Condensing evolution
condensing evolution
to five thousand years
time flips over creation
like children enthuse over
the pages of a pictorial book
men run like swarms of ants
turning from monkeys to suave
dandies, the hair losing their grip
and skins changing ala cameleon
black to white, to brown to yellow
the sea unleashes peaks
to scale the heavens and also
levels them to take our feet to
show us nature's fairer hands
lands embrace each other
like a family to eventually float away
never to see each other again
trees rush to grow themselves
taking us into their frenzied trail
that soon sees them high and
dry skeletal postures raising
a thousand fingers to the heavens
for their fate and fire up figments
of our imagination as to the lesson
they are pointing out to us right below
and animals they sprout beaks
wings, legs, hands, fingers, horns,
scales, fur, feathers, gills, lungs and
mind tugging protrusions a painting
that spews spontaneously from the pencil
of an ingenious noosey three year old -
fishes swim in azure sky, dinosaurs trumpet
into scarlet sky, a tarzan rescues her frail princess
a snake devours a lion and a monkey puts on an
apron to cook lunch for her brood while the moon
smiles and waves all the way from her luminuous throne
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Afternoon Flow Of Linking Thoughts
there you are
pain and its protrusions
creeks to rivers
and tributaries like
fingers of the hands
into thy chest to listen
to the whispers of the
heart the sea and the
ocean to become whole
again to be not noticed
as pain and its protrusions
but wagering waves friends
of the monsoon winds
slaves of the lights of the moon
sailing like ships losing
their shadows to a limitless
horizon into that darkness
sleepy until the next opening
day of the sun where light
in profusion blinds the eyes
the truths that scare us
we should have loved and
believed like gripping hands
of our very best friends.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Frenzied Fingers Run Amuck
When I get you into my arms
I can't control the things that I do.
Fingers grab the hair on your head.
Fingers caress the small of your back.
Fingers travel down your spine
and back up again.
Fingers reach to all corners of your being,
quietly unnoticed at first,
but more frenzied with passing time.
Wild fingers travel your soul
with frenzied action that is hard to stop.
Uncontrollable fingers run wild
until you beg them to stop.
But even then, there's no counting on it.
These fingers like to run wild.
Whenever I place my fingers on you,
frenzied fingers run amuck.
Ch 03 On The Excellence Of Contentment Story 25
A man whose hands and feet had been amputated killed a millipede and a pious passer-by exclaimed: ‘Praised be Allah! In spite of the thousand feet he possessed he could not escape from a man without hands and feet when his fate had overtaken him.’
When the life-taking foe comes in the rear
Fate ties the legs of a running man.
At the moment when the enemy has slowly arrived
It is useless to draw the Kayanian bow.
When Your Hand Of Friendship Is Brushed Aside
say thank you
try extending your hand to another hand
to the other thousand hands in this world who need other hands
those with love in their hearts those with minds still believing in friendship
tell yourself she does not deserve your offer
assure yourself she is another ghost
another virtuality
another waste
a junk
without a name without a soul without a face
extend your hand to another hand with real fingers on them
and try seeing yourself in the mirror
you still have that reflection and that ghost does not have any
be glad
you are real and she isn't
does she think that you have pain and that you need her friendship badly
such that you want to bow before her like she is the goddess of beauty
and wisdom and truth?
let her be. She is not a part of you.
why bother?
be yourself and keep that hands of friendship warm
for another one who needs it too
let the gods reign in the heavens. They live in their clouds
stay on earth and be the river for the fishes to swim
for the strangers to drink with the cup of their hands for them to quench
their thirsts
let your hands of friendshipsbe the seeds of springs
the flowers of summers
that bloom forever
let your scent spread for those who still need them
and let these gods remain as gods
because they shall always be worshipped as loveless strangers of this earth
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Engineered Evolution
Science is an art of the possible;
an art that will spearhead a new
human evolution; an engineered
evolution that will divide humans
into species rather than
black, white or brown.
Soon there will be a race to develop
the best humankind, a process
that will produce a thousand
and one kinds of human species
to marvel and terrorise us;
humans with eagle eyes and wings,
some with gills, others with
legs that run like cheetahs,
some with chlorophyll-covered bodies,
others with bodies that glow like a firefly,
some with dolphin-size brains,
others with lion-size hearts,
some with polar-bear fur,
others with body systems that can fight
any disease copied from creatures
in the forests, in the
seas and in the mountains....
