A Change Of Color Of The Wind And The Sun
earlier there is this color of comfort
soft light spreading on the grass
pastel green to light green and then
deeper, like a pond covered with
floating moss
stone coated with greenish
river and driftwood floating
in silence
i sit patiently waiting for the coming of the changes
faint light getting stronger the sun rises from the twin peaks
peeping tom between two breasts of green hills
light spreads getting stronger
the lady walking on the path begins to wear her turban
noonday, the shadow becomes short and compressed
flashed against a rock
scorched the grasses stiffen short of the water
the moisture is gone
and then the hot air reigns
there is this silence that keeps running
to the places of the heart
fanning leaves comforting a grieving
man under a mango tree
someone left him
someone is shattered like a very dry leaf
crumpled and cracked and calling for help
the plain is dry and wide
there is no shadow of a horse coming
on the other side of the road
far to the edge of the mirage
there are only watery illusions.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Sestina
I have come, alas, to the great circle of shadow,
to the short day and to the whitening hills,
when the colour is all lost from the grass,
though my desire will not lose its green,
so rooted is it in this hardest stone,
that speaks and feels as though it were a woman.
And likewise this heaven-born woman
stays frozen, like the snow in shadow,
and is unmoved, or moved like a stone,
by the sweet season that warms all the hills,
and makes them alter from pure white to green,
so as to clothe them with the flowers and grass.
When her head wears a crown of grass
she draws the mind from any other woman,
because she blends her gold hair with the green
so well that Amor lingers in their shadow,
he who fastens me in these low hills,
more certainly than lime fastens stone.
Her beauty has more virtue than rare stone.
The wound she gives cannot be healed with grass,
since I have travelled, through the plains and hills,
to find my release from such a woman,
yet from her light had never a shadow
thrown on me, by hill, wall, or leaves’ green.
I have seen her walk all dressed in green,
so formed she would have sparked love in a stone,
that love I bear for her very shadow,
so that I wished her, in those fields of grass,
as much in love as ever yet was woman,
closed around by all the highest hills.
The rivers will flow upwards to the hills
before this wood, that is so soft and green,
takes fire, as might ever lovely woman,
for me, who would choose to sleep on stone,
all my life, and go eating grass,
only to gaze at where her clothes cast shadow.
Whenever the hills cast blackest shadow,
with her sweet green, the lovely woman
hides it, as a man hides stone in grass.
poem by Dante Alighieri
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Shadow of the Horse
In bright sun’s wash
Over concrete & stone
Outlined in strong contrast
The shadow appears
Before the white horse
Who bows its curved head
In acknowledgment.
The images stream-
And its swift appearance
Stays, as light & heat seem
To do, although, it’s been
Only a short while.
The folklore of archetypes
weaves tales
Of a soul longing to be seen.
“I see you & I love you, ”
The shadow tells the horse
Without uttering a sound.
The evidence is in the light. In
The arrest of time-
In the passing moment like
The crucial note in a song. The
Horse sees that its not alone.
The dream of the horse & the shadow
Is hard to let go of.
There is comfort in love that
Doesn’t talk back. A long walk
Down the bridle path releases
The need.
The sun fades & filters through
The leaves & the breeze...Yes,
The sun fades & filters through
The leaves & the breeze as
Autumn comes & the horse
Gives thanks by merely living
the seasons.
The shadow increases & decreases
At will. And the curvature of the earth
bows low with a simple nod.
poem by E.E. Green
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Ode To The Green Grass Of Summer
green green grass
spreading slowly on the path
of my feet
treaded upon
such green beauty
covering once
this dust, this mud,
this plain expanse
of ugliness
i sing the song
of green green grasess
spreading thinly on
the pavement
grasshoppers
and ants and some worms
yes, the green green grasses
are still their home
patches of earth
from far
you may see
this stitches
of moss
a landscape
of this earth
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lighter Shades Of Blue, Green And Brown
soon the flower puffs
and spreads the softness of its seeds
this wisp of the winds
this call of the ground
to perpetuate life
to kill the ugliness of death
to resurrect the hope of the grasses
the ideals of the flowers
leaves dissolve like watercolor dampness
in the canvass of life
so soft, soft green meadows
pastel woodlands
light green horizons spreading
diffusing against the fading light of dusk
meeting once again
the blueness of the skies
like baby's breath to mother
lips kissing meeting
in the cradle.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dispossessed
Tender and tremulous green of leaves
Turned up by the wind,
Twanging among the vines -
Wind in the grass
Blowing a clear path
For the new-stripped soul to pass…
The naked soul in the sunlight…
Like a wisp of smoke in the sunlight
On the hill-side shimmering.
Dance light on the wind, little soul,
Like a thistle-down floating
Over the butterflies
And the lumbering bees…
Come away from that tree
And its shadow grey as a stone…
Bathe in the pools of light
On the hillside shimmering -
Shining and wetted and warm in the sun-spray falling like golden rain -
But do not linger and look
At that bleak thing under the tree.
poem by Lola Ridge
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A White Architect Of Light
8.8.88: She came back from the land of democrative destiny and dissolved
into the chaotic void.
