En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Philosophy

it is not how tall the buildings have grown
the presence of three elevators
that is not what progress is all about

you are telling me about how ateneo
has become an ivory tower rising above
the silence of Mt. Apo

so unlike our times
when rooms are crowded when noise
grow like grasses on the wild fields
uninhabited

let me ask you what happened to the playgrounds
of the children
and the chapel where Fr. Dot says mass all day
is the pine tree still there
and the pond beside
where the gold fish are swimming?

let me sense the essence of our lives
not getting much not accumulating power
not really going back to dusty chairs
but just being here
without acquiring
and yet still feeling so whole and complete

in that peace and quiet inside our hearts
under that tree that they have cut
twenty years ago

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The timetable of four

The golden glows of sunlight hit me
The smell of freshly cut grass reached me
The sight of freedom exhilarated me
The sounds of birds intrigued me

The beauty around me radiated from everything
The long open stretches of grass
The shady woodlands going on and on
The unending number of livening creatures

The cawing raven in the tree branches
The worm busily digging in the soil
The fish swimming idly in the pond
The child playing happily in the park

It is summer now but soon it will change
Soon it will change
Soon it will change into Autumn
I’ll still be in my tree

The children are playing in the heaps of leaves
The leaves have all gone a golden colour
The ravens are searching for bugs in the leaves
The fish are swimming slower in their pond

It is Autumn now but it will soon change
Soon it will change
Soon it will change into Winter
I’ll still be in my tree

There are no children playing
There are no leaves on the trees
The ravens have all gone south
There are no fish in the pond

It is Winter now but it will soon change
It will soon change
It will soon change into spring
I’ll still be in my tree

The children are starting to come back
The ravens are backing cawing in the trees
There is new fish in the pond
There are new buds on the trees

It is Spring now but soon it will change
Soon it will change
Soon it will change into Summer
I’ll still be in my tree

Waiting
Watching
Writing
Thinking

poem by Eben S J
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Disgusting Changes Indeed

when i come back to my
old hometown
the creeks where we as
children once fished
are gone,

trees replaced with
tall buildings
playgrounds turning
into commercial districts
markets into
monotonous stalls

they call it progress
i am saying
goodbye.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When You Have Nothing At All To Say

there are days of drudgery
hours that drag, months that you think are too long
like mountain trails that you feel you cannot really tread
years that look like tall buildings without elevators

you are stunned by all these
you hold the railings of the stairs and wait and then you decide
to just sit there
the passers-by look at you
could be something like disdain
you let them stare at you and you do not stare back
you look down the dusty floors
this is the time when you have nothing at all to say
hoping to find that peace within

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sonnets To Orpheus: I

A tree ascended there. Oh pure transendence!
Oh Orpheus sings! Oh tall tree in the ear!
And all things hushed. Yet even in that silence
a new beginning, beckoning, change appeared.

Creatures of stillness crowded from the bright
unbound forest, out of their lairs and nests;
and it was not from any dullness, not
from fear, that they were so quiet in themselves,

but from just listening. Bellow, roar, shriek
seemed small inside their hearts. And where there had been
at most a makeshift hut to receive the music,

a shelter nailed up out of their darkest longing,
with an entryway that shuddered in the wind-
you built a temple deep inside their hearing.

Translated by Stephen Mitchell

poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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Children Power

Children power,
Children power,
Children power,
Children power.
Monkeys are jumping from tree to tree,
Whales are swimming from sea to sea,
Birds are flying from sky to sky,
People are seeing eye to eye.
Were all one.
Children power, (children power)
Children power, (children power)
Children power, (children power)
Children power. (children power)
Earth is turning evry day,
Rivers are flowing in every way.
Trees are growing day by day,
And people are loving in their own way.
Were all one.
Children power, (children power)
Children power, (children power)
Children power, (children power)
Children power, (children power)
Children power, (children power)
Children power, (children power)
Children power, (children power)
Children power. (children power)
Caring people, (caring people)
Loving people, (loving people)
Learning people, (learning people)
Growing people, were all one.

