A Prediction....
as usual we know about it as
hills know its trees
as grass knows its hoppers
and soil
but we don't talk about it
we dislike storms
it is horrible to see uprooted trees
and blown away houses
we leave things as they are
there is no ripeness yet
but the way you withhold love
and hide second thoughts
very give the signal of the coming days
a desert shall produce its own sandstorm
you prepare the door
i too, keep the windows.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Some people are afraid to show their true colors
i am not
i don't hide
i have nothing to hide
i am what i am
i am brown, i am a Filipino,
and I am not afraid, I am what i am, i show who and what i am, and i take responsibitity
for what i am
for what i write for what i do for what i say
mountains do not hide, how can they? the seas keep their bodies in the open
their waves blown by the air, for how can they be what they are when they are in hiding?
the trees and the plains, the valleys and the hills, what can they be if they are in hiding? shall you see a vast desert of them then?
the air, if only they have that nature to be seen, they could have assumed such forms that you see, they too are happy to be seen so that you may believe in them,
for in truth, those true and giving do no hide, and if you cannot see them,
they always try,
in some conceivable manifestations,
in some shapes, colors and forms
like some leaves falling when the wind passes by,
like some trees bending, like some pieces of paper blown to the other end.
why are you in hiding?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Too Tired To Notice The Storm Of The Earth...
i wake up early today
i open the windows and the door
the ground is flooded
the trees shed more leaves
the chickens' feathers are
thoroughly wet
some branches are cut-off
from those old tall trees
our dog is not wagging its tail
the lights at the kitchen are not turned off
by the looks of it
there was a big storm last night
i did not notice it
i was dead asleep
too tired of my own inner storms
my door is closed,
all my windows are shut.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Don't be a tree!
Not a planted tree to stay at a place,
Spreading the roots in underground space,
Looking for the sun to beg for the light,
Photosynthesis, reproduce and rot.
When the wind blows, to shake our heads,
We are not the trees that have no leads,
During the storm, to get uprooted and fall,
We are the trees that are too rigid, not flexible.
For the fallen leaves, the trees never cry,
For the fallen human, we have to voice and try,
We are the human, the rulers of the earth,
Not the trees of the soil that has no mirth.
Let us not lick the feet of anyone for our survival,
Let us not get tickled with someone's failure,
Let us not be the fools to get hoodwinked and cheated,
Let us be the survivors conquering the thoughts.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Short term fixes create problems
A policy of slash and burn
may bring a small but quick return
but it’s the worst of strategies.
Thin soil denuded of its trees.
Cannot retain the falling rain
and soon becomes an arid plain
The soil dried out and blown away,
a man made desert here to stay
It seems man cannot understand
He’s just a steward of the land.
If nature can replace the trees
the process will take centuries.
Man has no choice but to move on
another swathe of forest gone.
26-Apr-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mark The Days
It doesnt matter what you say
Thoughts are scattered, all blown away
Fruits of love are gone
Listen to this womans only song
Shes down on her knees
Kicking her heels
A fallen angel out of love
It doesnt matter what you say
Thoughts are scattered and blown away
It doesnt matter what you say
Thoughts are scattered and blown away
You have the key of the door
Swept under the carpet
Dont want it anymore
Discovery of infidelity
Falling from grace
Sacrifice the substance
Mark the days
Hear this womans song
Forever betrayed
In secret we know its not her own
Staring from mirror to mirror
No ones coming home
It doesnt matter what you say
Thoughts are scattered and blown away
It doesnt matter what you say
Thoughts are scattered and blown away
Away
song performed by by Xymox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Horse With No Name
On the first part of the journey
I was looking at all the life
There were plants and birds and rocks and things
There was sand and hills and rings
The first thing I met was a fly with a buzz
And the sky with no clouds
The heat was hot and the ground was dry
But the air was full of sound
Ive been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
cause there aint no one for to give you no pain
La, la ...
After two days in the desert sun
My skin began to turn red
After three days in the desert fun
I was looking at a river bed
And the story it told of a river that flowed
Made me sad to think it was dead
You see Ive been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
cause there aint no one for to give you no pain
La, la ...
After nine days I let the horse run free
cause the desert had turned to sea
There were plants and birds and rocks and things
There was sand and hills and rings
The ocean is a desert with its life underground
And a perfect disguise above
Under the cities lies a heart made of ground
But the humans will give no love
You see Ive been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
cause there aint no one for to give you no pain
La, la ...
