En.Citatepedia^®.ro

5: 16

the Catholic's church bells
toll and the cocks are crowing
the hens come down from their nests
the songs of birds start
to chatter

i am not through with these yet
these lines
these musings

the morning is calling
that i must get out from these convolutions
undecided
i stay put
sit on a chair
and for a moment
close my eyes

and then i rise
and prepare my shoes
and cap
and coat
and then i say

yes!

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When Dawn Comes to the City

The tired cars go grumbling by,
The moaning, groaning cars,
And the old milk carts go rumbling by
Under the same dull stars.
Out of the tenements, cold as stone,
Dark figures start for work;
I watch them sadly shuffle on,
'Tis dawn, dawn in New York.

But I would be on the island of the sea,
In the heart of the island of the sea,
Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing,
And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree,
Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing,
Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn,
And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing,
And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying,
And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling
From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea
That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling
Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously!
There, oh, there! on the island of the sea,
There would I be at dawn.

The tired cars go grumbling by,
The crazy, lazy cars,
And the same milk carts go rumbling by
Under the dying stars.
A lonely newsboy hurries by,
Humming a recent ditty;
Red streaks strike through the gray of the sky,
The dawn comes to the city.

But I would be on the island of the sea,
In the heart of the island of the sea,
Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing,
And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree,
Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing
Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn,
And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing,
And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying,
And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling,
From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea
That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling
Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously!
There, oh, there! on the island of the sea,
There I would be at dawn.

poem by Claude McKay
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A Cocky Morning

don't be
malicious

the cocks
are sounding
off their
horns

to greet
the hens out there

good morning

and of course
the hens
crackle and giggle

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bells In My Heart

I heard church bells ringing- ringing quite clear
I heard the church bells ringing- deafening my ears.
I looked all around and yet I could not see
Any places of worship even close to me.

That was when I realized that the ringing
Was coming from my heart.
Because it was you who captured it
Right from the start.

You entered my life like the earth enters
the day- and forever you would stay.
The bells are ringing with every passing
Thought of you, and it tells me all that I must do.
And to keep this love- to you I must be true.

I sometimes ask myself how can this be?
The bells toll louder every time you look at me.
Is this the way that love is really meant to be
That my heart is racing fast, and I feel wild and free.

We’ve all envisioned love and how it should be
But love is something you can not foresee.
Everyone sees love in a different way
And with your heart, love will play.
And love like a guitar that’s out of tune
You will lose it pretty soon.

So find the faults while you can
Tune that love and take your stand.
Now as I look at you I ask:
“Is this happening to only me
Or is our hearts singing in harmony”?

poem by Louis Rams
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3: 51 A.m.

the cocks in the neighborhood
inside their fences are crowing
others answer the call as though
telling we are already awake and
ready for the day's fights,

one cock however remains rested
between his two ash-colored hens.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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THE BLISS OF MY OWN SILENCE (revised)

in this place
the first thing that i hear every morning
is the song of the birds
on top of trees
as they prepare to leave
after a night's sleep

as i open my window
and light is still young like some eyes blinking

i wonder
what are these birds up to?

they do not build their nests here
they just come
spend a night and then leave and are back again
on the same hour of the another night

i try to ask more questions
that i myself have to answer

but then
something comes up within
the reasons do not really matter

it is their songs
the harmony with the wind
the joy of the trees
the bliss
of my own silence....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Bless Of My Own Silence....

in this place
the first thing that i hear every morning
is the song of the birds
on top of trees
as they prepare to leave
after a night's sleep

as i open my window
and light is still young like some eyes blinking
i wonder
what are these birds up to
they do not build their nests here
they just come
spend a night and then leave and are back again
on the same hour of the same night

i try to ask more questions
that i myself have to answer
but then
something comes up within
the reasons do not really matter
it is their songs
the harmony with the wind
the joy of the trees
the bliss
of my own silence....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sundays Past

On Sunday mornings you would wear a dark suit
With a tie and shiny shoes you are ready to en route
The church bells would ring calling for morning mass
While you check the weather through the window glass
A last glance in the mirror and you are on your way
You join the church goers without any further delay