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Norfolk Pine Of Port Fairy

'Tis said they grow more than a metre each year
And they do seem to have grown since I was last here
The Norfolk Island pine of Port fairy they tower over all
Beside them most other trees look rather small.

Though not quite as tall as the mountain ash tree
They seem to grow well in the Towns by the sea
On either side of the streets by Griffith Island tall and evergreen
These beautiful trees in their dozens are seen.

As a feature of the Town in the Coastal Countryside
The norfolk pine of Port Fairy have become known far and wide
They do look quite graceful for want of a better name
And without them Port Fairy would not look the same.

A feature of Port Fairy for visitors to recall
The evergreen norfolk pine trees stand graceful and tall
Nature's beauty at her finest for Nature lovers to see
On either side of the streets that lead down to the sea.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Remembering A Friend Through The Fish

we keep when we were children
our treasures in a form of a fish
inside our own little secret ponds
we never intend to share them at first
we fear the adults who steal
we dislike them minding us
telling us that fish is not interesting at all
that the pond is just a very small world
where our minds are convoluted
like intestines of a fish

do you remember the flood
of adult water spreading rising higher than our knees?
it was very sad
all the fish we kept were taken away by the indifference
of the majority
we give up
we went to other places
and then we became too lonely
they want us to hate the fish
to be like them

and so here we are still keeping the fish
in anger.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Strange Tree

There’s a strange tree which lives near me,
And this strange tree could not agree,
That if this tree could ever see,
A stranger tree it sure would be.

There’s a strange tree which topples me,
For this strange tree was tall, you see,
And then this tree would use its knee,
To break in three, the clouds who flee.

There’s a strange tree which lives near me,
The northern tree, its branches free,
The southern tree, no limb to see,
For this strange tree, was strange, you see?

There’s a strange tree which I can see,
And this strange tree (against my plea)
Was sent to sea, its roots now free,
And now this tree… A ship is he.

End.

poem by Daegal
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Tree

When the sun goes down
I have my first drink
standing in the yard,
talking to my neighbor
about the alder tree
rising between our houses,
a lowly tree that prospered
from our steady inattention
and shot up quick as a weed
to tower over our rooftops,
where it now brandishes
a rich, luxuriant crown.
Should we cut it down?
Neither of us wants to --
we agree that we like
the flourishing branches,
shade like thick woods.
We don't say it,
studying our tree in silence,
but we know that if the roots
get into the foundations
we've got real trouble.
John goes back inside.
Nothing to be done in summer --
not to those heavy branches.
I balance my empty glass
on top of a fence post.
In the quiet early dark,
those peaceful minutes
before dinner, I bend down
to the flower beds I love
and pull a few weeds --
something I've meant to do
all day.

poem by Richard Jones
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Christmas Wish List

parents running around frantic for a tree
waiting for the last moment so that their children do not see
decorating the tree when their children have been put to sleep
putting the lights, garland and icicles upon the tree.
and hoping that the children will not sneak down to see.

wrapping the presents and toasting a glass of wine
and thanking god for this quiet time.
hoping that the children are having pleasant dreams
of things seen and unseen.
and in their dreams they thank the lord up above
for their family and their love.
and when they open up their eyes on christmas day
and rush to see the tree decorated from bottom to the top
for a split second their hearts will stop.
the presents wrapped in ribbons and bows
to be torn apart by little fingers anxious to see.
what was left under the tree.
the hearts beating in a rapid pace
and big smiles upon their face.
asking each other 'what did you get'.
and in their faces there are no regrets.
they stop and gather around, and thank god for all they found.

for so many children are without
but they thank god for another day and in their hearts the lord will stay.
christmas is not just for gift giving but for living.
and feeling the joy of christ.
and if you have an extra gift, put it on a poor persons list.
for what you do today- will come back to you in another way.
show your children all you can
teach them to give a helping hand.
this is my christmas wish, which i put on my list.

poem by Louis Rams
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~~It was May, The Summer of my 12th Year~~