Scientists dabbling in gene grafting
will change the whole human race
that those remaining like us will
be discarded like an old transistor radio!
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Daybreak in Alabama
When I get to be a composer
I'm gonna write me some music about
Daybreak in Alabama
And I'm gonna put the purtiest songs in it
Rising out of the ground like a swamp mist
And falling out of heaven like soft dew.
I'm gonna put some tall tall trees in it
And the scent of pine needles
And the smell of red clay after rain
And long red necks
And poppy colored faces
And big brown arms
And the field daisy eyes
Of black and white black white black people
And I'm gonna put white hands
And black hands and brown and yellow hands
And red clay earth hands in it
Touching everybody with kind fingers
And touching each other natural as dew
In that dawn of music when I
Get to be a composer
And write about daybreak
In Alabama.
poem by Langston Hughes
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Shes A River
Shadow let go
Theres something you should know
I just found my new direction
And I hope you like the key
Like the air that led me to it
Shes like the wind that sucked me through it
Shes a river and shes turning there in front of me
Stand back - get back
Shell paint your blue skies black
She gives bullet proof protection
Got a resurrection feel
When Im scared, and bout to lose
She gives me travelling shoes
Shes a river and shes turning in front of me
And I go blind
Wasting my time
While the rivers in front of me
Thats where Im goin to be
Shine on, get on
Twilight from dusk to dawn
Shes the spirit of creation
Shes the last chance guarantee
Got a myriad of poses
Sweet miracles and roses
Shes a river and shes turning in front of me
cause when I find
My state of mind
The rivers in front of me
They say that every heavens got a thousand rooms
So take me on that freedom ride
My heart is like a hunters in the silent moon
My nerves just feel electrified
Meet me on the staircase
Outside a darkened room
Light me like a naked flame
The voice of mother nature states
All things must pass
And nothing can remain
They say that every heavens got a thousand rooms
So take me on that freedom ride
You raise me like a building to the very top
Rush me to the end of time
You fill me full of danger
You give me future shock
Then you leave me wasted dying
And I go blind
Wasting my time
The rivers in front of me
Written by : kerr/burchill reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother Cat Spreads her Love
animals are animals
they have brain not
large enough to guide
them through propriety
which even then sometimes
can be assets to melt
all our hearts for them
here at my feet, below
a malay eating store
the warmest motherhood
laid sprawled, exemplified
a cat her fore and hind
limbs pointing different
heavens, leaves an abodmen
space large enough to
spread all her affections,
protection, and love
here her latest brood
a furry foursome mishmash
of white, yellow, brown and black
sprawl, some on top
of each other, at the
fountain of mom's fertile
spring, savouring the
mersmerising warmth
of love that flows in the
hynoptic, sleep and
growth inducing milk
the cat stares into us
so sedate and affectionately
lost in her motherhood,
we too are softly drawn into
her newly acquired contentment
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Salted With Love
It must be salted,
It must be roated over an open fire!
It must be koshered,
It must be soaked in salt water,
For there is no red carpet in heaven!
But it is only the white carpet of peace and love.
Love your partner everyday,
Ten thousand times ten thousand!
Because Rome was not built in a day,
And we all need to be guided by the laws!
The last great day is between the two evenings,
And without blemish between the two legs;
For the silver trumpet is between the two lips.
Ten years of pain in Satan's room and,
Five years of joy there after;
But the earth is full of water and,
Many are still without water.
It must be salted,
And bewteen the two eyes to show some love;
For the golden tree and the golden box are closer always.
Put the golden tree into the golden box,
And let me teach you more about love;
For the white carpet in the heavens are full of laws,
And we have to live by the rule of law.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Poem about Poetry - Poetry draws out the individual
poetry is god revealing
the other side of himself
in his game with his artist
so that his poems would give
another view of the Creator
the moon is a grand old dame
lighting the path of nights, the sun
the irresistible dizzying love emanating
from the hands of nature to spin tales of creation
the sea is an eternal orchestra to the heavens
and the forests, peaceful green model cities
for co existence of all species
the birds are little violins, flutes and lutes
of thanks piped to the heavens at the dawn of
every new day
and the river? it is an all versatile music
instrument modulated by the curvaceous
fingers of land so that its grace flows and overflows
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Since I’ve Been In Jail
Since I've been in jail
the world has turned around the sun ten times
And if you ask the earth, it will say:
'It's not worth mentioning,
a microscopic time.'