Walking over uneven cobblestones in our small town
Children would jump on the sidewalks up and down
Dressed up for church everyone is wearing their best
Thinking about the priest and what they have to confess
Men lifting their dark hats as they wish a Good Morning
Then pass by the cemetery bowing heads as in mourning

The church bells now ringing louder and more demanding
Calling all sinners to mass without misunderstanding
I always knew that right then the decision was made
And it was agreed to skip church without being afraid
Through the old alley you and others took a known detour
Heading straight to the pub on the corner that is for sure

Around noon I would go to meet my father by the church
And he would talk about mass having done some research
At home my mother would just smile and shake her head
While my father gave her a wink that was hardly misread
Joking around we would eat lunch smiling with every bite
Keeping my father's Sunday secret and the world was alright

© 2011

poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Sketches Of Life

early morning
it will be the same sound
of cocks
crowing,

harbingers of
a new day

up on the tree
their only guide whether to
take the jump
to the ground is the
sun,

she is safe in sleep
as i take the usual journey
again
with all the cocks
crowing

the trees have black leaves
roads and fences are bold strokes
of the Chinese brush
from a painter in Vietnam
i remember
his feet are cut

one wonders if we can be whole
again
when the fragile glasses of our arms
are all broken

early mornings when
the hens are silent

when the ref murmur
a nameless song

when i sound like an empty
gong
love emaciated
like a malnourished
African child

one exhibits the boredom
of his words like
one malling without anything
in mind to buy
nothing specific except
the will to kill time
that does not serve
any use

at the pasta room
where the tea people are not around
on one table the two lesbians are drinking beer
while the two queers on the
other table near the rest room
are exchanging some pleasantries
of notes
they are not singing
but giggling

a man that they call as dark and handsome
passes by
it is strange because he is not wearing anything
his face is covered with black cloth
as though he is bound
for the gallows

there is yet no food on my table
the waitress is busy biting her nails
the mother beside a kid is slapping herself

it is strange here and i put some money on the table
and leave

i need some air to breathe
this world is suffocating.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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untitled ONE

early morning
it will be the same sound
of cocks
crowing,

harbingers of
a new day

up on the tree
their only guide whether to
take the jump
to the ground is the
sun,

she is safe in sleep
as i take the usual journey
again
with all the cocks
crowing

the trees have black leaves
roads and fences are bold strokes
of the Chinese brush
from a painter in Vietnam
i remember
his feet are cut

one wonders if we can be whole
again
when the fragile glasses of our arms
are all broken

early mornings when
the hens are silent

when the ref murmur
a nameless song

when i sound like an empty
gong
love emaciated
like a malnourished
African child

one exhibits the boredom
of his words like
one malling without anything
in mind to buy
nothing specific except
the will to kill time
that does not serve
any use

at the pasta room
where the tea people are not around
on one table the two lesbians are drinking beer
while the two queers on the
other table near the rest room
are exchanging some pleasantries
of notes
they are not singing
but giggling

a man that they call as dark and handsome
passes by
it is strange because he is not wearing anything
his face is covered with black cloth
as though he is bound
for the gallows

there is yet no food on my table
the waitress is busy biting her nails
the mother beside a kid is slapping herself

it is strange here and i put some money on the table
and leave

i need some air to breathe
this world is suffocating.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My hope that the Church will emerge as a strong leader in society is just that a hope. What I described in The Catholic Moment is not a prophecy but the outline of a possibility. There are no guarantees that my hopes expressed in The Catholic Moment will ever be realised.

quote by Richard John Neuhaus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Youre Missing

Shirts in the closet, shoes in the hall
Mamas in the kitchen, baby and all
Everything is everything
Everything is everything
But youre missing
Coffee cups on the counter, jackets on the chair
Papers on the doorstep, but youre not there
Everything is everything
Everything is everything
But youre missing
Pictures on the nightstand, tvs on in the den
Your house is waiting, your house is waiting
For you to walk in, for you to walk in
But youre missing, when I shut out the lights
Youre missing, when I close my eyes
Youre missing, when I see the sun rise
Youre missing
Children are asking if its alright
Will you be in our arms tonight?
Morning is morning, the evening falls I got
Too much room in my bed, to many phone calls
Hows everything, everything?
Everything, everything
Youre missing, youre missing
Gods drifting in heaven, devils in the mailbox
I got dust on my shoes, nothing but teardrops

song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The New Routine

dinner at six pm
blackout comes at 7
so we sleep as early as that time
and with nothing to do
we make love in the dark
and too tired
we oversleep till 5 the next morning
when electricity resumes

we sleep without air-conditioning
pre-conditioned now
to this long lasting emergency situation

i content myself to the sound of silence

some chirping birds sometimes
and crowing cocks at dawn
and screaming chickens landing
on the ground

