A Banaba Leaf
this banaba leaf falls from its branch
a child gathers it
and hands it to me
and i keep it
on top of my study
each day i look at it
like it is something so different
from the rest of the leaves
time shrinks it
time browns it
until its cells begin
to show its veins
until it turns to thread
crumpled pieces
until it turns to dust
until it becomes like the sands
of the shore
nothing lasts
in such a short time
the leaf returns to ash
on its last day
i gather what remains are there
on my palm
outside i sprinkle the leaf that
returns to dust
to air back to the empty space
back to the nothingness
our place of final destination
the world is hungry for this
dusts and sands
death to everything living
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A New leaf
There’s a new leaf upon the Tree
A thousand, thousand have been before
In the life of this great tree
Yet, the Tree rejoices, and is glad
For there is a New Leaf upon the tree
The roots are deep, and hidden
Tis one tree from root to branch
And lives in and through each leaf
The hearts’ smile resurrected
Through the New leaf upon the tree
Like the stars of heaven
New leaves have been many
And so they all are One
For they all share the same root
Bless the New leaf upon the tree
Perfection in the Blessing
Joy released in tears of love
The strength in life will comfort
From root to God above
A New leaf upon the tree
Beauty, Truth, and life
Complete from root to branch
When life’s cycle turns
Leaves fall to nourish roots
And behold, a New leaf upon the tree
poem by Adrian Wait
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A Leaf
to a non-poet a leaf is just a leaf
and when it falls
on the ground, there is nothing but a
fall
but to us who claim this art
a leaf is not just a leaf
but it can be you or i
falling and when i reach the ground
you feel the heart of the leaf
beating
for its falling, its failure as a leaf,
its surrender to a certain death
its claiming a portion of this earth
to rest and be part of this
world, it rots, and it speaks some line
before it rots
a poem, a valediction on an anthill,
an eulogy of the other leaves that
fell before the great falling
it can be a story of humanity written
on the lines of its face, it will have flesh
on its layers, some mouths on its
seams, and it will tell too
about the tree where it comes from
how the clouds drifted so close to its stalk
how the sun kissed it on top of everything
a leaf is a world. just as a poem is.
we live inside it. Through it. Even
outside it. Even in circles.
we make understanding so complicated.
yet we are so simple as you see us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Leaf And The Tree And The Roots
if i had to write it again
then i had to, as i must
let you fully understand
the true nature of a vine
the way the leaf swerves
with the wind to give itself
to a fateful fall, the one that
completes its existence as
a leaf to a tree, a part of
a whole, the way it must
settle on the ground and
be with the worms and rot
and fulfills the cycle of its
short existence, and by then
it tells the roots, i am a leaf
i am back and you must now
eat everything in me so i can
be with the bark again so i
can be a leaf again to a tree
that holds me back
and then for another time
lets me fall again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sometimes I am amazed of the magic that is done
It all started with something insignificant
Like dust,
Sticking on a window pane, and I want it
Dusted off, it is dirt, it is unwanted,
And I do not even know what to do next
About such
Insignificance and feelings of simply
Trying to get rid of dust immediately,
But then, I begin to think about this
Dust, this me, this dust in me,
Some dusts on my feet, some dusts on
My forehead, and some dusts in my ears,
Some dusts in my eyes so obstructive
Of what I really am, and I know what to do next,
The bulb lighting in my head in a sudden,
I touch the dust,
I feel the dust with my fingers, and I am crazy enough
I taste the dust on my window pane,
And I shiver,
I am shaking to its taste, the taste of nothingness
If was from dust that I really come,
I now remember,
It will be to dust that I shall return,
I am now reminded,
And the dust that I used to see
As dirt, as something so insignificant, is now,
A magical patch, glistening, so filled with meaning,
I am nothing but dust; I am biting the dust,
I am very insignificant, in that window pane, at first.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sands Sift Between My Toes
If Fairy Dust could be sprinkled
Across the sands of time
It would undo all the harms I've done
To you and
To those and
Still to more of whom I do not know
But the fairies must have gone
Along with their magical dust
Instead of beaching under me
The sands drift over, around, and above
Grains gritting against my desperate pleas
I beg for them to take me
To the past
To the future
Unwilling, they say
It is here
Where I must stay
So here I have been left
To stand in stagnant air
Of guilt, of fear, of shame
Hand smacked each time I dare
To start life again with disengenuous flare
But blame the dust and sands I can't
Nor guilt, nor fear, nor shame
They are simply being true
To their birth, to their task, to their work
Inspired by these forces
I too must be true to
Whomever I am... or am not...