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Garden A Bright Day
i shall miss the time when i go out of the house
and close the door behind me
when i shall tread upon the grass in the garden
stretch my arms
run and fly my own kite
as i hold strongly upon said
string
when i decide to let the kite go
and find it no more from my sight
when i stop under the shade of the trees
and look far
into the hills below where houses
look like
tiny cubes
when the sea is so blue extending into nowhere
when i lose myself
when i close my eyes
when i dream that i can be happy with myself
alone
without the mob
that tends to confuse my thoughts
and replace them
with their own.
it is a bright day and the garden blooms
there is no cause for worry
no sadness
i'll make it perfect somehow
today.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Novameco A Journey
You are lost and you’re telling me you are lost
And you are so afraid about doing things in the usual ways
So you come out from your window
You do not use the door
Or the stairs because as you said you do not like to things
In the most usual ways
You are tired of the usual ways and they do not appeal to your
Sense of exciting
Journey
A journey to the unusual to the unknown desert to the undiscovered
Ways
When you go home tonight you shall take the path of stars
As you wonder
To this place
Where there are not stairs no doors no windows
Where there is no house
And you take the journey alone and there will be no directions
You will like it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How I Can Smell Like Dusts And Molds....
i take a walk this morning
in this village of trees where there are no houses of
dwellers,
i am looking for a peaceful place as i carry with me a load of some
thoughts heavy on my hair
i do not think that i am being punished with these
i am just trying to take my time
listening to my own footsteps
to the sound of the leaves on those grasses and trees
a river walks along with me
that is how i see it
it is a water traveler wanting a companion
towards a far end
that it knows too well for i am but new here
a lost stranger to his view
a novice of distance
i bring peace in my heart, i have set some pigeons free
my gifts to the balding mountains and to the hills with brown grasses
no pen, no paper, nothing about personal computers or cellphones
no signal, i am satisfied,
i am sucking air, words are carried with it in my nostrils
the river smiles, flows, and winds itself like a snake smooth on the grass
i listen too much, i become this earth
the river winds around my hair, birds are building nests,
the owl sleeps for the night beside my ears,
how peaceful is this place, how foolish had i been for all those years
hiding behind those rooms and rooms of books,
which explains why the river says that i smell nothing but
dusts and molds.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Nomadic
Nomads roam the deserts shouting that their lord has spoken. This spells disaster, as the sandstorm ruins their mind and thought. A sandstorm works hard. It is harder to withstand than rocks being hurled. The world of dunes is upon them, the mighty sand has blown away from them, the messy weather has arrived straightaway, replacing the land with grass. Then it is a garden of Paradise.
poem by Naveed Akram
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One Saturday Morning At The Mountain Top Inside The House
it is raining outside
it is the habitualness of the image that flows inside us
green grass and rolling hills and clouds a drifting
the sound of rain like footsteps of children playing under the shower from heaven
i sit upon a chair looking outside
i am not thinking about anything simply watching the rain
the green grass
the trees the sea and the horizon that extends more than what my eyes can see
more than what i can contain
this empty bowl with a wide mouth open
this hollowness that cannot speak because it does not have the exact words
to say
it seems to me that the correct existence that fills this void is nothing
but the silence of the trees, the grass, the hills and the far away seas
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Let’s create windows In our minds
Houses and buildings
Have Windows
Buses and trains
Too have windows
When open
Light and fresh air
Comes in through them
Allows foul air to go out
When closed
Prevents Dust and filth
From coming in
Let’s create windows
In our minds
Allow good thoughts
To come in and enlighten
The mind
Let the bad thoughts go out
Close the window of the mind
When bad thoughts
Try to intrude in
Listen to what people say
With an open mind
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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The Details
one gets too particular about the details of
the morning picture: there are two rainbows
from the top of the galvanized roof of the old house
surrounded by trees
its other foot extending to the hazy hills
the rain is soft
landing on the small ponds
below the trees with few brownish leaves
making some ripples
the grass is wilting by the previous summer heat
the wind whispers softly like a woman in love
the horizon gives a gray boundary of the foot of the hills
some houses look like pigments of black and brown spots
too distant for my sight
i sit here
my mind is calm like a pigeon roosting on the steel beam
of the gymnasium
they say
that when one gets too lonely
the details of the world becomes
too visible
one can even hear the flapping wings
of a butterfly lost inside
the room of your heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Don’t be an uprooted Tree
Seed is sown and the embryo is formed
Legitimate or not, radicle develops into root
Root penetrates into the surface of the soil
Absorbs water and food, turns seed into plant
Inherits the culture of the earth beneath.