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When Jesus Comes Calling For Me

When I was a child I recall and old man; everybody loved old zeke
He was all alone, his family was gone; one day he said to me
Im just sittin here thinkin about jesus, rockin as my old chair creaks
Some glad day Ill fly away when jesus comes calling for me
It might be today, it might be tomorrow, maybe one day next week
Ill soon be done with trouble and sorrow when he comes calling for me
When jesus comes calling for me
When I die dont grieve and cry
Lordy, dont feel sorry for me
Oh what a day, what a mighty fine day
When jesus comes calling for me
When he comes calling for me
I might be in the graveyard walking talking to my family
Or I might be plowing in the field down yonder, just old muley and me
Wherever I am, whatever Im a doing, some sweet day Ill see
And band of angels in a cloud of glory when jesus comes calling for me
When he comes calling for me
When I die just close my eyes
And lay me neath the willow tree
Oh what a day, what a mighty fine day
When jesus comes calling for me
When jesus comes calling for me
Im just sittin here watchin for jesus, rockin as my old chair creaks
Some sweet day Ill fly away when jesus comes calling for me
When he comes calling for me

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bredon Hill

In summertime on Bredon
The bells they sound so clear;
Round both the shires they ring them
In steeples far and near,
A happy noise to hear.

Here of a Sunday morning
My love and I would lie,
And see the coloured counties,
And hear the larks so high
About us in the sky.

The bells would ring to call her
In valleys miles away:
'Come all to church, good people;
Good people, come and pray.
But here my love would stay.

And I would turn and answer
Among the springing thyme,
'Oh, peal upon our wedding,
And we will hear the chime,
And come to church in time.

But when the snows at Christmas
On Bredon top were strewn,
My love rose up so early
And stole out unbeknown
And went to church alone.

They tolled the one bell only,
Groom there was none to see,
The mourners followed after,
And so to church went she,
And would not wait for me.

The bells they sound on Bredon,
And still the steeples hum.
'Come all to church, good people,' -
Oh, noisy bells, be dumb;
I hear you, I will come.

poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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Once In The Morning

(nickolas ashford/valerie simpson)
Just once in the morning
Once in the evening
Just once in the morning
Once in the evening
Ooh, baby
Just once in the morning
Once in the evening
Once in the morning
Once in the evening
Thatll be enough
Thatll be enough of your good good lovin stuff
Thatll be enough
Ooh yeah
Take away the yearning
Take away the burning
Baby, baby
Just once in the morning
Once in the evening
Just once in the morning
Once in the evening
Its not all youre thinking
I promise you well make it, very hard
Our love has to do with
Your conditions as to how and would we start
Its gotta be once in the morning
Once in the evening
Once in the morning
Once in the evening
Thatll be enough
Thatll be enough of your good good lovin stuff
Thatll be enough
Thatll be enough
Take away the yearning
Take away the burning
Baby, baby
Just once
Yeah
Ooh...
Its seven when I rise
Eleven, close my eyes
Its seven when I rise
Eleven, close my eyes
I want you to be, be, be there
I want you to be, be, be there
Be there
Seven when I rise
Eleven, close my eyes
I promised that Ill be
Good enough for me
Once, once in the evening
Thatll be enough
Once in the morning
Once in the evening
Thatll be enough
Once in the morning
Once in the evening
Give it to me
Give it to me
Once in the morning
Once in the evening

song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Joyride

Oh my sweet lover,
Save the last penny for me my love;
And let us play along only with the tunes of lovers!
Like the Hall of Fame and the cross cultures around.