Or wish to...or wish not to be
In short, I must believe I add value
Just by me being me
As I think it, I can say it
As I say it, I can...
Reach out one more time
Eyes squinting recalling past smacks in my mind
This time mayhem does not make its way
No punishments doled
Despite the genuine truth be told
In its place a hearty laugh comes from the unknown,
'Go on about your life creature, for now you know.'
Suddenly, a quick of energy
Burst the black out of my soul
Leaving room for the dust of gods to enter
Waiting in ether for my true self to show
At this blessed moment
The sands of time stood still and fell
Allowing refuge from the pain
A flash of Self-Revelation
Joy be known
'Bless each tiny grain, '
as Sands Sift Between my Toes.
poem by Atty Davis
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With Dignity, In Stillness...
if the time has come,
then let it be done,
with dignity, in stillness.
that rare moment
when the bird flies from the cage,
is not the time for weeping.
does the river mourn
when it breaks through the dam?
does the storm apologize for passion?
then who are we to cling to dust,
to darkness as dawn approaches?
the leaf turns
in a fury of color..
for just a moment,
then brown, and falls.
the tree stands still in respect,
and begins the time of waiting.
the first snow comes,
the winds howl, never grieving...
for there comes a time,
when the womb is split,
a time of new life, and beginning!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Some Distant Day
stillness wrapped in stillness,
memory ingrained in time.
an ancient holy book written
on a leaf, that falls freely,
turns bright with passion,
and crumbles into death!
who are we?
and what remains?
more than the inflection of voice?
less than scriptures etched in stone?
a star? a caterpillar? a gust of wind?
does the soul retain identity?
the spirit have a familiar face?
does the name change...
from Henry to pebble,
from William to speck of dust?
angel's wings, i think not!
neither pitchforks, nor hideous horns!
does the stone i read this poem to...
hear me? know what i've said?
recognize and feel comfort?
or is it all worms and time
and black and white photographs?
or a dropp of rain that feels
like a lover come back?
or are we just nails
rusted on the bridge of time?
do you know? do you care?
will your lips quiver
on some distant day...
trying to remember how
to speak my name?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Tide Rises, the Tide Falls, The
The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveler hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveler to the shore.
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Ultima Thule: The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls
The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls
The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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It Is About The Entire Performance
It is highly unlikely...
But,
Nothing is impossible...
That a leaf,
Connected to a twig or a branch...
Of a rooted tree,
Would not have a clue...
How it is associated with the process,
Of life.
Or...
That it accepts it has nothing to do with it at all.
However...
Attempts to deceive the other leaves,
They too are equally independent.
And can do what they wish...
With this being totally ignored,
By the Earth from which it feeds!
It is unlikely that a leaf would be that selfish.
But...
I BET it gets the point,
When that tree begins to give it signals...
Its leeching days,
Are not permanently attached.
And that leaf has to go!
And the Earth,
In agreement AND with approval given...
Knows WHO runs the show!
It is not about the part the leaf plays in the act.
It is about the entire performance that is important.
AND...
Has only ONE director.
'Some' leaves get this!
However,
Many do not.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Mumble....
how i wish to be just everything
a tree full of leaves where some stars hang out tonight
or just fireflies if there be no stars
that will suffice or if there are no fireflies at all
perhaps a candlelight
a lonely candle put upon one of its roots
or if there be none at all
no tree or leaf or ground
or worm
i still just wish that i be everything in that nothing
a space
an echo a dust a wind
i just want to dissipate in everything that comes my way
a memory of you in a minute
or just a crumpled paper
a dew that dries up in air
a mark on the leaf
a scratch of the stone
a left over moss
i just want to have an image of myself
something to think about
for the meantime that you are not here
i simply want to explode
scatter
till no one finds me here
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Second Spring
The dew indiscriminately
wept for all things living and dead
on this early autumn morning.
Its cold droplets caressed the leaves
while lingering sap-starved leaf stems
clung precariously above
and each dying leaf shed teardrops
for and onto their fallen kind.
One by one they released their hold
falling silently, gracefully
in their final unique fashion:
Some swayed. Others pirouetted;
and many more, somersaulting
into their final resting place.
