Lover's Gifts XLVIII: I Travelled the Old Road
I travelled the old road every day, I took my fruits to the market,
my cattle to the meadows, I ferried my boat across the stream and
all the ways were well known to me.
One morning my basket was heavy with wares. Men were busy in
the fields, the pastures crowded with cattle; the breast of earth
heaved with the mirth of ripening rice.
Suddenly there was a tremor in the air, and the sky seemed to
kiss me on my forehead. My mind started up like the morning out of
mist.
I forgot to follow the track. I stepped a few paces from the
path, and my familiar world appeared strange to me, like a flower
I had only known in bud.
My everyday wisdom was ashamed. I went astray in the fairyland
of things. It was the best luck of my life that I lost my path that
morning, and found my eternal childhood.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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A Road Well Travelled
A road well travelled does not the journey ease
Nor do well placed signposts aid our itineraries
A road well travelled is rough and rutted where
Others have passed by this way overburdened with their cares
A road well-travelled may be full of risks and dangers
You keep yourself unto yourself and never talk to strangers.
This road well travelled has no final end in sight
It can be sunny in the daytime but quite frightening at night
This road well travelled can sometimes just disappear
And you stop not knowing where to go shivering with fear
This road well travelled sometimes returns you to its start
And leaves you walking round in circles with a sad and heavy heart.
My road well travelled has many toll gates on the way
Each time I ask directions there’s a need to always pay
My road well travelled is a lonely road at times
It is a real road that I know it’s not just a state of mind
My road well travelled is not just my road you see
It’s a road that many others take and it’s called anxiety.
poem by David Keig
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Journeys end
The stream meanders to and fro.
Here where the cattle come to drink
the yellow cowslips gaily grow.
The weeping willows stooping low
adorn the banks on either side.
The stream continues in its flow.
Past meadows where the cattle graze
and fields where corn is ripening
but here and there red poppies blaze.
The stream now to a river grown
now deep and wide; it gathers strength
Its purpose to itself unknown.
Past cottages which stand alone.
Small villages and market towns
and bridges built of weathered stone.
It has become a thoroughfare
which slices through the city’s heart
With rush and bustle everywhere.
The docks and quays and factories
confine the river in its course.
There is no grass there are no trees.
The river flows on turgidly
until at last it gains release
and flows into the open sea.
But in the distance still the stream
meanders gently to and fro
Where cowslips nod and lovers dream.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I'd Wish You'd Gone With Me
I'd wish'd you'd gone with me
When I travelled a road by the sea
with farset eyes and firmset heart aflame
I knew you couldn't be to blame
But be it all the same
I'd wish'd you'd gone with me
When I travelled that road by the sea.
I'd wish'd you'd heard the ocean's song
For then you'd know where you belong
For the sea it sang to me
with waves that rang so free
and in that surf I could see
I'd wish'd you'd gone with me
when I travelled that road by the sea
poem by T.A. Rosenbaum
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What is put in a basket before going to the market won't be the same thing returned in the basket.
18
IT is election time
and the powers that be
paves the way to Tabon
gravel is hauled and poured
fitting the wider version of the road
everything is slippery during the rain
the farmer slides and his basket of fruits roll on the hill
after election time
the road shall be what it used to be
no one cares.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It Should Be The Kindness That Counts
i like it here
where kindness is put like a basket
full of fruits
where you pick one and taste
one and say
this fruit is sweet, and juicy and luscious
and then not to be outdone
you put some red & white roses
beside a basket and some
daffodils and colored daisies
and i say
oh! how beautiful have the fruits
become
because of the flowers!
i like it here
on friendly air
and sunny skies and singing birds
it is here
where kindness begets kindness
where love begets love
where everyone braces for the race of happiness
and never
violence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Road Incident....
