274
we were talking under the talisay tree
about our future
one summer
when the leaves are brown
and falling to the ground
where the red ants
are busy taking their food
under a heap of
dry leaves
we will be there
to reach our destinies
but we may not be there
together
there is always a season for me
and for you
the wisdom lies in the waiting
the goodness in the waiting
and the beauty that we will see
lies in the content of our eyes
the tranquility of the pond
where the moss begins
to grow again
in stones.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
We Were Talking Under The Talisay Tree
we were talking under the talisay tree
about our future
one summer
when the leaves are brown
and falling to the ground
where the red ants
are busy taking their food
under a heap of
dry leaves
we will be there
to reach our destinies
but we may not be there
together
there is always a season for me
and for you
the wisdom lies in the waiting
the goodness in the waiting
and the beauty that we will see
lies in the content of our eyes
the tranquility of the pond
where the moss begins
to grow again
in stones.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How The Leaves Are Blown By The Wind
did i not tell you that these leaves come from the trees?
no dispute about it
about them, they grow out from there, those twigs
of the trees of life,
they get their glow, their sheen, though they have given more honor
to the sun
rather than the roots and the phloem
the season for them to mature and fall has come
and they all wait for the wind, the great strong wind to blow them all away
to their respective destinies
some find their way to the river
some to the thick heap of other leaves destined to rot
and only if you hear them
they say they come from nowhere
not from the tree of life
not from me
the leaves, my poems, the wind my way of throwing,
the tree, myself, my roots my mind, my phloem my blood
i made them all, but now, they are on their own
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The timetable of four
The golden glows of sunlight hit me
The smell of freshly cut grass reached me
The sight of freedom exhilarated me
The sounds of birds intrigued me
The beauty around me radiated from everything
The long open stretches of grass
The shady woodlands going on and on
The unending number of livening creatures
The cawing raven in the tree branches
The worm busily digging in the soil
The fish swimming idly in the pond
The child playing happily in the park
It is summer now but soon it will change
Soon it will change
Soon it will change into Autumn
I’ll still be in my tree
The children are playing in the heaps of leaves
The leaves have all gone a golden colour
The ravens are searching for bugs in the leaves
The fish are swimming slower in their pond
It is Autumn now but it will soon change
Soon it will change
Soon it will change into Winter
I’ll still be in my tree
There are no children playing
There are no leaves on the trees
The ravens have all gone south
There are no fish in the pond
It is Winter now but it will soon change
It will soon change
It will soon change into spring
I’ll still be in my tree
The children are starting to come back
The ravens are backing cawing in the trees
There is new fish in the pond
There are new buds on the trees
It is Spring now but soon it will change
Soon it will change
Soon it will change into Summer
I’ll still be in my tree
Waiting
Watching
Writing
Thinking
Waiting For the Snow
Waiting for the Snow
When the leaves turn golden
And the geese fly south
Where will I be?
When the wind turns cold
And the bear is in hiding
Where will I be?
When the streams are frozen
And the rabbits’ color turning
Where will I be?
When the leaves begin to fall
And the northern cardinals stay
Where will I be?
When the nuts fall down
And squirrels store walnuts
Where will I be?
When the corn is harvested
And the deer seek shelter
Where will I be?
When the grass is brown
And the pheasants are flying
Where will I be?
