
The scout ants went from ant to ant,
Perhaps in search of ones alive;
Some went back fast to convey news
About the tragedy they saw!
And very soon, arrived more ants
To check if dead were truly dead;
Somehow, these ants smelt death itself;
They did it so effortlessly!
Each one of them lifted the dead,
By proboscis and sped back home;
Each ant with carcass upon mouth,
Ran back as fast as legs carried.
And in a trice, the dead were cleared;
The scene of crime was clean by now;
The work was finished in moments;
Yes, ants are truly busiest!
Oh, what respect ants show their dead!
How fast they rescue comrades hurt!
They proved they respected their dead;
Do human beings do like-wise?
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-15-2008
poem by John Celes
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Just For Once
wind blowing
in continuous sweeps
rain falling
in endless sheets
birds and bees
stilled in their nests
shake the heart
of its long drawn stillness
to assume
all ears and eyes
to catch the melody
of your approaching foot-steps
to absorb your prescence
just for once
before birds and bees
awaken to life...
30oct2010
12.04hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Stillness Of The Night
Midnight on the hill I heard the thunder fill
The stillness of the night
It hit me like a slap, youre never comin back
From the stillness of the night
It was never black or white, neither wrong or right
Like the shadow of a full moons light
I knew wed lost the track, when I heard the lightning crack
The stillness of the night
Chorus
In the stillness of the night
Thats when well make it right
We can stop the thunder till the light
In the stillness of the night
I know you think you hear, those voices in your ear
In the stillness of the night
But Ive tried to make it clear theres nothing left to fear
Just the stillness of the night
And if you listen hard you might find the reason for your fright
Just the wind is high tonight
And the danger we must face is the anger of this race
In the stillness of the night
Chorus
song performed by by Reo Speedwagon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Were Once A Girl
i remember you: once a girl whose hands
hold on to mine in school,
my first year of teaching then
in the university and your mother
was there teaching too,
how time must have passed!
now you are a lawyer
pregnant on your second child
and defending a case
of your classmate in my court.
how time must have passed!
swiftly, so swiftly like a bird
falling out from the edge of the horizon
like a gaze falling out from the seams
of our visions
how time must have passed!
yet i feel nothing that i have to worry
there is no one in my house to stay
when my time to leave shall finally come.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I must go to the bush again
I must go to the bush again
and for a time be free,
from the inward chill
of the big city
and the emptiness
that life among strangers brings.
I must go to the bush again
and see the baobab trees,
frame against the setting sun
and know that somehow
the Almighty One
cares about everyone and me.
I must go to the bush again
and watch the wild buck,
drink from a stream
and see the crocodiles slide
into back into the water
and find the tranquillity
that nature brings.
I must go to the bush again
and give a prayer
and to find solace there,
from a world
that’s totally out of control.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Birds' Nests
he summer nests uncovered by autumn wind,
Some torn, others dislodged, all dark,
Everyone sees them: low or high in tree,
Or hedge, or single bush, they hang like a mark.
Since there's no need of eyes to see them with
I cannot help a little shame
That I missed most, even at eye's level, till
The leaves blew off and made the seeing no game.
'Tis a light pang. I like to see the nests
Still in their places, now first known,
At home and by far roads. Boys knew them not,
Whatever jays and squirrels may have done.
And most I like the winter nests deep-hid
That leaves and berries fell into:
Once a dormouse dined there on hazel-nuts,
And grass and goose-grass seeds found soil and grew.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Do Not The
do not the leaves love the tree
even as they fall...
and moths love the flame
into which they die?
and shadows in the night
love the stillness,
as they lay down to meet the dawn?
so love then is a series of deaths,
and each funeral has a face...
it is in the stillness when breath is taken,
that we learn to touch
with the eyes of body and soul!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Pray For Darkness...
i pray for darkness...
wrapping splintered lights
in perfected stillness...
stillness that heals
without questioning
why or who!
stillness that sings,
with every pulse of blood
through bodies worn...
stillness that redeems,
bringing the searcher
to his final destination...
stillness that removes,
the cross, , the crown of thorns,
lays down the shield of honor...
stillness that fills,
the empty cup, the box forgotten,
bringing the lover
to the lips of longing...
spilling his passion
on the fertile earth!
