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People come and go
Moving away
To new places
Looking for conformity
I am here
Allured by the sweet scent
Of sampaguita
On this mountain
Of tranquility
And like the tender
Flowers of Dove Orchids
Clinging to
The barks tenaciously
I have decided
To stay.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I Have Decided To Stay Choosing Tranquility
People come and go
Moving away
To new places
Looking for conformity
I am here
Allured by this sweet scent
Of champacas
In this mountain
Of contented tranquility
And like the tender
Flowers of dove
Orchids
Clinging to
The barks tenaciously
I have decided
To stay.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What she wrote was beautiful
The way she writes
Is like the way she carries herself
and
Indeed she writes beautifully
Words like tendrils
Tenaciously clinging to
Barks
Of trees where blooms of orchids
Abound,
Like her way of swaying and
Sitting on an easy chair
Her white long legs resting
One
On top of the other
She chooses her words
like
She’s choosing pebbles
Of
Different colors
segregating
Those pearly ones
From
The ordinary
And takes only what
she thinks
Is perfect
So she puts only the best
To make her
personalized
Composition and
it will take her
Days and days
To make
one
Eclectic, exquisite,
Her work is diamond
studded
Indeed she puts
all her life
On it
In that work which
Indeed
Is so beautifully
laid
I am so
awed
It is so
beautiful
Perhaps
because
I cannot
understand it
anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sestina: Here in Katmandu
We have climbed the mountain.
There's nothing more to do.
It is terrible to come down
To the valley
Where, amidst many flowers,
One thinks of snow,
As formerly, amidst snow,
Climbing the mountain,
One thought of flowers,
Tremulous, ruddy with dew,
In the valley.
One caught their scent coming down.
It is difficult to adjust, once down,
To the absense of snow.
Clear days, from the valley,
One looks up at the mountain.
What else is there to do?
Prayer wheels, flowers!
Let the flowers
Fade, the prayer wheels run down.
What have they to do
With us who have stood atop the snow
Atop the mountain,
Flags seen from the valley?
It might be possible to live in the valley,
To bury oneself among flowers,
If one could forget the mountain,
How, never once looking down,
Stiff, blinded with snow,
One knew what to do.
Meanwhile it is not easy here in Katmandu,
Especially when to the valley
That wind which means snow
Elsewhere, but here means flowers,
Comes down,
As soon it must, from the mountain.
poem by Donald Justice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Garden
When we talked about the world
we were talking about order:
a trail of grass, a fist of blooms.
My mother points to a slow
and deliberate fall of the full fruit.
“When we are dying, ” she says
“when we are long gone and dead, ”
And it is so easy to pretend we had a world
of choice. A green, easy tending.
The orchids tenaciously
cling to their dark barks.
We talked straight into evening,
straight into each tangled tendril
angled against dark, into dark.
If we could only hold the edgeless
in place. Night and its reckless weeds.
The light was not ours to give.
* written by L.L.YPIL
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I also like to garden. I grow things, vegetables, flowers... I particularly like orchids. I raise orchids.
quote by Beau Bridges
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Her Letter Dated July 1,2008, To Me, It Is Poem By Itself
I wonder how many more poems related to me I've missed.
I also wonder if you're a mind-reader.
Every springtime when the cherries bloom,
I do think of fire trees dotting Mt. Makiling
and lining the highways of Los Banos.
When wisterias bloom here,
I think of the jade vine in Makiling forest.
The pink, red and white flowers of azalea are pretty when they bloom in April to May,
but they can't compare with the explosion of colors of bougainvillea flowers trailing over the terraces of the buildings of IRRI where I used to work years ago.
I wonder if they are still there.
I did ask my father to plant ylang-ylang or sampaguita years ago,
because in Dipolog,
I can hardly find them anymore.
But father preferred palm trees, orchids, and anthurium.
Yes, I'll always miss the land of my birth.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Air
Like fresh blossoming flowers on a spring day.
Her scent is in the air.
Like the smell of rain right before it pours down.
Her scent is in the air.