And if you ask me, I will say:
'It's ten years of my life.'
I had a pencil
the year I came to jail.
It wore out in a week from writing.
And if you ask the pencil, it will say:
'A whole life.'
And if you ask me, I will say:
'It's nothing, a mere week.'
Osman who was jailed for murder
completed a seven-year stretch and left
since I've been in jail.
He wandered around outside for a while,
and then got jailed again for smuggling.
He served a six-month term and left again,
and yesterday a letter came saying he's married
and a child will be born in the spring.
Now they're ten years old
the children who fell from their mothers' womb
that year I came to jail,
And the colts of that year who had long thin shaky legs
have long since become docile broad-rumped mares.
But the olive shoots are still shoots
and they're still children.
New squares have opened up in my distant city
since I've been in jail.
And our family
is living in a house I've never seen
on a street I don't know.
The bread was pure white, like cotton,
the year I came to jail.
Later it was rationed out,
And we here on the inside beat one another
for a piece of black crust the size of a fist.
Now it's free again,
But brown and tasteless.
The year I came to jail
The Second One had just begun.
The ovens in Dachau Camp were not yet lit,
The atom bomb was not yet hurled upon Hiroshima.
Time flowed like the blood of a child with his throat cut.
Later that chapter was officially closed,
Now American dollars are talking about a Third.
But in spite of everything, the days have brightened
since I've been in jail,
And about half of them
'put their heavy hands on the pavement
and on the edge of darkness
straightened up.'
Since I've been in jail
the world has turned around the sun ten times.
And again I repeat with the same passion
what I wrote for them
the year I came to jail:
'They
whose number is as great
as ants on the earth
fish in the water
birds in the sky
are fearful and brave
ignorant and learned
and they are children,
And they
who destroy and create
it is only their adventure in these songs.'
And for the rest,
for example, my lying here for ten years,
it's nothing...
poem by Nazim Hikmet
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Mother Goddess
a circle of stars over
her head
hands holding white
flowers
her feet on top
of a snake
her long black hair
smooth skin
wavy eyelashes
slender fingers
virgin
pure
mother of all
in plaster of Paris
painted and revered
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Shallow Days...
well, there are
shallow days, nothing deep
something for my
feet,
above me the sun
one and only one sun
just the sun and my head
and the shallow waters
on my toes
and the noon time walk
when everyone is as usual
having lunch, and
my toes get wet and i
am making meanings
on the shallow waters
the body in the middle of
this air, the hands are like
eagles flying. the fingers are
turning into feathers
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Nature Is
nature
is God's book
and he is
the careful author
whose main
intent
is to please us
with brooks and seas and forests
and landscapes
and birds and
butterflies
and sun and moon
and thousands stars in the heavens
and here we
are his little children
with our
ballpoint pens
scribbling
all his pages
irresponsibly
and possibly guilty
but God smiles
he knows we have fun
and He likes it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My little playful monkeys
My little monkeys in the forest are all funny
As usual they jump from vine to vine
And fall and rise, and fall from river to river,
My little monkeys with little tails with little
Mouths and tiny baby-like hands, they wink
And play and chase and run and almost like bats
Flying from top to top of treetops from branch
To branch to twigs to twigs, all these cute
Little monkeys so playfully playful in the forest,
In my mind, I play with all of them throughout
The day, till noon, till afternoon, till nights even,
But no, when darkness comes, these cute little
Monkeys all return to bigger higher trees where
Their big monkey-mothers and big-monkey-fathers
Wait and care for them and all hide them in their arms.
And I am all left alone, like little Tarzan boy in an empty cave
feeling so deserted and betrayed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pre-Existence
I laid me down upon the shore
And dreamed a little space;
I heard the great waves break and roar;
The sun was on my face.
My idle hands and fingers brown
Played with the pebbles grey;
The waves came up, the waves went down,
Most thundering and gay.
The pebbles, they were smooth and round
And warm upon my hands,
Like little people I had found
Sitting among the sands.