i pray for darkness,
removing all graven images,
the power of the formless
to form again and again...
i pray for darkness,
the moonlit touch forbidden,
the lover's cry, the wolfen howl,
the mystic taste of that which
cannot be seen... but felt!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Vagabond
i was too small then
chinky-eyed
my hands still like
buds of roses
i did not remember
thorns only leaves
and roots
the sky was as clear
as cellophane
and the the ceiling
hangs high
on the roof
and i did not remember
that the lizards
kissed the ground
on that sad afternoon
i remember you
as the tower
your hands big bells
your feet like
pillars and your
mouth like a boat
blowing its horn
for the final leaving
what i remember most
was what you left us
before you faded in the
haze far away
on the path towards
a dissolving
horizon
you left only us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Finding the Light
My world darkens as
Light surrounds me-
A wall has been erected between
Myself and this world-
Light surrounds me- I cannot reach-
I cannot reach beyond pathways towards oblivion-
A path exists before me, Straight and uphill-
The same path that I walk everyday- A pathway seemingly without and end-
Light surrounds me, So, I have been told- So many years have passed-
Promises for a future, a future filled with success-
Hope for a fine life – A sky without cloudiness,
Trees that grow tall and strong bearing flowers that shall never die-
Light surrounds me, I have been told- so,
Why do I only foresee bleakness and demise when
I have always been promised the sun to be rising about me?
This pathway I walk upon has been blocked
By mountains of madness, as along the way
I have drowned in pools of massive confusion,
While I feel hail and rain pounding against the very soul of my existence?
At the end of the road I walk- behind that wall that blocks my destination,
Awaits none but anger, mistrust and disappointment?
Light surrounds me, the light of promises,
The light of expectations, the light of hope-
The very same light that has blazed my spirit and my own rising sun has just burnt out?
My world is dark; I foresee no destiny-
Lightering has struck my tree of hope-
Fallen before me, blocking that same pathway
I walk everyday- I weep for that tree, now fallen, has perished-
I am now standing still as motionless as a marble statue, reflecting light
Which surrounds me and sears the core of my existence-
My tears are falling with the rain that has just taken over the light-
I am drowning in a pool of disarray and disbelief- as all I foresee is dimness-
That fallen tree casts shadows, obliterating my horizon?
Feeling my way through the mystifying haziness,
I begin to run without direction- singing melodies of my rekindled dreams, as
The rain stops and sunlight bursts through in all of its crystalline clarity-
My spirit is dancing atop those mountains of madness-
Being unable to discern veracity, I have lost myself inside the world of my delusions-
This is the world in which I have found a life and inside of which I can laugh and sing,
I see a different sort of light surrounding me now, and it no longer matters that
The flowers upon that fallen tree- have died, as I have found my own special flowers
Growing within a different frame of time and place…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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A Time To Write About Time
how do you write time? as simple as asking what time is it?
and then you look at your watch and say
without much thinking about how time passed swiftly and how
it affected you leaving you another lock of white hair
and sense of nostagia of
i am left out here and i have done nothing about the passing of time
it is 8: 17 in the morning, you hear some roosters still cocking out
their maleness to the hens laying their eggs in the warmth of their
quest for more of them
scrambled eggs and scratches on the grass for food
now finally i have found time to write about time
for eyes to look into my own eyes for hands to work on my own hands
time swiftly passes by
and i have noticed more wrinkles on my hands, more lines on my
forehead, eyebags, weakened knees, blisters on my feet, sagging cheeks, falling flesh on my arms,
my heart beats faster on the worry of
i have not done well enough and time passed by leaving me away
with this feeling of
there they are on happy faces with children and grandchildren
and birthdays and deaths and graduations and anniversaries
where are we my dear? we are in this house where there are only
two of us left
we are watching tv and this advertisement on milk for old age
and new born babies
how can we relate to the time that i am writing? i sit beside you,
i hug you again (for the nth time of this almost 30 years of being
together)
i turn off the tv, and let the silence be with us again
i hold your hand, and tell you the usual sweetest words
your name, i always say your name
and my name, you always call me by my name
i hold your hand, your head on my shoulder, we sit together
facing the sunset on the sea on the horizon where birds are flying towards their own nests
it is 5: 15 p.m., time is not freezing. it need not stop just like the
way we really want it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Music Of The Night
Sitting in a rocking chair
on a porch in a summer eve.