Like the aroma of a hot apple pie cooling on the window seal.
Her scent is in air.
I try to cover my nose with my shirt
but her scent seeps right through it.
It is in the air.
I try fanning it away
but the more I fan the stronger her scent lofts in the air.
I decide not to fight it anymore and I inhale her scent.
It first suffocates me but then it sustains me.
To me her scent is love and it is
In the air.
Got To Be Moving On
Sombody told me - there's something better down that way
So don't try to hold me - 'Cos it's all I got to say
Is can't stay
I got to be moving - I got to be moving on
Yeah I got to moving - I got to be moving on
Next time you look around - you may find me gone
I've got to be moving - moving on
Free - nothing can hold me down
What you're loving - is what you found
So don't try to change it
Oh free - I've got to keep moving on
Where ever it takes me - where ever it goes
Somebody told me - there's something better down that way
So don't try to hold me - 'Cos it's all I got to say
Is can't stay
Got to be moving - got to be moving on
Got to be moving - got to be moving on
WHenever you see me - you'll know me by this song
Yeah I - I got to be moving on
Moving on
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letting the Day Go
Sweet induced visions...
soothing fusion visitation:
Opulent emeralds – Day glow bright!
Fields of blossoming lime flowers!
– Chase away all tequila salt tensions form my shot glass eyes!
Sun Drops: : :)))
Dahlias: : : Violet star-
burst supernovas!)))
tender leaves of tendril clinging sage...
) Flutter –
ing(
eyes...somnolent smile ;)
well red beauty in red
reads Rimbaud's Illuminations...
...resting 'neath the willow shade...
(sleepy sun soaked scent too serene to
be disturbed...
A peace too precious to brake
with the clumsy handled pickup of my
hastened approach...)
...just sit …
...steeping …
poetic allure...
small sips...
leisured pen ….
Letting the day go.)
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If the dog barks, go in; if the bitch barks you had better stay outside.
Moving Through The Dew
I
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew,
Ere I waken in the city—Life, thy dawn makes all things new!
And up a fir-clad glen, far from all the haunts of men,
Up a glen among the mountains, oh my feet are wings again!
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew,
O mountains of my boyhood, I come again to you,
By the little path I know, with the sea far below,
And above, the great cloud-galleons with their sails of rose and snow
As of old, when all was young, and the earth a song unsung
And the heather through the crimson dawn its Eden incense flung
From the mountain-heights of joy, for a careless-hearted boy,
And the lavrocks rose like fountain sprays of bliss that ne’er could cloy,
From their little beds of bloom, from the golden gorse and broom,
With a song to God the Giver, o’er that waste of wild perfume;
Blowing from height to height, in a glory of great light,
While the cottage-clustered valleys held the lilac last of night,
So, when dawn is in the skies, in a dream, a dream, I rise,
And I follow my lost boyhood to the heights of Paradise.
Life, thy dawn makes all things new! Hills of Youth, I come to you,
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew.
II
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew,
Floats a brother’s face to meet me! Is it you? Is it you?
For the night I leave behind keeps these dazzled eyes still blind!
But oh, the little hill-flowers, their scent is wise and kind;
And I shall not lose the way from the darkness to the day,
While dust can cling as their scent clings to memory for aye;
And the least link in the chain can recall the whole again,
And heaven at last resume its far-flung harvests, grain by grain.
To the hill-flowers clings my dust, and tho’ eyeless Death may thrust
All else into the darkness, in their heaven I put my trust;
And a dawn shall bid me climb to the little spread of thyme
Where first I heard the ripple of the fountain-heads of rhyme.
And a fir-wood that I know, from dawn to sunset-glow,
Shall whisper to a lonely sea, that swings far, far below.
Death, thy dawn makes all things new. Hills of Youth, I come to you,
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew.
poem by Alfred Noyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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They Remind Me Too Much Of You (#4)
Take away, the scent of flowers
Cover up, the sky of blue
Close my ears to tender love songs
They remind me too much of you
Hide young lovers' warm embraces
Keep stars and moonlight from my view
Let me forget, there are such places
They remind me too much of you
Must I evermore be haunted?
