A Little Comment About Greatness
all she did was
write about a leaf, or a bird perching
one rainy day upon a grain
of wheat,
voila! she is great
just like the way Picasso uses only two lines
to draw a breast of a feeding woman
how foolish can you be!
searching for the golden ant with silver wings
trying to please them
with it
all toil,
suffering yourself like
a Sisyphus,
you are still nothing but a
trying hard, copycat
forget about it,
junk them
discover the great self within you
believe me, Shakespeare was
a slave of his audience
and the king....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Inside Your Great Self....
all she had to do was
write about a leaf, or a bird perching
one rainy upon a grain
of wheat,
voila! she is great
just like the way Picasso uses only two lines
to draw a breast of a feeding woman
how foolish can you be
searching for the golden ant with silver wings
trying to please them
with it
all toil, suffering yourself like
a Sisyphus,
you are still nothing
trying hard, copycat
forget about it, junk them
discover the great self within you
believe, Shakespeare is
a slave.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Phoenix Reborn
From the Great Fire’s ash, a new Phoenix shall rise
It’s glory is born from another’s demise
It’s mighty wings spread, as the Fire Bird sings
It’s voice heals the world, as it spreads it’s great wings
It rises above, a new King of the Skies
To the ends of the Earth the great Phoenix flies
Reborn from ashes, the Great Flame of the Sky
But in a burst of flame, this Phoenix shall die
Reduced to but ash, 'til the fire is stoked anew
This is the fate of the Phoenix, King of Skies Blue
From the ashes of death, shall a great flame be born
From the Great Fire’s ash, mighty Phoenix reborn
poem by Tim Vallie
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Sonnet: Parables of Jesus: Grain of Wheat
Unless a grain of wheat is sown in soil,
And dies, decays, transforms, gets life anew,
And sprouts into a sapling through one's toil,
It cannot grow to bear fruits that are due!
The grain of wheat remains as such, if not:
Like selfish men who will not do God's will;
Serve God usefully, they simply cannot,
Nor granary at harvest-time, they fill.
Like grain of wheat, men have God's will to do;
Like Jesus, they must carry cross till death;
Like Saviour Christ, they will resurrect too,
And fulfill purpose for which God gave birth!
But Christ died on the cross for mankind's sins,
And love of man, and Father's obeisance!
poem by John Celes
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Junk For A Rainy Day (Fun Poem 27)
I opened the cupboard door,
and it all came tumbling out.
All the junk I had saved
for that proverbial rainy day.
You know how it is;
I might need that someday,
so you store it away.
Over the years you accumulate stuff
you are never going to need,
until you are over run
with junk you will never use.
However, I can bet you any money,
that if you throw any of it away.
A week or so down the line and you will find.
You will want something
from that junk that you threw away,
so you start back saving
for another proverbial rainy day.
poem by David Harris
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King Without A Crown
Welcome to the great republic
Guess I should show you round
Where once I was a king
And now I am a clown
The love that we once shared
Made a king of me
But now youre gone... but now youre gone
All I face is poverty
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
Hell hath no fury
Like a woman scorned
But heaven dont boast - no heaven dont boast
The jewel - the pretty jewel I just pawned
Every cloud has a silver lining
Every dog has its day
Oh but I guess the sun stopped shining
On the day you went away
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Yes Im a king - king! king without a crown
Bathed in former glory
Deposed from my throne
How do I get to tell my story?
When all gets your answerphone...