The grains of sands so shining-small
Soft through my fingers ran;
The sun shone down upon it all,
And so my dream began:
How all of this had been before;
How ages far away
I lay on some forgotten shore
As here I lie to-day.
The waves came shining up the sands,
As here to-day they shine;
And in my pre-pelasgian hands
The sand was warm and fine.
I have forgotten whence I came,
Or what my home might be,
Or by what strange and savage name
I called that thundering sea.
I only know the sun shone down
As still it shines to-day,
And in my fingers long and brown
The little pebbles lay.
poem by Frances Darwin Cornford
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Appendages
How many fingers do I have?
Enough to work to the bone.
How many hands do I have?
The two that I do own.
How many toes do I have?
Enough to fill my shoes.
How many feet do I have?
The two that I do use
to get me where I want to go,
walking a leisurely pace.
It seems to be a lost art anymore.
Most are in a race.
But since I am retired
I don't ever rush around.
My fingers, my toes, my hands, my feet
make me slow right down.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Mastering The Self, Though Uglier At First, And Clumsier...
sometimes you look for a pattern
you walk at the road leading to some other paths
along the way are the yellow flowers
wild with the rain last night
and giving the best
their bests this morning
when you still have to wash your hands
and clean your shoes
and comb your hair
in such a parting mode
between your
chin
a canal of
indifference
there are so many patterns to see
how does this rays of light come like daggers? are they like knives
or simply flowing waters in a pattern of subsumed invincibility?
distrust of self makes one find patterns
like a ship following the lines of the coast amidst the storms
a line of coconut trees
the shape of the horizon that looks like a margin of a paper
a frame of a painting
those van Gogh clouds and towering trees
scrambled patterns yet pointing to a stress
an accent of
similitude
you look at the end
the result gives nothing but barrenness of your creation
there is no unique touch of the self
and no one is amazed
except perhaps the shock that goes with an overrated imitation
damned
one goes back to the point of origin
the sole of your feet
the tip of your eyelash
ugly at first
but evolving into the uniqueness of your spirit
sprite, blithe
dropping the wings
loosening the grip on the expectations of others
now flying
alone and high
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Dreamed.... (Hands)
i dreamed last night...
and all i could see were hands.
sometimes hard and calloused,
sometimes soft and feminine.
skilled hands, laborer's hands,
loving hands, nurturing hands....
fingers digging in the dirt,
fingers holding a pen.
fingers playing a piano,
fingers unbuttoning blouses.
hands extended, hands gripping the rope,
hands holding the shovel,
hands covered with resin.
hands folded in prayer,
hands balled into fists.
hands stuffed in empty pockets.
hands that define both history,
and destiny!
hands scarred and bruised,
hands covered with age spots.
hands that speak many languages.
hands that know mistakes, and failures.
hands that built fires,
hands that put fires out!
hands that wiped away tears,
that picked up trash,
and revealed souls....
whose hands?
my hands, your hands?
god's hands?
does it really matter?
hands engaged and involved,
in the very act of living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sleep Well Angel Sweetness
Sleep well angel sweetness
Find your place in dreams
Keep well within your mind
That nothing's as it seams.
This night angel sweetness
You have opened up my eyes
You have changed in form
Beyond the storm and opened up the skies.
Sleep well angel princes
In your kingdom's shade
Keep well within your boundaries
The time allowed to fade.
Sleep well angel dearest
Moon beam maiden of this realm
Keep steady in your hand the dreams
Which keep you steady at the helm.
Sleep well angel sweetness
Find your place within the clouds
Beyond the reach of savage men
Beyond the gathered crowds.
Let us dance beyond the moon
Allow us time to sing
Let us dance upon the moon
Allow us love to bring.
Let us swim the ocean sky
Allow us love to know
Let us fly and never sigh
Above worlds of porcelain snow.
My love for you sweet angel
Knows no boundaries in its kiss
Sleep well angel dearest
Upon a cloud of heavens bliss
Rest your head a moment
Just one moment in descent
Allow us time to kiss the moon
The future, past and present.
Let us swim the ocean sky
See angels dreaming there
Let us swim and never sigh
Run fingers through their hair.
Sleep well angel dearest
Below the clear moon sky
Embrace all it is you fear
Could bring tears to your eyes.
Embrace the day that beckons you
For it is as each moment the birth
And death of all creation.
poem by David Lacey
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