I will be riding before the wind
And winging t’ward the sun
Flying from the snow
I will be waiting for spring
And sleeping till then
Hiding from the snow
I will be hiding till I’m white
And searching the ground for food
Waiting for the snow
I will be looking for berries
And singing merrily
Waiting for the snow
I will be saving acorns
And jumping form tree to tree
Waiting for the snow
I will be searching fields for corn
And hiding in thickets
Waiting for the snow
I will be hiding under grass
And calling out loud
Waiting for the snow
The Shape Of Solitude With The Red Ants
it is easy to become
a cloud
a mist and then even be
part of the dust
it is the shape of solitude
assuming the bursting of some past joys
it is this feeling of leaves falling
from a dead tree
silently reaching the dry ground
where the red ants are waiting
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What We Write Are On The Ground Still Alive
what we write are all about those which are still alive
worms wriggling on their hollow places of the earth
mudfish hibernating on the parching, dried mud waiting for the rain
the kingfisher perched on the tree without leaves
thinking where to fly where to dive and make its beak useful
the snail pacing slowly from the rising river up to the smooth edge
of the nipa palms
this little brown boy replacing the bait of his fishing pole
waiting for the catch on the pond
these dragonflies hovering on the soft reeds where the ants
are finding new ways to reach to the other end of the pond
the frogs croaking anticipating the coming rains and hoping
to catch and swallow the grasshopper or the cricket resting on
one of the blades of a tall grass
the butterflies coming out from some cocoons taking the
first air of their new wings and then flying away
to the new blooms of flowers nearby
this is the pulse of my pen in this my heart beats
my mind remembers and then imagines
what if these are not true? what if these are not real?
what if my eyes are but another illusion not seeing
that which grows and breathes and spreads and flies away?
meanwhile, a mosquito bites me, sucks my blood, fills itself,
i hear it sing, i feel the pain, the loss, the deception, and then
i am convinced, all these must be true and real
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sta. Ana Wind
have you ever
send autumn leaves
falling
making a heap
of yellow and brown
and orange
on the ground?
in the same manner
i have not seen
the sta. ana wind
but you make me feel
as though
i am within
the softness of the wind
the falling of the leaves
so sweetly
i love it
when you set me free
finally
my hair
keeping some of the
sta. ana wind
my hands
letting go the
autumn leaves
in my mind
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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bloodline ***** MARCHAN BEACH
to papa romeo and to his 8 remaining siblings, uncle berto, ramon, gondino, jun-taks, adit, alexander, auntie helen and sergio marchan
here there's tree house
of course tossed up by the tree
the talisay tree
a parola like posting
over the marchan beach
well-ventilated
sorrounded by native cottages
overlooking Panguil bay
embracing Iligan breeze
slashing Ozamiz waves
against Maigo charcoaled shores
below are talisay leaves scattered
everywhere
like my biological papa's siblings
living here and there
as the fallen leaves
spread out and re -united
after sweeping sandy ground
not for burning fire
but for Marchan grand reunion time
some leaves are fallen too and
swept down to unite
like Bungkawel clan hails
from other nearby -tree branches
poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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One summer when the wind was strong
This is the place, now we are here again
I remember that summer when the wind was strong
And everything around us was dry,
The acacia trees towered and showered us with
Round leaves falling and falling and falling
Some birds were there and they flew away
Some cars were there and they speeded away
It was getting dark and it was a dry summer
We stayed there for a while when the leaves fell
Then we went under the trees not seeking shelter
But to catch those leaves falling and falling and falling
We are trying to feel again what falling was
We are here on this summer, we see the leaves
Falling and falling again to the dry wind,
We try to recall about us, but there is simply
Nothing about us anymore, but just the same
The leaves fall and fall and fall, we see them reenacting
There is that meaning; there it is in the falling
But we have outgrown it, we look for more, we hope
We can find some more, something beyond us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Just Beyond The Setting Sun
Just beyond the setting sun
lies a land where green leaves grow.
Just beyond the setting sun
seasons different come and go.
A warmly place
of peace and tranquillity.
Just beyond the setting sun
lies a home for you and me.
A place of no worries
where life is idyllic
to spawn generations to come,
warm in the summer sun
and cool as winter comes.
Just beyond the setting sun
lies a home we always wanted,
a paradise of beauty,
fulfilment and tranquillity.
Just beyond the setting sun
where our dreams come from.
There within those pastures green
lies our future destiny,
just over the horizon,
just beyond the setting sun.