a red easy ride is parked
along the graveled road beside a
cemented fence
it is one hot afternoon
a little girl carries on her head
a bunch of ripe bananas
following mother carrying a basket of
clothes
a man wearing a shirt with green row stripes
runs toward the market rushing
it is beginning to rain on this hot afternoon
after a while, the road is flooded
a little boy runs across the road against
an over speeding truck
and then what we hear is a mother
screaming for help
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Noumenon
a thing-in-itself:
a wicker basket is a wicker basket
you cannot place love there, perhaps just plain fruits and
flowers
and perhaps even nothing
because a wicker basket is a wicker basket
nothing more nothing less
in the same manner, i am what i am
and you are what you are
what we feel for each other
or perhaps what i feel you alone
or only
is what i only feel
nothing more and nothing less
if i go somehow inventing that you shall love me
how absurd can this be!
for you are what you are and i am what i am
nothing more and nothing less
and so thanks, i am what i am and i will always be what i am
and you are you, and you do not know me,
and if i bleed, it is i who bleed only or
alone
and i have no right to let you know because you are what you are
and you shall never love me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Good And Evil!
every morning i awaken
in a manger surrounded
by wise men and cattle.
every afternoon i stand and jeer
as they nail his hands and feet
to the cross...
and every night i weep
at the distance i have travelled,
looking for the star
that i lost in the clouds!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Learnıng From You, Learnıng From Us.
The rule of the game is this:
I have this basket filled with truths
That I cannot tell you
Because these are all bitter fruits
Of broken trees
This is the game of poetry
I can tell you something else
But it will be the same basket filled with
Bitter fruits
Only that
It will be artistically put
And shall be more pleasing to your eyes
For I cannot make you sad
And be like us
What is uglier than truth
Now appears to you as
The most fashionable lies
But soon you shall learn the trick
And be another expert
At telling truths that cannot hurt
At knowing no departures
That gives you
Never a sense of abandon
But all cheers
And welcomes
Those which must be redeeming
Like the way we put back the broken wings of the birds
Who have refused for days
To fly
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Boat-ride, Surreal
there, there...down there
through a thicket of fog
beckoned a vacant boat
i fought through the fog
and reached a zone, misty
the boat pulled me as if
i were a piece of iron
i hastened through
the layers and layers...
there i was, at last
assured that it would
take me to the other bank
it wasn't to be
the gently rocking boat
began on an erratic sail
down down the stream
in its womb of deception
hid many a whirlpool
the waters jerky...
hey, what was i doing
sitting in a boat with no oars
nor knowing how to swim...!
'you're the boatman
you're the oars...
row row...
the other bank
a distant dream
row row...'
a song filled the stream...
18dec2009
0540hra
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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New Morning
Cant you hear that rooster crowin?
Rabbit runnin down across the road
Underneath the bridge where the water flowed through
So happy just to see you smile
Underneath the sky of blue
On this new morning, new morning
On this new morning with you.
Cant you hear that motor turnin?
Automobile comin into style
Comin down the road for a country mile or two
So happy just to see you smile
Underneath the sky of blue
On this new morning, new morning
On this new morning with you.
The night passed away so quickly
It always does when youre with me.
Cant you feel that sun a-shinin?
Ground hog runnin by the country stream
This must be the day that all of my dreams come true
So happy just to be alive
Underneath the sky of blue
On this new morning, new morning
On this new morning with you.
So happy just to be alive
Underneath the sky of blue
On this new morning, new morning
On this new morning with you.
New morning . . .
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Gardener XIV: I Was Walking by the Road
I was walking by the road, I do not
know why, when the noonday was past
and bamboo branches rustled in the
wind.
The prone shadows with their out-
stretched arms clung to the feet of
the hurrying light.
The koels were weary of their
songs.
I was walking by the road, I do not
know why.
The hut by the side of the water is
shaded by an overhanging tree.
Some on was busy with her work,
and her bangles made music in the
corner.
I stood before this hut, I know not
why.
The narrow winding road crosses
many a mustard field, and many a
mango forest.
It passes by the temple of the
village and the market at the river
landing-place.
I stopped by this hut, I do not know
why.
Years ago it was a day of breezy
March when the murmur of the spring
was languorous, and mango blossoms
were dropping on the dust.
The rippling water leapt and licked
the brass vessel that stood on the
landing-step.
I think of that day of breezy March,
I do not know why.
Shadows are deepening and cattle
returning to their folds.