Deep down in my heart is my mind on you always,
So ris eup and shine and never be late!
For being with you is always like the sweet songs of love;
Kiss my lips and never look back on this love.

You dancing shoes are needed tonight so,
Come and let me take you on a joyride with my heart;
And let me bring out the sunshine of light out of the darkness!

The church bells are ringing for you and i but,
This love is stronger than the sounds of the bells!
For you've got heaven in your eyes my sweet one.

Oh my dark lake of love,
Let me take a joyride with you!
For you are always on my mind and,
The sweet songs of love flows around you always;
For you are the one for me on this joyride.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Old Songs, The

Music & Lyrics by: David Pomeranz
Glasses are chilled and soon
She'll be by
Hope and pray
She'll say that she's willing to give us
Another try
And if all those plans I've made
Don't melt the lady's heart
I'll put on the old 45's
And maybe the old songs
Will bring back the old times
Maybe the old lines
Will sound new
Maybe she'll lay her
Head on my shoulder
Maybe old feelings
Will come through
Maybe we'll start to cry
And wonder why
We ever walked away
Maybe the old songs
Will bring back the old times
And make her want to stay
It's been too long since I've
Seen her face light up
When I come home
It's been too many
Hours I've wasted staring
At the phone
Sweet old songs I'm counting on you
To bring her back to me
I'm tired of listening alone
Maybe the old songs
Will bring back the old times
Maybe the old lines
Will sound new
Maybe she'll lay her
Head on my shoulder
Maybe old feelings
Will come through
Maybe we'll start to cry
And wonder why
We ever walked away
Maybe the old songs
Will bring back the old times
And make her want to stay

song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Written on a Summer Evening

The church bells toll a melancholy round,
Calling the people to some other prayers,
Some other gloominess, more dreadful cares,
More harkening to the sermon's horrid sound.
Surely the mind of man is closely bound
In some blind spell: seeing that each one tears
Himself from fireside joys and Lydian airs,
And converse high of those with glory crowned.
Still, still they toll, and I should feel a damp,
A chill as from a tomb, did I not know
That they are dying like an outburnt lamp, -
That 'tis their sighing, wailing, ere they go
Into oblivion -that fresh flowers will grow,
And many glories of immortal stamp.

poem by John Keats
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Sonnet. Written In Disgust Of Vulgar Superstition

The church bells toll a melancholy round,
Calling the people to some other prayers,
Some other gloominess, more dreadful cares,
More hearkening to the sermon's horrid sound.
Surely the mind of man is closely bound
In some black spell; seeing that each one tears
Himself from fireside joys, and Lydian airs,
And converse high of those with glory crown'd.
Still, still they toll, and I should feel a damp,--
A chill as from a tomb, did I not know
That they are dying like an outburnt lamp;
That 'tis their sighing, wailing ere they go
Into oblivion; -- that fresh flowers will grow,
And many glories of immortal stamp.

poem by John Keats
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When I Close My Eyes (feat. Na Na)

I've been hiding, forgotten
I almost got away
but now it's all coming back
and it's time for me to stay
I've seen it all pass me by
in my hibernating state
now I am here once again
and it's time to meet my fate
When I'm on my own
(coming up, coming up)
you're still there
When I'm all alone
(coming up, coming up)
always there
When I close my eyes
takes me back to the start
where it all seemed so right
now we've drifted apart
when I close my eyes
then we're back at the start
where it all seemed so right
how come you're still in my heart
This is the perfect moment
I'm on to something good
there is no fear
I will always know I did what I could
if something stands in my way
then I will break down the door
so please don't stand in my way
'cause then it's a full-out war
When I'm on my own
(coming up, coming up)
you're still there
When I'm all alone
(coming up, coming up)
always there
When I close my eyes
takes me back to the start
where it all seemed so right
now we've drifted apart
when I close my eyes
then we're back at the start
where it all seemed so right
how come you're still in my heart
When I close my eyes
you are on your way tonight
you come all of the way
to my heart
I've been hiding, forgotten
I almost got away
but now it's all coming back
and it's time for me to stay
I've seen it all pass me by
in my hibernating state
now I am here once again
and it's time to meet my fate
when I close my eyes
then we're back at the start
where i

song performed by by E-type
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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