26 July 2009
poem by David Harris
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When The Leaves Come Falling Down
I saw you standing with the wind and the rain in your face
And you were thinking bout the wisdom of the leaves and their grace
When the leaves come falling down
In september when the leaves, come falling down
And at night the moon is shining on a clear, cloudless sky
And when the evening shadows fall Ill be there by your side
When the leaves come falling down
In september when the leaves, come falling down
Follow me down, follow me down, follow me down
To the place beside the garden and the wall
Follow me down, follow me down
To the space before the twilight and the dawn
Oh, the last time I saw paris in the streets, in the rain
And as I walk along the boulevards with you, once again
And the leaves come falling down
In september, when the leaves come falling down
Follow me down, follow me down, follow me down
To the place between the garden and the wall
Follow me down, follow me down
To the space between the twilight and the dawn
And as Im looking at the colour of the leaves, in your hand
As were listening to chet baker on the beach, in the sand
When the leaves come falling down,
Woe in september, when the leaves come falling down
Oh when the leaves come falling down
Yeah in september when the leaves come falling down
When the leaves come falling down
In september, when the leaves come falling down
When the leaves come falling down in september, in the rain
When the leaves come falling down
When the leaves come falting down in september, in the rain
When the leaves come falling down
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Answer Lies
(graham russell)
Reach into your heart when you are near me
The answer lies at hand
Throw away all your fears of getting nowhere
For all your moves are planned
So dont spend too much time waiting by the door
For you will never see right thru
Just walk right inside and Ill be there
The answer lies there for you
Come, oh wont you come, someone is calling and no one else will do
Wake, from the dream in which you are falling
The answer lies there for you
So dont spend too much time waiting by the door
For you will never see right thru
Just walk right inside and I am sure the answer lies there for you
So dont spend too much time waiting by the door
For you will never see right thru
Just walk right inside and I am sure
The answer lies, the answer lies
The answer lies, there for you
song performed by by Air Supply
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Autumn
You called up late
Said you wanted to talk
I was afraid
Cause you spoke so softly
You took my hand
Slowly started to cry
I can't understand
Why our season went by
Why do leaves fall down from the sky
Is the tree not strong enough
You turned away
Slowly opened the door
Said you could not stay
You couldn't take it no more
It started to rain
Tears kept falling from the sky
It did not stop the pain
It did not stop the pain
Why do leaves fall down from the sky
Is the tree not strong enough
Now I fall on the ground
It did not stop the pain
It did not stop the pain
Why do leaves fall down from the sky
Is the tree not strong enough
Why do leaves fall down from the sky
Is the tree not strong enough
Now I fall on the ground
Now I fall on the ground
It did not stop the pain
It did not stop the pain
Why do leaves fall down from the sky
Is the tree not strong enough
song performed by by Green Lizard from Identity
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Autumn
As the warm summer stubbornly begins to cease
As winds of change tantalizingly stream to tease
As the leaves metamorphose to a spectrum of color
The skies gradually loose their summer valor
As the folk reap the harvests dancing in the autumn tones
Gleaners stealthily scrap for paltry nature's loans
As the Angelus is recited with a sense of a bestowed providence
The haystacks mushroom to a seasonal superabundance
Millet captured the season through the eyes of poverty
Constable captured the season in a hay wain's prosperity
Monet captured the remnant life in stubborn stacks of hay
As the many colors of autumn were captured for an eternity's stay
As the leaves unhinge from their branch's grip
Free falling with a gentle push from the branch's tip
Like aimless parachutes gravitating to Gaia's earthly call
The leaves carve their path to floor the earthly ball
Caterpillars scamper under the fallen foliage
Aardvarks scavenge ants from anthills coated in beige
Fleet footed ants run amok sensing the calm before the storm
As the leaves slowly wilt on the burgundy covered lawn
As humans walk back to the dreaded indoor life
Daunting is the fall to the blues melancholic strife
As soups and porridge are mounted on many a cook top
Life enters the arms of solitude as shades of burgundy drop
Autumn, as tides of brown fall on the gallantry of green
Autumn, as grey skies welcome the demise of the summer sheen
Autumn, as humans and animals alike burrow in to their earthly habitats