It’s in root science that, it moves in
Right direction to fetch the exact need.
Stem gives the support and balance to stand
Branches form the vitality of the plant
Leaves prepare the food to survive
Bearing even odds the plant grows into tree.
As long as deep roots embraces mother earth
The tree shows confidence and attracts.
Location and depth are the might of the tree
Flower, fruit, shade, firm soil, H2O and CO2
Vary from tree to tree, but all owe to root
Never there is an existence beyond this means.
Still human trees surrender under the pressures
Try to get uprooted from the surface and means
Hoping for better flower, fruit, soil and breeze
Truth is, an uprooted tree, a timber, put to ablaze.
-vidi-
22-04-08
poem by Vidi Writes
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Outside And Inside
this early morning
the rains are raging
outside is a rampage of
blown leaves and trees
you are afraid may
finally be uprooted
in the room
the brown dog sleeps
beside a wooden wall
on the floor
the glass doors
& windows are closed
the silence reigns
inside you begin
on another journey
you began last night
on some short breaths
until you think
you had a nice sleep
inside there is something
that rages
it is not the wind or the rain
it is something else
that you want to know
more & more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Your Love's Return
Come to the door my pretty one
Put on your rings and precious things
Hide all your tears as best you can
Try to recall what used to be
Roses are waiting for dewdrops to fall
Climbing your windows and walls
Bells in steeple are ringing, singing
Listen to them talk about your love's return
Let me come in my pretty one
And try to undo what i have done
For i must be forgiven now
I will not lose what i have won
Roses are waiting for dewdrops to fall
Climbing your windows and walls
Leaves in the garden are falling, calling
Listen to them talk about your love's return
Open the door my pretty one
Wake from your sleep and take me home
Open your eyes and look my way
I cannot leave your love alone
Roses are waiting for dewdrops to fall
Climbing your windows and walls
Bells in steeple are ringing, singing
Listen to them talk about your love's return
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Trees Should Be Leisured
Trees should be leisured.
And given our priority.
Treated as if royality.
Without them no one breathes.
Trees should be leisured.
And stroked and pampered as if pets.
Instead of showing them neglect...
With a chopping down they get.
Trees should be leisured.
Like those we say we love.
Like favorite foods we eat to please.
Or things to ask from God above.
Trees should be leisured.
And given our priority.
Treated as if royality.
Without them no one breathes.
All trees should leisure.
Not be chopped and sold as huts!
To be then neglected or resold,
Or abandoned to give up!
Trees should be leisured.
And stroked and pampered as if pets.
Instead of showing them neglect...
With a chopping down they get.
All trees should leisure.
Since without them no one breathes.
All trees should leisure.
Since without them no one breathes.
And if from us trees should leave...
We would not here be needed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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4: 39 A.m.
the strong wind keeps on blowing
howling
above the house and the trees bending
in different directions
there is this sound of tin roofs
about to be blown away
i hear them
and feel the fury
of someone
coming
to the mind of my wife
it is nothing
but a typhoon coming
on schedule
as predicted by the weather bureau
yesterday
and to her
i am just overdoing thoughts
and things
playing always
the role of the poet
even when
the wind is the wind
and nothing
but the wind
and nothing else
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Walking Under The Morning Sun
the trees line up to you
like you are a very important man
the sun lights your
way
like you are a celebrity
the winds of fortune sings you
your favorite song
your thoughts prop up
like mushrooms
the path unfolds before you
you walk on your feet
with a very personalized dignity
in this walk
all the grass look up to you
their lord
all the bushes talk about you
their anonymous
master
their guest uninvited
the stones as usual are silent
keenly observing
what happens next
and how long will you last
in this monotonous
Monday.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Your Dance My Love
you are so beautiful when you start to dance
when all the leaves fall off from your arms
naked, i have seen everything that your earth has to offer:
your hills and trees and forest, your creeks and rivers,
your clouds and seas, your grass and flowers
i have seen them all and touched them
your hills i have climbed
your trees with sweet fruits
i have gathered them all
and bit and sucked and savored each sap and juice
its flesh and fiber
i have slept on your grass
i have smelled your flowers
i have gazed on your clouds and have taken the dive
on your seas
i have sailed on your rivers
i have bathed on your creeks
i have done everything for you to please you my love
yet why are your eyes so sad tonight?
you are like a moon fading in the dark
you are like the song of a bird dissolving in distance.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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