Gumball
Do you ever
Wonder why?
Silence sits
Coiled and posied
Its apearence
Appears unexpectant
The dark shape it has
Is Easly recognizable
Watching the blades of grass
Winds sweeping them......
Their texture moves eneven
They have talked before
A gumball, bought from machine on the street
The choice received was red
Its color painted on my lips
Facinating me of your thoughts
Or finger tips..........
poem by Howard Johnson
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Black Bruises I
I can stare into the blackness,
the void of many abysses
behind every dark curtains
I can endure calm and silence
watching pole dancers grind,
watching stars scintillate,
watching still shadows on the walls,
watching dislimned reflections,
watching trees pass me by,
watching ethers wash the screen,
watching my lonely feet,
watching little things sway;
but am I the only one watching
these black bruised visions?
poem by Norman Santos
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Out in the Garden
Out in the garden,
Out in the windy, swinging dark,
Under the trees and over the flower-beds,
Over the grass and under the hedge border,
Someone is sweeping, sweeping,
Some old gardener.
Out in the windy, swinging dark,
Someone is secretly putting in order,
Someone is creeping, creeping.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Power Of Silence
In silence the flower buds gently bloom,
In silence they waft their sweet perfume.
In silence grows the blades of grass,
In silence I pen down my verse.
Speech is silver, silence gold,
Good deeds silently performed,
Is more eloquent than words!
In silence lovers cuddle and sleep,
True love communicates through
oceans deep!
Look at the mountains towering so high,
Clouds kiss their tops and silently
float by!
In silence the monks move their prayer
beads,
In silence they perform their charitable deeds.
In silence the sun rises and shine,
In silence the moon beams softly smiles.
In silence my God I invoke,
In silence rise my incense smoke.
In silence my inner-self unfolds,
In silent prayer my hands I fold.
In silence, with Him I communicate,
In silence I surrender to my fate.
In silence I beg Him to make me whole,
In silence to Him I surrender my soul!
In our noise polluted world, silence is
difficult to find,
But I know, one day, this Silence shall be
mine!
The Fisherman
He sits by the shore
all day long casting his bait
line after line
into the lake fishing
hoping for that bite
the kind that makes his day
but nothing comes
he sits there alone
only thoughts for company
what goes through his head
while he sits there
watching cold eyed
the open lake before him
is he at peace
or making plans
who could say
he just sits there alone
watching
poem by Matthew Holloway
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The Moon Over The Pond
the moon sits over the pond
her legs refracted
in shimmers
her gown spreading love
all over the grass
the grasses seep every delight
satisfy their blades
and then soundly sleep
the little blue bird high up
on the tree
looks with all wonder
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tracing Raindrops
She sits by the window watching the rain
tracing the drops down the window pane.
Some flow so quickly, some very slow.
She follows each one with her finger like so.
Mama has told her it's just a sweet game
and will pass the time ‘til she's home again.
So she counts raindrops mixed with her tears
watching and waiting ‘till mother appears.
In her head every dropp has a life all its own
and each battles to win, to the bottom they flow.
When they hit the sill she feels quite bad
as that's when each raindropp will die and she's sad.
Suddenly sunshine breaks through the clouds,
a rainbow appears and a familiar sound.
Mother's returning and picks her right up
she's back from her shopping trip, home at last.
poem by Ruth Walters
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December Morning
The sun came up above the skeletal dark grey trees this morning
whilst the grey mist clung fiercely to the ground,
its rays tried to encompass the heavy coatings of dew,
which the dark hours had purposely left behind.
There was no wind to disturb the stillness and silence,
but then a crow quietly descended onto the grass.
It hopped about pecking between the rich green blades,
drinking the dew as it searched for its breakfast.
A mongrel dog ran at great speed towards the crow,
which took off effortlessly into the sky.
It cawed and crowed to complain in the way crows’ do,
whilst the dog sat and wondered why.
poem by Orlando Belo
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For My Dream (song)
A sea of grass I haven't seen
is swaying and rustling in silver
The scenery at the boundary near dreams and consciousness
(CHORUS)
Is it in order to meet you?
Or is it for the eyes of someone I haven't seen yet?
I'll continue, dividing the wind
For my dream…..