My fathers' field
acre upon acre of hay
barren in May
from winters blight
perfect for me to play
~~
Flat land
as far as I could see
except for one huge pine tree
a young boy, idealistic still
I thought this tree was grown for me
~~
I climbed the tree most every day
climbing right to the very top
branches formed a perfect seat
magically sitting there
time would stop
~~
Wind would blow, branches creaked
the tree and I swaying with the breeze
protected in my tree
ignorant of life's confusion...
its little ambiguities
~~
Now I wonder, as I sit
in these my twilight days
if only I could travel back
to that my 12th year in May
to hear the wind, smell the pine
and feel the boughs as they sway
~~
I would love to whisper one more time
to my very special tree
thank you so for keeping me safe
and all the memories
but most of all for the excitement
and the passion for feeling free

poem by Peter Shea
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Does a Fish go Pee?

Does a fish go pee
when it's swimming in the sea?
Does it ever get the notion
when it's swimming in the ocean?
Does a fish take a leak
when it's swimming in the creek?
Do they do it in a muddle
when you see them in a puddle?
Does a fish ever miss when it's taking a @! &%
and they find urination
in the farmer's irrigation?
Do you think they're rather fond
of going potty in the pond...
and then, for goodness sake,
do they go while in the lake?
Do they tinkle at all
while in the waterfall?
Could you see a yellow gleam
as they do it in the stream?
Now take a little quiz:
Does a fish ever whiz?

Does a fish go pee
when it's swimming in the sea?

(Written in 1990)

poem by Cathe Ferguson
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Nostos

There was an apple tree in the yard --
this would have been
forty years ago -- behind,
only meadows. Drifts
of crocus in the damp grass.
I stood at that window:
late April. Spring
flowers in the neighbor's yard.
How many times, really, did the tree
flower on my birthday,
the exact day, not
before, not after? Substitution
of the immutable
for the shifting, the evolving.
Substitution of the image
for relentless earth. What
do I know of this place,
the role of the tree for decades
taken by a bonsai, voices
rising from the tennis courts --
Fields. Smell of the tall grass, new cut.
As one expects of a lyric poet.
We look at the world once, in childhood.
The rest is memory.

poem by Louise Gluck
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The Village Pond

Here, there, women, children and men
Talk animatedly, little water waves disrupted by scooping
Water vessels, the faded green water lilies, shoved aside.

Cows moo, the goats bleat,
School children scramble for a spill,
The edges, slippery and muddy, non of a bother.

The gold, liquid of life, simmers under the hot sun,
Though, shrinking in size, by every draw,
The earth is bare, the pond tags their hope.

Here in the pond, they see, sigh and fall
The feminine and masculine bodies attract
The gossip, filters, confirmed, a new life sees dawn.

Wild tree fruits, like monsters surround the village pond
I'm told the fruits, purify the village pond
Lives ruled, made to see day, Honor to the village pond.

poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Knowing Of A Tree

It is a good thing indeed
When someone plants a seed
And to watch and help it grow
So someday, it to be a tree.
It is a good thing in truth
When a tree brings forth its fruit
Or to shade someone's head
Or its branch be a robins nest.
It is good when a tree is used
By nature, or by me or you
To protect or shelter lives
For a tree; it never dies.
A tree is someone's home
A tree is someone's good book
A tree is never alone,
For to know a tree, all you do; is look.
It is good to plant a tree
It is good to plant a seed
For someday it will be grown
And a tree, will be known.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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A Pine Tree in My House

A tree that grows in my garden
A robust pine tree
Stands big and Proud
Sinks its roots deeply into the Earth