Gazing at the wonder of burgundy on tree tops and lawn mats
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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The Memories
the memories have become brown leaves
with the slight touch of the wind
this summer
all of them fall to the ground
some will be blown far away
some will stay and crack
and become dust
in a little while,
i will hear the sound of everything
the wind blowing,
the falling of the leaves
the cracking and
then how the dust
whispers
that it still want to stay and wait
even longer
for the next season of rain
like some seeds.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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95
sitting, waiting
sitting, as simple as sitting on a stair
you look around through dragonfly eyes
from higher places
like a cliff overlooking a village
closer to cotton clouds
patches of hissing
winds up here,
alone,
you sit, sitting is simple, it is not complicated
as waiting which is heavier sometimes with a person who is not
showing some shadows for the coming,
sit,
i sit,
i am sitting viewing a wide horizon, a vast expanse of a field,
some white herons heaving leaves blown from dead trees this summer,
they fly away
from you, they fly away from where you are seated, from your country,
you remain sitting,
sit, like a dog to his master telling him to sit,
sit,
it is simple as being yourself alone, not even waiting
things end in darkness
dust settles finally on the ground after a truck fully loaded with almost
everything leaves
the road heading far away from you,
you are not waiting for anything
you have no time
left for waiting, everything leaves and goes away, always everybody
utters the word goodbye
except these, the rain, the rain, there are many of them,
these hordes of rains
they are coming and you sit and do the last thing possible
listen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Autumn Leaves
Autumn leaves, in the trees
Falling to the ground
Colors of many, in the breeze
Of red and orange and brown.
Rainbow parks in the dark
Moonlight shimmers down
On the leaves, from the trees
Falling to the ground.
Lovers walk, hear them talk
To where Children played
See the beauty, and feel the warmth
From where nature stayed.
Barren trees, forgotten leaves
Another year gone by
All alone from a breeze
As the lovers softly cry.
Autumn leaves from the trees
Lying, on the ground
See the beauty, feel the warmth
And hear, autumns sound.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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When in winter summer is dead (cyhydedd fer sonnet)
When in winter summer is truly dead,
when the all flowers and leaves are shed
still I hear the dove's lovely coo and sing
as if they are whispering about spring.
Even when the cold winter winds sweep in
the ripe to the remaining plants death bring,
when birds to a distant summer have fled
to follow them your wings you do not spread.
There must be a kind of greatness, something
in romantically together living
there are icy and stripped days ahead,
promising a summer sun rising red
lies always somewhere in the near beyond,
like a dropp falling, falling in a pond.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I’ve been waiting so long
I’ve been waiting
For so long
You’re coming
You’re sending
A message
You’re coming
You’re falling
You’re falling
To the ground
To the ground
I am waiting
I am waiting
You’re falling
You’re falling
To this ground
This ground
You are falling
I’ve been waiting
For so long
My arms my hands
My fingers
Have been waiting
For so long
You are falling
To this
Holy ground.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sitting, Waiting
sitting, as simple as sitting on a stair
you look around through dragonfly eyes
from higher places
like a cliff overlooking a village
closer to cotton clouds
patches of hissing
winds up here,
alone,
you sit, sitting is simple, it is not complicated
as waiting which is heavier sometimes with a person who is not
showing some shadows for the coming,
sit,
i sit,
i am sitting viewing a wide horizon, a vast expanse of a field,
some white herons heaving leaves blown from dead trees this summer,
they fly away
from you, they fly away from where you are seated, from your country,
you remain sitting,
sit, like a dog to his master telling him to sit,
sit,
it is simple as being yourself alone, not even waiting
things end in darkness
dust settles finally on the ground after a truck fully loaded with almost
everything leaves
the road heading far away from you,
you are not waiting for anything
you have no time
left for waiting, everything leaves and goes away, always everybody
utters the word goodbye
except these, the rain, the rain, there are many of them,
these hordes of rains
they are coming and you sit and do the last thing possible
listen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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