The alarm clock will ring soon, right?
But what lies ahead might still be a dream
No matter where you are, your important things don't change, you know
(Sittin' in the silence...everlasting night breeze...)
Even though I wake up, I'm sure I'll still be here
(Sittin' in the silence...everlasting night breeze...)
I think that might be what they call courage
Sittin' in the silence...everlasting night breeze...
(I believe...I deceive...I relieve...)
Sittin' in the silence...In my...
Sittin' in the silence...everlasting night breeze
(I believe... I deceive... I relieve...)
It's just too dark to see......
Sittin' in the silence...In my...
I threw away the piece of my heart because I didn't want to cry
Now it chases me and I can't breathe
And the reality I clung to withers and falls apart, piece by piece
Right now, I just can't see very well......
Sittin' in the silence...everlasting night breeze...
Everlasting night breeze…
Sittin' in the silence...everlasting night breeze...
It's because whether it's reality or a dream, it will just confuse you
Everlasting night breeze..
Sittin' in the silence...
There are bends in the road at the top of the hill, but I want to go further
Beyond the scenery that exists only in music
It's just too dark to see...
In the continuing dream, there's another dream
Like a maze with seven colors
For the sake of finding a song on a reed pipe without scales
Even if it's too wide and my eyes become tired
Even if I sing too much and my throat becomes dry
With that sea of grass I haven't seen, I'll...
Even if you disappear...
It's just too dark to see...
Sittin' in the silence...
Sittin' in the silence...
Sittin' in the silence... Everlasting night breeze...
Sittin' in the silence...
For my dream
Sittin' in the silence... Everlasting night breeze...
It's just too dark to see...
Sittin' in the silence...
FOR MY DREAM~!
(CHORUS) (X2) ~!
im sittin in my silence!
poem by Annie Tuck
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Diplomat sits in silence, watching the world with his ears.
quote by Leon Samson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In heaven,
In heaven,
Some little blades of grass
Stood before God.
"What did you do?"
Then all save one of the little blades
Began eagerly to relate
The merits of their lives.
This one stayed a small way behind,
Ashamed.
Presently, God said,
"And what did you do?"
The little blade answered, "Oh my Lord,
Memory is bitter to me,
For, if I did good deeds,
I know not of them."
Then God, in all His splendor,
Arose from His throne.
"Oh, best little blade of grass!" He said.
poem by Stephen Crane
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Watching And Waiting
Watching the world fly by as I sit here
Waiting for you to come for so long
I've turned into a statue sitting here on this bench
waiting for you and watching the world fly by
People once looked at me now I'm just part of the scenery
Waiting for you to come for so long
watching the world fly by as I sit here
I think you forgot and the world did too
about the girl you once knew who now
sits here waiting for you never knowing that you'll never will
and watching the world fly by as she sits there
poem by Amanda Shields
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The Silence Was Like This
it was the kind of silence
that even the
steps of the ants
can be heard
the flutter of the wings
of the butterfly
the falling of the leaf
from the tree
touching the blades of
the grass
it was like the last
ever closing of
the eyelids
indeed it was so
peaceful
but he was no longer around
to tell it to you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Autumn Morning at Cambridge
I ran out in the morning, when the air was clean and new,
And all the grass was glittering and grey with autumn dew,
I ran out to the apple tree and pulled an apple down,
And all the bells were ringing in the old grey town.
Down in the town, off the bridges and the grass
They are sweeping up the leaves to let the people pass,
Sweeping up the old leaves, golden-reds and browns,
While the men go to lecture with the wind in their gowns.
poem by Frances Darwin Cornford
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It Appears To Be That Way
Wait a minute.
Aren't they the same incompetent people,
Expressing with confidence...
Why they have a lack of competence?
'It appears to be that way.'
Is this the change being made,
We all can believe in?
'It appears to be that way.'
Is this the 'light',
Coming to poke holes through the darkness?
'It appears to be that way.'
Is this the rainbow that has come,
After relentless storms of anguish?
'It appears to be that way.'
Have you been affected by total disbelief,
And you are doing the best you can...
To stay on your own two feet.
And my voice you can hear,
But your consciousness has left...
To leave you unsure of your own footsteps?
'It appears to be that way.'