Fighting for the freedom of reality
Building the light house in the darkest hours of life
Fixing up the spiritual essence through the existential nothingness
in the valueless zone
Layers by layers, realities of life theatre are turned into distilled light
out of trapped reflections
Mother of modern Myanmar honoured by consciencious tree of life
Curving away all the unnecessary parts
Curving away all the necessary parts
Communication revolution of the 21 st century
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Aung San Su Kyi, The White Architect Of Light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
Light's shadow is light
In some fields of grass under the hills (sestina)
This afternoon the peaks throw a big shade
with the black cliffs shining up on the hills,
while we lay together in the long grass,
I look in your eyes that are amber-green
while under my head there is a small stone
and you smile at me like the prettiest lady.
I had once known another charming lady;
that part of my life is now left in shade,
bad churchmen were casting stone upon stone,
while I had to flee from them to the hills
to pastures were everything is green
to find the Lord in divine fields of grass.
Under your head there is a crown of grass
and your mother is a gracious, kind lady,
around us everything is lovely green
while we are still resting in the cool shade,
we are softly chatting about life’s hills,
about walls of very hard granite stone.
Your eyes are much brighter than emerald stone
while all of your words are softer than grass,
reaching higher and beyond all the hills,
the high mountain which is dangerous lady,
while from our pain nothing gives any shade,
nowhere is a place of rest that is green.
Your summer dress is lovely, is bright green,
suddenly all our ails have turned to stone
I follow you further; see your small shade,
I am seen as one that woos any lady,
we walk past some flowers growing in grass,
climbing up higher into the foothills.
Bright streams are splashing down some of the hills,
with water transparent, sometimes cold and green,
love and lust burns like in a youthful lady
while I at that moment feel cold as stone,
we notice a deer feeding on lone grass
while our garments lie under a tree’s shade.
Far into the hills you want love till dusk’s shade,
where you peep like some green moss from the grass,
are tossing me with a stone like no lady.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Learning to Play Coltrane
She thought it was green, not
the emerald green of Indian summer
but a green like a darkening plain,
or the shadow rivers cast.
She thought it was light, a glint
or a warning, the shine
at the papery edge
of storm clouds. The way
a voice rising and falling becomes
a premonition, a dampness
at the back of her neck. Or maybe
it was more of an imprint,
a memory of sound, some afternoon
after the circus has left town
and all that remains is a field
strewn with garbage, a music
of pasted stars and ruin.
And she thought of a color
like that, mud-green, the green
of a small sadness, shapeless
as the wind itself. And for a moment
she owned everything inside it,
the light, the field, the wind.
—for Adrian
First published in American Poetry Review.
poem by Silvia Curbelo
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You and Me in some metaphors of my mind....
you stand
and tower
in such a beautiful
pose like
the sun
radiating
i will be the
silent admiring
green
frog
waiting for
the rain
at night you be
my moon
i will be the marsh
by the river
floating as
your bed
this morning
i will be the
window's shutters
waiting for
the light coming
from your fingers
tonight
be my anticipation
feed me more
of your illusions
for i am a dream
gasping for more
i am this
shortest moment
that is about
to die
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Renda Writer - Colors
Mismanagement damages the fabrics
Woven by the chosen few
The pointing finger chose you
Red light special
Code blue
Blue light special
Red light
Stop
Green go
Green money
Green grasso
Green leaves
Then the green leaves
Unless we start living green
Green seems
To be common
The common theme
The common ground
Is color
We're all brothers from another mother smothered by
The sun and the sky
Everything under the sun has not yet been done
And why?
poem by Renda Writer
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Sketches For A Fine Day
actually i like the sound of
brooms sweeping the street today
a young girl
short for her age
and brown and
bow legged
does her assigned task in the street
gathering dead leaves
as i watch
it is a bright day
the street light is turned off
a young boy's hand is held by her mother
crossing the street
waiting for the school bus
a white dog pisses
on the side of the trunk of the
mahogany tree
a black car from the right side of the village
wheels its way towards the boulevard
a young woman with short blue jeans
jogs along the green valley
the sea is sky
blue and the sun slowly rises from the horizon
like a man's face peeping upon a table's edge
the long line of trees along the faded street
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ode to Karen and the Summer
June wore her green dress, long her favorite color
the color of her ancient Roman clan
Roman Green
June wore her green dress...as my finger traced a soft essay
upon your perfect back
June wore green
Karen wore blonde
and all around us was light
the solstice was the turning point- solstice curve
poignant as the course of the sun through our summer bodies
the season of the short-lived beings
dead through the dry folds of winter
to flood to life in green vigor
I'm green as a frog, green as any new bug rushing or Mayfly lingering
June's nephews, July and August, were lulled to boredom
by wine and soft days
and left us the blessing
to wallop and play in the gardens
Karen on a summer sidewalk
or a tv show
or a dream in the light
or green eyes
poem by Jimi Doyle
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Light
Brings hopes in the life, light
Travels with a greater might, light
Gives vision to many eyes, light
A colorful horizon on eastside, light
Seems coming form the heights, light
Over comes evils of the night, light
To the darkness it always strikes, light
Faster than any flight, light
For many beings it is a diet, light
Thunder seems snatching sight, light
Rainbow is at wide, light
Spreads everywhere at sunrise, light
Over sky all white, light
Gives impact always bright, light
Shows path, put on right, light
If one thinks it is a life, light
poem by Zaibar Zee
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A lane in England
In autumn I walked in England
in a lane full of trees
where leaves lay auburn
on a road wet from rain.