Sunbeams from an October star
spilt rippling puddles of warm light
on their multicolored remains
amid the vibrant wildflowers.
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
Albert Camus
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Gone With The Wind
What a surprise it would be
If we meet again, this time,
In the middle of a forest:
You, as a soft and healthy leaf
And me as a gentle wind!
I would take you away
To a distant secret place
Where we would never be disturbed!
Time would seem infinite
When caressing you all over
With my tender invisible hands
Along with your passionate kisses
That would transport us
Definitely to another dimension
Filled with ecstasy and lust!
You and me alone!
Happy together,
We would feel
Like on top of the World!
You, the amorous leaf,
Purposely detached from a tree
That was left way back behind
A which by now
Must be sadly missing you!
The leaf gone with the wind
And now having so much fun
With me (The Wind) !
Happy together,
In that distant secret place
Where nobody would find us!
Only the Mighty above understands
The reason why
We madly fell in love
In that daring escape journey
To this distant secret place!
©All Rights Reserved-2012
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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A Globule on the Colocasia Leaf
All unite, then one remains,
And now it vibrates
On the colocasia leaf
In the light noon wind.
It’s serene soon, and spreads a
Rainbow on the leaf
In the light sunshine.
It’s a tiny spectrum, which
Sparkles and fades as the
Sun rays come and go.
It’s a transient miracle, which
None can put on the palm
Without losing it’s splendour.
It’s the purest rain globule,
On the colocasia leaf,
Like a thought drop, which
None can put on the palm
poem by Fabiyas M V
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My destination
My destination is life at the end of the line
My destination is graduation when it’s time
My destination is my diploma I bet I get mine
My destination is to stop with the lay back being cool
My destination is to reach to top of the school
When you reach the top I want you to look over and have in your hand a four leaf clover
As you step on the edge and start to look down turn around fall back make no sound
So the next destination you reach is the ground
poem by Jacob Valentine
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A View
driftwood
with seven twigs
on the shore
as clear as glass
is the water
and all stones and pebbles
are visible
above
blue skies
so blue that the white cotton clouds
appear like sperm cells moving
impregnating
an earth-sky womb
and then
it rains
the water rises
the drift wood again taken
floating
gently to another shore
another island
of white sands
a coconut tree towers
to reach a waft of cloud
winds as cool as ice
sands slipping on the fingers
a leaf from a guyabano tree falls
on the mouth
of a sleeping woman
beside her
the man whose arms are enclosing
her throughout
the rainy night
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Broken Memories
A soft wind blows
Over the sands of yesterday.
Memories of the past
Make their stand today.
Now their hearts sing...
The moon will shine
And they'll all lose heart.
And the hero falls
As the world tears itself apart.
Teardrops of blood
Fall from the sky.
As the hero's words
Float silently on by.
Their hearts are crushed.
Their bones are shattered,
Their souls are lost forever.
The moon will shine
And they'll all lose heart.
And the hero falls
As the world tears itself apart.
Friends come and go
As time fades away.
Blood turns to dust
As night turns to day.
My time will come.
My fate is sealed.
I need to face that this is real.
The moon will shine
And they'll all lose heart.
And the hero falls
As the world tears itself apart.
And the hero falls
As the world tears itself apart.
poem by Ricky Perron
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Like A Leaf
i will pass this world
like a blown leaf
to the north by the south winds
there will be abrupt changes
just the ripening of the life
of a leaf
from green to yellow
to orange and then to gray
to dryness crumpling
into dust
who will not be dust?
we all are
but all of you are leaving traces
like a footstep
a child a parcel of land
a will
how can i make some traces
on the path of the
wind?
there shall be none
for a whisper has no bars to hold on
a sound has no box to stay
a spoken word
has no room for sleeping.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fall to Earth
The stubborn little Maple leaf
held on when all its fellows fled.
They carpeting the ground beneath
a vast lushscape of gold and red.
Leaf held on through wind and rain,
the last survivor of its race.
Leaf held on past Turkey day
maintaining there its pride of place.
Then Leaf grew lonely, I suppose-
Like the summer's final rose.
Leaf envied then the flakes of snow
Who fluttered past to their repose.
Then, just as winter came to call,
Leaf felt a tug and then a snap.
Flying, tumbling on the winds
Fall to Earth. Fade to black.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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