Hang in there.
But just don't stand planted,
To become more twisted by shifting winds.
'What are you saying?
I should be doing something else...
Other than just to hang in there?
With a going to somewhere with purpose? '
It appears to be that way.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Watching Me Watching You
I sit by the cutting on the beaconsfield line.
Hes watching me watching the trains go by.
And they move so fast --- boy, they really fly.
Hes still watching me watching you watching the
Trains go by.
And the way he stares --- feel like locking my door
And pulling my phone from the wall.
His eyes, like lights from a laser, burn
Making my hair stand --- making the goose-bumps crawl.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me
Im watching you watching him watching me
Watching stares.
At the cocktail party with a bucks fizz in my hand
I feel him watching me watching the girls go by.
And they move so smooth without even trying.
Hes still watching me watching you watching the
Trains go by.
And the crowd thins and he moves up close but he doesnt speak.
I have to look the other way.
But curiosity gets the better part of me and I peek:
Got two drinks in his hand --- see his lips move ---
What the hells he trying to say.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Im watching you watching him watching me
Watching stares.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching
The trains go by.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching him watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching him watching me watching him watching.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Middle Of The Crowd
in the middle of the crowd
where there is so much noise
all mouths talking
with no one listening
all arms and hands
moving and shouting
and all feet walking to
and fro like grandfather's
clock's mechanical pendulum
when the world seems to be
crowded not just with people
but with words
dishonest words and other
things that we do not really mean
why not try the silence of the stars
outside this crowd
on the grass, soft, soft grass
with the wind, cool cool winds
why not try the silence of the stars
under the sky
why not spend a little time with
the moon
let us try silence for a while
who knows
this world may still have peace
who knows
our overbeating hearts may
find its needed rest
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Whatever Happens, Move On, Pursue That End
when we begin we already know what distance is
we see it in the stars we hear it from the Siberian winds
we were telling the trees that our beginning was the smile of the snails
that the moss have always been faithful to the stones
at the middle we learned the games of the waves and the seagulls
there is always the happy chase between respect and dignity
like the moon how it sits on the black horizon how it lightens the silence
you want to know the intimacy of the wind and the cliff
how they have become almost the same in sonorous sounds
sometimes you sense the semblance of surrender
not wanting to go on and be the roots of the trees and the grass
i have touched the tips of your hair, though short, but that is enough
my wings have fully grown and the winds are waiting
i am destined for something else beyond the touch of your hands
i do not know how my story shall end, but the voices are assuring
whatever happens, tell me, for once, that you too shall find yourself
do not turn back, pursue the end without the trembling, the remorse of pain
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Clouds
Clouds, the clouds diffuse a sad and somewhat somber hue;
Rain, the rain descends aslant from angry ashen skies;
Winds, the winds bemoan their loss of reins and calm control;
Shades, the shades appear suffused, alone in lurid haze;
Trees, the trees enshroud the eyes of misty brooding woods;
Leaves, the leaves desert their branches, falling one by one;
Birds, the birds intone a tune, a mourning monody;
Grass, the grass surrenders blades, impaled in truant winds;
Fields, the fields imbibe and quaff to quench an arid thirst;
Stones, the stones repulse the pearls, exploding tears of gloom;
Streams, the streams meander, hushed, to distant vapid shores;
Clouds, the clouds diffuse a sad and somewhat somber hue
poem by Terry O'Leary
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How about dawn?
How about dawn?
Do you like dawn descending on Blue Mountains tops?
Or may be a background with another hue
will better fit your view?
Then let us pretend there will be no dawn
No morning no new days
we all in a glorious kingdom of the moon
Where silence and dark mingle so beautifully
The bewitched gloom of the night
be our friends
Where two beings would walk wordless, speechless
with green tuft on their both sides
with the grass blades gilded in the moon sheen
No word exchange between them
without a word they know how much they love each another
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Spectator
On a Sunday
at nine
he sits by the window
watching
people passing by
bringing their burdens
he is not part
of this
sacrifice
he is the spectator
watching the day pass by
till the next level of
his lazy enlightenment
the sun fades away
and now the moon
he sits by the window
imagining
the night away
it will be the same on
another day of his life
this spectator
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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