Barren, stripped oak trees
were between other green ones
and it was as if I was going
right through a tunnel
with here and there trees
of which the leaves were more yellow.
In the distance the road bended to the right
where a bush fence
cut neatly square
and telephone poles
ran along the edge of the road
and the green moss banks
were covered with auburn leaves
at places
and on the other side
of the road
a shrub stretched out green and long
like a sausage
that was lying next to the road
and I would love
to have a lane like that
next to my driveway.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Looking Back At The Greens
i too look back at those green things
from the point of view of my
green thumb
a vegetable garden without an aphid on a leaf
a row of roses, lush green leaves
and red blooms
some petals falling due to the
wind
a line of green mint trees along the path
leading to the highway
sounds of motors threatening what green there is
i come back and settle on this patch
of green meadows
and grass and gray shade
my own shadow cast
on the huge gabi leaf.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Evening
The light passes
from ridge to ridge,
from flower to flower—
the hepaticas, wide-spread
under the light
grow faint—
the petals reach inward,
the blue tips bend
toward the bluer heart
and the flowers are lost.
The cornel-buds are still white,
but shadows dart
from the cornel-roots—
black creeps from root to root,
each leaf
cuts another leaf on the grass,
shadow seeks shadow,
then both leaf
and leaf-shadow are lost.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
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Winter Has Turned In Japan
Closet/beginning to feel winter clothes heavy
Train/went out to find out spring
Lake/some boats floating empty
Jizo Statue/covered with moss in vividly deep green
Roofs/in the morning light
Benches/people lunching
Cafe/sunset seen between the blinds
Stationary/my niece starting elementary
Frog/as green as cabbage
Station/an elder lady in a baby pink dress
Sofa/kitty yawning on my chest with me
Boyfriend/here to amend over the fight last night
The day light has begun to give off something new.
Those That Merely Wait And Unmoved
walking, just walking, sometimes just this
no thoughts, no decisions, just plain walking
you see the light of the day
striking on the trees and plains and the daffodils
you are not part of it, you are just walking it
you are met by the wind from the mountain
you are not talking you are not interested about
what this wind these trees these daffodils are bringing you
you do not show any interest at all about some leaves falling
the light spreads and sprawls on the grass and sand and pebbles
you are not dazzled you are not completely covered by light
you are just walking, stepping into God's own creation
spectator, just plain walking in, not involved, not commenting
just plain watching, those that crawl and sprawl, those that stay and leave
those that simply lay themselves as plain receptors, grass and sang
mountains and trees, and daffodils, those that merely wait and unmoved.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Rabbit As King Of The Ghosts
The difficulty to think at the end of day,
When the shapeless shadow covers the sun
And nothing is left except light on your fur—
There was the cat slopping its milk all day,
Fat cat, red tongue, green mind, white milk
And August the most peaceful month.
To be, in the grass, in the peacefullest time,
Without that monument of cat,
The cat forgotten in the moon;
And to feel that the light is a rabbit-light,
In which everything is meant for you
And nothing need be explained;
Then there is nothing to think of. It comes of itself;
And east rushes west and west rushes down,
No matter. The grass is full
And full of yourself. The trees around are for you,
The whole of the wideness of night is for you,
A self that touches all edges,
You become a self that fills the four corners of night.
The red cat hides away in the fur-light
And there you are humped high, humped up,
You are humped higher and higher, black as stone—
You sit with your head like a carving in space
And the little green cat is a bug in the grass.
poem by Wallace Stevens
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Pearls Girl
Rioja. rioja. reverend al green.
Deep blue morocco. the water on stone.
The water on concrete. the water on sand.
The water on fire. smoke.
The wind. the salt. the bride boat coming.
Dave in the water. old man.
Einstein on top of his house. white deep blue
Andalusia red yellow red yellow black car.
Red light. far. black place. walls. blue chair.
Morocco. hamburg. paris.
The pieces of the puzzle are waiting.
The water of the dark boats gliding.
The bride boats gone out to sea and
Dave is floating. dave is floating.
And old man einstein crazy in his attic.
Crazy.
White room. sun room. shadow room.
Night transmitting cars across the room.
These things sent to dance across the room.
Eye watching from your bed. returning to you.
song performed by by Underworld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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