A warm breeze drives
the garden fragrances through the air.
You close your eyes and relax
and listen to the music of the night,
to the creatures of the night time
calling through the stillness to be found.
The leaves rustling
pushed by the warming breeze,
the lonely hoot of a wise old owl
perched high somewhere,
the chirping of the crickets
in their mating call
and the almost silence
of a bat’s flapping wing.
Those are just a few of the sounds
you’ll hear as you relax back
and listen to the music of the night.
27 March 2008
poem by David Harris
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The Simple...
follow that star...
to forlorn manger bare
'neath skies of poverty's making...
the simple, the common,
the calloused hands,
the baby's cry in cold night's grasp....
the light so few could see...
no temple, no righteous robes,
only a carpenter and wife...
no kings, no prophets,
no blaze of fury....
a child born in stillness,
that stillness formed....
abused, misunderstood,
his memory used and twisted
into something else and less....
never knowing, never seeing,
the simple truth....
the hands, fully human,
that dared to touch...
changing the darkness
with compassion's forms...
as if a leaf turning,
and no one heard!
therein lies the beauty,
and the stillness!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Carefree Day For Each One Of Us
sunshine falls upon the leaves of
a mango tree
under it is a man wearing blue long sleeves
yellow shorts
twirling the key of his red motorcycle
he is talking to another man with short hair
denim pants, beside a wall with moss
it is a carefree day
it is life that is moving too slowly
to each and every living human being
in this sleepy community
a sparrow hovers and stops over my window
as i take my gaze, my long, long gaze to a faraway horizon.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Between the Now and Then
Upon horizon, night to day ~
there between the now and then,
I often pause along the way,
to tiptoe through the moonlit glen ~
or perhaps take in sun's light,
night to day ~ day to night.
Upon horizon, day to day ~
there between the then and now,
as seasons grow along the way,
to crease the face of timely brow ~
or perhaps steal time away,
day to day ~ day to day.
Upon horizon, day to night ~
there between the now and then,
I stand beneath my autumn light,
bereft as memory calls again ~
to pain the heart with bygone sight,
Night to day ~ day to night.
Upon horizon, night to night ~
there between the then and now,
I know that winter casts its sight,
on one last leaf that will not bow ~
to frost within its golden sight,
night to night ~ night to night.
Upon horizon, night to day ~
there between the now and then,
I know my spring will fade away,
and summer's soft remember when
will echo gently autumn's way ~
day to night ~ night to day....
Winter's near ~ Winter's near......
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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November 28,2007 is the International Day of Stillness: A Poem for the day
'Stillness is my beloved teacher.
From her, I learn new things every day.'
I said to Stillness,
How can you teach me so well?
Stillness said,
By being with you always.
I said to Stillness,
How can you teach me so much?
Stillness said,
Because you have much within you;
I, but a mirror for your mind;
I, but a mirror for your heart.
I said to Stillness,
O my beloved teacher, will you
promise me you will never leave me?
Stillness said,
I cannot leave you;
though you can leave me..
but what is stillness without a companion?
I said to Stillness,
Is your work hard?
Stillness said,
I have the most wonderful task that I could wish for:
I sit with babies while they smile;
I sit with children in the classroom
as they delight to learn;
I sit with the angry and disturbed,
and watch them grow to peace;
I sit with the sad and lonely and bereaved
and watch them rediscover happiness and joy;
I sit with kings and queens and rulers
while they find wisdom and mercy;
I sit with governments and committees
while they find reason and justice;
I sit with artists and scientists,
and watch them find new things outside themselves,
and find new things within themselves;
I sit with those who pray or meditate,
as they find God in themselves;
I sit at the feet of saints
while they become perfection;
I walk in the gardens of the dawn,
I walk in the gardens of the dusk;
in the deep of the night, I watch;
I fly with birds, in the silence of the air;
I watch the animals as they explore the earth;
I listen to the growing of the trees and plants;
I listen to the opening of the flowers;
Said Stillness,
I am the friend and the companion of all;
who would not love to share my life with me?
I said to Stillness,
May I never leave you.
And Stillness looked me in the eye,
and Stillness smiled at me:
‘I am born with every creature born
to be their friend for life.’
poem by Michael Shepherd
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