The light is grey upon the lonely
meadows, and the villagers are waiting
for the ferry at the bank.
I slowly return upon my steps, I
do not know why.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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What About Us?
I have told you everything about myself and i am willing still to tell you more if you ask, if you are still hungry about what you want to know about me,
i am stupid, i am like a woman who spreads my legs to any man who want me in bed, but i can also be a very kind woman who opens my arms for every weary man,
i am not stupid, i am kind,
I reveales everything From a to z No secrets now From my family
No stone Left unturned No story Untold
If it makes You happy Or if it makes
You sad And you regret Having listened
I am sorry you ask for them so i give them all to you
like a basket of flowers and fruits,
(are you sick in the hospital why with these basket of flowers and fruits?)
I have done My duty As the messenger I have achieved
What was Left for me To do And It is all Enough i am happy now
The truth is Told and it Has set me free.
(The lies however keep on saying, what about us?)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tarts And Warts
on a sweet conversation like this
when you open
and i ask some more of this openness
in you,
you become my tart
i like the taste
of fruits and milk and some cheese
to last finger licking
goodness
then you take your turn
trying to open me like a canned
fruit juice
i stick to my lock and key
and you find it hard to
open
you like to drink the four seasons
in me
i refuse
i shifted your questions to something else
like the full moon last night
and you do not like
this one way traffic
between us
my road is closed
i only have
mysterious ends
your thirst shall not be quenched
you should know by now
i am not a tart
i am your wart
and so the saying goes like a road
diverging
i'll take the other one
you take that one
i know
the one less travelled by
you are the poet
i am less
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Linking A To B...
i am glad
that A has not known much
she is like
a basket without a base
letting off
what should better be kept
the fruits are rotten
and she is no sleeping
she hops from one bottle of beer
to another
till she gets drunk and
tipsy
she bares herself naked
and in the morning when everyone is gone
she lays there alone
feasted by all flies
then B sends me messages
of hate
and humiliation
i am lucky
i am never like any of them.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pirate Story
Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing,
Three of us abroad in the basket on the lea.
Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring,
And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea.
Where shall we adventure, to-day that we're afloat,
Wary of the weather and steering by a star?
Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat,
To Providence, or Babylon or off to Malabar?
Hi! but here's a squadron a-rowing on the sea--
Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar!
Quick, and we'll escape them, they're as mad as they can be,
The wicket is the harbour and the garden is the shore.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Oh, my ways are strange ways and new ways and old ways, And deep ways and steep ways and high ways and low, I'm at home and at ease on a track that I know not, And restless and lost on a road that I know.
quote by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eatting Fruits
Eat fruits
Eat...
Every day...
Each
Break fast...
Lunch...
Dinner...
Eat...
Fruits...
Fruits is
Good for health...
Fruits is
Good for Taste
Fruits is
Good for mind...
Fruits is
Good for god...
So...
Fruits is
Good for hole and
Hoe body...
Any fruits...
Any time...
Eat eat eat...
Avoide all all
Disease...
Thats all...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The Boat and The Sea
I will tell you, my Dear
Story of the Boat and the Sea
'Since the unknown time
The Boat heard the call from the Sea
Wings of Gull, blue waves
Took Boat traveled everywhere, all ways
The Boat's soul's filled with hopes
And the Sea's boundless love
Boat went far, further no tiresome
The Sea was still far...so far
Those nights the moon was gentle
The sea was like a girl, who's little
She whispered, she sent her thoughts
Round the boatside, waves elapsed
Sometimes, causeless
The Sea, its waves, pourred impetuously in the Boat
(Because of Love, for all times, ever was just imovable?)
Only the Boat understood
How boundless the Sea was
Only the Boat knew
Where the Boat went to, back to
The days without meeting
The sea was with white head, with missing
The days without gathering
The Boat was broken - crack
If already seperated from the Boat
The Sea only remained the wind and waves
...up and down, a craze'
If having to be separated from you
I just only remain storms
(composer: Xuân Quỳ nh, traslator: Hanh My Nguyen)
poem by Hanh My Nguyen
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