A pine tree in my house
Spreads its seeds every where
Sheds needles all over
Drops big cones onto my lawn
Survives within the sun
Ambles forth in all direction s with each gust of wind
Bends over the roaring storm
Tosses its branches in magnificent enthusiasm
Attracts the colors of a million sunsets into its needles leaves
Sways gracefully with the wind
Whispers with the blowing breeze
Cuddles joyfully with the changing seasons
Tries to reach the sky!
Looks beautiful in a peaceful state,
Is wise in its silence
Grows lush in all seasons
Allows the birds to perch and soar
Never holds them back
Never pines for their return when they fly away
If our hearts were like pine trees
We would have no apprehension in our minds
No one would wish to bring us down
No one would wake us up at night

A pine tree in my house
I Call it the tree of paradise
What I’ve got, I know it matters
For paradise, I wish to pave the way!

poem by Dr Shamim ali
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song - The Old Swing Tree

Park at Inch crossroads outside the new Church
And walk slowly southwards through beech hedge and birch
Turn left where the hanging tree once used to be
Straight into the war hidden there by the trees

Where soldiers and huts lined both sides of the Road
When bombs fell round here sixty five years ago
By Ash and by bluebell, old sycamore
Here where the past laps like waves on the shore

Take the wild pathway that hides the Lost Road
Towards the new village that would one day grow
And there by the verge you’d have found the swing tree
In silence, no kids swooping there wild and free

Nor pledging of love proudly carved in that tree
Those crudely cut letters for you and for me
And somewhere between times, free in the years
A few broken hearts, a few smiles and tears

So many dreams that would never come true
And not just for us but for everyone too
As time and the world bring us changes to rue
The gentle give way and the selfish break through

And here am I wondering, listening and lost
In search of all those precious moments long gone
Around the old swing tree, felled and away
By tracks of love carved too deeply to fade

08 02 08 Renfrew

poem by Jim Hogg
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Where Corn Don't Grow

(Roger Murrah/Mark Alan Springer)
As we sat on the front porch
Of that old grey house where I was born and raised
Starin' at the dusty fields
Where my daddy worked hard every day
I think it kinda hurt him when I said Daddy
There's a lot that I don't know
But don't you ever dream about a life
Where corn don't grow
He just sat there silent
Staring at his favorite coffee cup
I saw a storm of mixed emotion in his eyes
When he looked up
He said Son I know at your age
Seems like this ol' world is turning slow
And you think you'll find the answer to it all
Where corn don't grow
Hard times are real
There's dusty fields
No matter where you go
You may change your mind
'Cause the weeds are high
Where corn don't grow
I remember feeling guilty
When Daddy turned and walked back in the house
I was only seventeen back then
But I thought that I knew more than I know now
I can't say he didn't warn me
This city life's a hard row to hoe
Ain't it funny how a dream can turn around
Where corn don't grow
Hard times are real
There's dusty fields
No matter where you go
And you may change your mind
'Cause the weeds are high
Where corn don't grow
You may change your mind
Oh the weeds are high
Where corn don't grow

song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nature's Call

A bluebird is perching
Upon the fence,
Just beyond it
Is a forest, dense.

Squirrels are chasing
Each other,
Scampering and racing
With much luster.

A stream is slowly running
Past.

I draw some out,
And water the plants.

All is growing wild...

Wild is the cat,
And so is the bear.

Wild is the honey,
And so is the fish.

Wild is the bat,
And so is the hare.

Wild is the bee,
And so is the tree.

Wild is everything
That you can see.

A scream from the cat,
A roar from the bear.

Silence honey,
And splash from fish.

The screech of the bat,
The thump of the hare,
Buzz of the bee,
The sweet rustle of the tree.

Many sounds,
Made by one
And all-

Thes are the sounds,
Nature's call.

poem by Macy Dvirnak
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Wild Times

Wild times, until the light has gone
Wild, until the rising sun
Let us hear the sigh,
Of all the days gone buy
Wild times
Shine the light, down through the years
Through the fields of yonder, the veil off tears
And well take the time,
That is yours and mine
Wild times
Wild times, into the dawn
These wild times, will not be gone
And the music plays,
To these golden days
Wild times
You can here the sigh,
Of all the days gone by
Wild times
And well take the time,
That is yours and mine
Wild times
Wild times
Wild times
Wild times
Wild times

song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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