But you aint home
With the love you gave
I felt like royalty
But now youre face to face - face to face
With one ex-member of the aristocracy
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
...king without a heart
...king without a hope
...king without a woman baby
Oh Im a king without a crown
Theres no need to feel down
Yeah just take a look around
Youll see a man whos just a man
Nothing more
A king without a crown
song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Waiting On The Wheat Harvest
as you sow brothers sisters so you wheat harvest reap
as a grain of wheat dies germinates bears fruit to heap
Jesus will completely clean up threshing floor gather his wheat
chaff he will burn up with unquenchable fire hell suffering heat
an enemy came in over sowed weeds in among seed wheat
reapers harvest collect weeds burn them saving only wheat
Satan demands sifts men as wheat to blow away in sifting wind
Son of man will send angels to gather chosen ones from ill wind
a grain of wheat falls into the ground dies then bears fruit new life
so hate soul temptation in this world safeguard soul for eternal life
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Fusion Womanhood
in western nose features
in the still grace of form
in colours sparse informal
Picasso pays homage to Africa
she speaks with her hands
hears with many ears past
stands in poise confidence beauty
free to be a unique appreciated woman
a woman who sees who she wants to be
there is great peace love sage within
many joys to future balance reign
Picasso themes woman equality free
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Shortest Moment That The Butterfly Tries To Speak
how many flutters of its wings is its lifetime?
not a hundred, this butterfly with blue shaking lines on its wings
some dots of black on the lower tip
some flaps of dust as you hold it.
we love to see it freely hovering from one flower to another
blending with its colors, it is not trying to hide anything
beautiful, it is showing itself, beautiful butterfly,
how gentle, soft to our hearts as we watch it
there is no sound of its wings and its graceful feeding on the nectars
then it rests on a leaf. we leave it there.
the wind last night was strong.
we see the leaf where it stayed on the pebbled ground.
there are no wings. there is no trace where the blue butterfly is.
how many flutters did that butterfly make?
such a brief moment, yet so beautiful
that is the message of the life of its lost wings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Song of the Wheat
We have sung the song of the droving days,
Of the march of the travelling sheep;
By silent stages and lonely ways
Thin, white battalions creep.
But the man who now by the land would thrive
Must his spurs to a plough-share beat.
Is there ever a man in the world alive
To sing the song of the Wheat!
It's west by south of the Great Divide
The grim grey plains run out,
Where the old flock-masters lived and died
In a ceaseless fight with drought.
Weary with waiting and hope deferred
They were ready to own defeat,
Till at last they heard the master-word—
And the master-word was Wheat.
Yarran and Myall and Box and Pine—
’Twas axe and fire for all;
They scarce could tarry to blaze the line
Or wait for the trees to fall,
Ere the team was yoked, and the gates flung wide,
And the dust of the horses’ feet
Rose up like a pillar of smoke to guide
The wonderful march of Wheat.
Furrow by furrow, and fold by fold,
The soil is turned on the plain;
Better than silver and better than gold
Is the surface-mine of the grain;
Better than cattle and better than sheep
In the fight with drought and heat;
For a streak of stubbornness, wide and deep,
Lies hid in a grain of Wheat.
When the stock is swept by the hand of fate,
Deep down in his bed of clay
The brave brown Wheat will lie and wait
For the resurrection day:
Lie hid while the whole world thinks him dead;
But the Spring-rain, soft and sweet,
Will over the steaming paddocks spread
The first green flush of the Wheat.
Green and amber and gold it grows
When the sun sinks late in the West;
And the breeze sweeps over the rippling rows
Where the quail and the skylark nest.
Mountain or river or shining star,
There’s never a sight can beat—
Away to the sky-line stretching far—
A sea of the ripening Wheat.
When the burning harvest sun sinks low,
And the shadows stretch on the plain,
The roaring strippers come and go
Like ships on a sea of grain;
Till the lurching, groaning waggons bear
Their tale of the load complete.
Of the world’s great work he has done his share
Who has gathered a crop of wheat.
Princes and Potentates and Czars,
They travel in regal state,
But old King Wheat has a thousand cars
For his trip to the water-gate;
And his thousand steamships breast the tide
And plough thro’ the wind and sleet
To the lands where the teeming millions bide
That say: “Thank God for Wheat!”