Day after day, my whole life through
By the memory of each moment
That I spent alone with you
If these lovely things don't hurt you
Our love just wasn't meant to be
But please come back to me, my darling
If they remind you, too much of me
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Orchid and Orange I
Tender orchid-leaves in spring
And cinnamon- blossoms bright in autumn
Are as self- contained as life is,
Which conforms them to the seasons.
Yet why will you think that a forest-hermit,
Allured by sweet winds and contented with beauty,
Would no more ask to-be transplanted
Than Would any other natural flower?
poem by Zhang Jiuling
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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I believe that writers, unless they consider themselves terribly exquisite, are at heart people who live by night, a little bit outside society, moving between delinquency and conformity.
quote by Guillermo Cabrera Infante
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Seeing I
Your sweet scent…
Covers me…
Head to toe…
Without you…
I just don’t know…
Your scent…
Like the rising Sun…
Without your love…
Where would I run…
Like your mood…Things within me grow…
Forward and back again…
Your sweet scent has no end…
I could not take …
The pain …
If I could never see…
You again…
Rise my sweet beauty…
Let us share our duties…
Let me fly under your wing…
And look upon the earth…
From which we came…
And came…
whisperkwane
swtlamb@yaho o.com
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Early this morning
Early this morning
when you waked me up
I experienced your tender smell
like a garden of fresh flowers blooming
and your hot soft body were clinging to mine
and your breath was fresh like apples
in a orchard
but your eyes my love, flamed
as if being on fire
and something indescribable were
between the two of us
and some people call it love
but I know
that it was much more.
poem by Gert Strydom
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They Remind Me Too Much Of You
(words and music by don robertson)
Take away, the scent of flowers
Cover up, the sky of blue
Close my ears to tender love songs
They remind me too much of you
Hide young lovers warm embraces
Keep stars and moonlight from my view
Let me forget, there are such places
They remind me too much of you
Must I evermore be haunted?
Day after day, my whole life through
By the memory of each moment
That I spent alone with you
If these lovely things dont hurt you
Our love just wasnt meant to be
But please come back to me, my darling
If they remind you, too much of me
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bivouac on a Mountain Side
I see before me now a traveling army halting,
Below a fertile valley spread, with barns and the orchards of summer,
Behind, the terraced sides of a mountain, abrupt, in places rising high,
Broken, with rocks, with clinging cedars, with tall shapes dingily seen,
The numerous camp-fires scatter'd near and far, some away up on the mountain,
The shadowy forms of men and horses, looming, large-sized, flickering,
And over all the sky--the sky! far, far out of reach, Studded, breaking out, the eternal stars.
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Vicouac On A Mountain Side
I SEE before me now, a traveling army halting;
Below, a fertile valley spread, with barns, and the orchards of
summer;
Behind, the terraced sides of a mountain, abrupt in places, rising
high;
Broken, with rocks, with clinging cedars, with tall shapes, dingily
seen;
The numerous camp-fires scatter'd near and far, some away up on the
mountain;
The shadowy forms of men and horses, looming, large-sized flickering;
And over all, the sky--the sky! far, far out of reach, studded,
breaking out, the eternal stars.
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Footsteps Of The Fools
when you are not there yet
you aspire for it, it is like a magical mountain
the apex of which you dream to step upon,
and every day of your life
you prepare
to be there, every step is carefully done
every strategy studied so well,
until you reach there, and what do you see?
the plains below, just like another scene
anywhere
you hear the song of the wind there
you touch the fog
you feel the rugged texture of its soil
orchids hang on its sides
but they are all the same
in all those places that you have been
there is really no difference
and you come down
and others who see you adore you
and ask you questions
about the song at the peak of that mountain by the wind
how does it feel to be on top?
you tell them that it is all the same
that there is nothing that makes that peak so significant
that you devote all your life
trying to reach it
but no one believes you and you regret to see them
following the footsteps of the fools over and over again
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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