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Our Bird In Your Cage
we have this bird
we both own it and love it and care for it
our bird
and you have this cage
that you only own
golden, new and strong and as you say it
so reliable
that when our bird is in that cage
it will be safe
and cannot escape
we feed this bird together
and give it water and birdseeds
and a place of twigs and swing
where the bird can play
and perch upon
like it is on a tree
days and years
we keep this bird in your cage
and we see it is dying
and wanting to be free
yet you say, this sickness is just temporary
time heals what has wounded it
and shall forget the power of its wings
days and more years
we keep this bird in your cage
and i have not listened at all
to the sad song of that bird
her waning chirps
her weakened wings
her way of losing hold to the dreams of its wings
today we see this bird is dead
but you have no sadness at all
you say, you will buy another bird
again to be kept in your cage
i could have told you
i am the bird in your cage and i too have forgotten the power of
my wings
i could have told you, i have long died
and have forgotten what freedom is, what love is, what i am
in the first place. How can i ever tell you?
you are my cage.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Copycat
They had an accident
And they never noticed anyway
A lack of originality
Couldnt focus on the day
So much for the radio
Everybody sounds the same
Everybody wears the same clothes now
And everybody plays the game
Copycat, copycat, copycat
Copy copy copy copy yourself
Copycat, copycat, copycat
Copy copy copy everyone else
Ive got a great idea
I will change things on my own
I see my vision very clear,
Wouldnt wanna be another clone
So much for the radio, the radio is sad
Sad, sad, sad
They had an accident
But they never noticed anyway
A lack of originality
Couldnt focus on the day
So much for the radio
Everybody sounds the same
Everybody wears the same clothes now,
And everybody plays the game
Copy everyone else x4
song performed by by Cranberries
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shakespeare, Where Are You? (For Harold Bloom)
SHAKESPEARE, WHERE ARE YOU? (FOR HAROLD BLOOM)
Shakespeare, where are you?
You should be living at this hour.
Literature has need of you.
We have become a fen of stagnant voices
A parody of noble and great lines
All our efforts have become a deriding
Of our own spirit.
We need your Beauty and your Magnitude
The Metaphoric motions of your Incredible most awkward Lines
We need Your Richness and Your Song
Your Endless Entertainment of our own Emotions
Your deep play of Character and Feeling
We need you now Shakespeare
To remind us that to be Human
Is still to be the Glory Jest and Riddle
And that our voices somehow can still say
In Times beyond our own knowing
The wisdom and the way
To what is best within and beyond us
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Doctors’ Day 2007
Behind a man who’s successful,
There is a woman of great worth;
Behind a woman of great fame,
There is a man who goads her on.
Behind a pupil studious,
Are parents, teachers and some friends;
Behind a child who brings laurels,
Are seen the family-members all.
Behind a doctor of repute,
Is found much labor and wisdom;
Behind a healer who is great,
God stays, blessing his healing art!
The doctors’ profession is great;
Ennobled, they must change the fate
Of patients suffering, in pain,
And dying undiagnosed, ‘insane’!
(7-1-2007)
poem by John Celes
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I Can Only Write Like Me
Poet Poe, though 'Raven' mad
His work could all excite
Forever, I'd be mighty glad
If I could Poe-like write
I'd love to write like Shakespeare
With nothing 'much ado'
But, Bard-William, have no fear
I could never write like you
Cole Porter, clever word-king
Your songs are all the rage
My words, though to my liking
Your reign I can't up-stage
The opera Boris Godunov
Has great linguistic string
My lyrics aren't good enough
To have written such a thing
Those writers cut me down to size
It's true, unfortunately
Since I don't care to plagiarize
I can only write like me
poem by Stanley Cooper
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Don't Forget who is your Father
God is Great
He created you and me so ladies and gentleman
he is the only person to praise and pray
Cause some of us we pray Alan people you pray him
who is him God is the one who created us
so guys help me to Thank him every time i'm sick i call him cause
he is the hiller the killer of diseases in the world
Help me to sing.
How great is our God sing with me how great is our God
all we sing is how great is our God age to age praise his
Great great great great great
great great great great great great great
great great great great great great great
great great great great great great great great great great great
GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD..
Thank you Help me pliz.
poem by Ruvimbo Daisy Matsika
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Great Heart
Great heart
By: johnny clegg
1987
Travelling always increases the appetite for new music and I found johnny clegg tapes in the south of france and was immediately hooked on them. Im glad there are still younger artists who writ
Play their own songs that I wish I had written. this is one of them.
(chant)
The world is full of strange behavior
Every man has to be his own savior
I know I can make it on my own if I try
But Im searchin for a great heart to stand me by
Underneath the african sky
A great heart to stand me by
Chorus:
Im searching for the spirit of the great heart
To hold and keep me by
Im searching for the spirit of the great heart
Under african sky
Sometimes I feel that you rarely know me (sometimes)
Sometimes theres so much you can show me (sometime)
Theres a highway of stars across the heavens
Theres a whispering song of the wind in the grass
Theres a rolling thunder across the savannah
And a hope and a dream at the edge of the sky
And your life is the story of the wind
Your life is a story like the wind
Chorus:
Im searching for the spirit of the great heart
To hold and keep me by
Im searching for the spirit of the great heart
Under african sky
Im searching for the spirit of the great heart
I see the fire in your eyes
Im searching for the spirit of the great heart
That beats my name inside
Sometimes I feel that you rarely know me (sometimes)
Sometimes theres so much you can show me (sometime)
(chant)
Chorus:
Im searching for the spirit of the great heart
To hold and stand me by
Im searching for the spirit of the great heart
Under african sky
Im searching for the spirit of the great heart
I see the fire in your eyes
Im searching for the spirit of the great heart
That beats my name inside
Sometimes I feel that you rarely know me (ah... sometimes)
Sometimes theres so much you can show me (ay yai... sometime)
Coda:
Im searching for the spirit of the great heart
Guk a mzimbo sala nhilziyo
Im searching for the spirit of the great heart
Guk a mzimbo sala nhilziyo
Im searching for the spirit of the great heart
Guk a mzimbo sala nhilziyo
Im searching for the spirit of the great heart
Guk a mzimbo sala nhilziyo
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Be Audience Rare
do not write
to fickle audience
be audience rare
write what
themes
flow choose
most
rarely read
rhymes
no time to waste
on audience present
will eternity wait?
do not write
to audience
be audience rare
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Not In Love
It is hard to write a love poem
When you’re not in love.
I long to sing of flowers of fire
And burning stars above.
I want to feel as silver-quick
As a river to the sea,
And to tremble like a silver leaf
Upon an aspen tree;
To sing a world turned inside out
And to see the mountains move,
But it’s hard to write a love poem
When you’re not in love.
poem by Christine Natale
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Between A Woman & A Man
(ruby hice, danny hice)
Some folks say that a mothers love is sweeter than the rest
When her babys nestled in her arms and feeding at her breast
But I cant explain the feeling when you reach and touch my hand
Because there nothing like the love between and woman and a man
Chorus:
Its a miracle from heaven
That it fills me through and through
Like a feeling that surrounds us
Touching me touching you
When you wrap your love around me its not hard to understand
Why theres nothing like the love between and woman and a man
Well the fathers love is quiet
But its there for all to see
When a little boy is laughing bouncing on his daddys knee
Then those great big hands reach down to tuck his little cowboy in
But theres nothing like the love between a woman and a man
Repeat chorus 4 times
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Between A Woman And A Man
(ruby hice, danny hice)
Some folks say that a mother's love is sweeter than the rest
When her baby's nestled in her arms and feeding at her breast
But i can't explain the feeling when you reach and touch my hand
Because there' nothing like the love between and woman and a man
Chorus:
It's a miracle from heaven
That it fills me through and through
Like a feeling that surrounds us
Touching me touching you
When you wrap your love around me it's not hard to understand
Why there's nothing like the love between and woman and a man
Well the father's love is quiet
But it's there for all to see
When a little boy is laughing bouncing on his daddy's knee
Then those great big hands reach down to tuck his little cowboy in
But there's nothing like the love between a woman and a man
Repeat chorus 4 times
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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