En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Redmption Of The Self

when i stand there
there was a dark cloud of shame
above my head

the cloud is heavy
and it poured
dismay
i am drenched with
humiliation

i fell like i am a tree with
wilted leaves
that keep on falling to
the ground

until i become nothing
but twigs
mere fingers of the hands
skeletal to the sky

i do not have those roots
that keep me strong
but then there is always that
redemption

ally to the sun
shall i be when tomorrow comes
i grow my leaves again
spread my roots

deeper than the
hands of the rivers
to the cracks of the earth
where gold resides

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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No Tree Can Stand Tall Without Roots Spread!

Every seed sends roots first,
Finding for soil and ground
where it can stand firm and tall,
stand firm and tall if roots go
deep,
Spread wide to find The sap! single cell that carry life,
Give life to cells and tissues,
Shoot, barks, branches and
leaves,
feed the leaves exposing leaves
to light, Visible tree stands on exposed
roots, not roots visible, Man made boundaries, fence and
compound,
Can't prevent or limit roots or
branches,
Sometimes absorbing soil here,
Branch will extent to neighbouring house,
How one can limit the nature,
or confine growing tree to
narrow circle drawn by man?
So is every life on Earth!
Mankind is like forest of different trees,
Yet all roots of autotrophic trees
deep in the soil,
Only parasitic have those roots,
pierce other tree's heart! Dive deep into yourself,
O man! Can you survive without
Your roots?
know how you are here,
Is it the mortal parent brought
you here, Or your fate,
Only be grateful to their love and
care forever!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Sprinkle Your Love

The glazing sunshine
Afternoon
Under that tree
Tree with dry leaves
Visible roots
Dry earth
Give me water
To drink
And sprinkle your love
On the bareness of my heart
The sky and some patches of white clouds
I stretch
Hold my hands
The hands dry like the branches of that tree
Hold my hands
For these hands
May grow some leaves
And fruits
Like the hope
I have
From the tree
My love
Do not despair
There is blood
Still running in my veins

poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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How The Leaves Are Blown By The Wind

did i not tell you that these leaves come from the trees?
no dispute about it
about them, they grow out from there, those twigs
of the trees of life,
they get their glow, their sheen, though they have given more honor
to the sun
rather than the roots and the phloem

the season for them to mature and fall has come
and they all wait for the wind, the great strong wind to blow them all away
to their respective destinies
some find their way to the river
some to the thick heap of other leaves destined to rot
and only if you hear them
they say they come from nowhere
not from the tree of life
not from me

the leaves, my poems, the wind my way of throwing,
the tree, myself, my roots my mind, my phloem my blood

i made them all, but now, they are on their own

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Kindness

Things are destined to be lost
To be broken

The leaves fall and rot
At the foot of the tree

The roots soon shrink
And become part
Of the indifference of the

Rocks and the soil
Things move out
And up

Like vapor and then
Change their forms to air

But there are those that weep
And keep
Whatever was lost and destroyed

The leaves they take with their hands
And the roots
They stroke with the toes of their feet
Caress and
Kindness their virtues
That humanity has soon discarded

They grow the seeds in their hearts
They keep the fire of love
Burning
And the earth and the sun and stars
All smile at them

They too grow and scatter and travel
To all the places of this earth
Their forms too many
The gods know
They too must grow and get the world
Of the grass of sorrow

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An uncreative medicine

no hope
no friend
no family
no home
no nativity
no nationality
no fame
no name
no future
no points
no market
no identity
no possessions still a tree without roots
no relationship still a tree without roots
no anarchism still a tree without roots
no hiearchy still a tree without roots
no country still a tree without roots
no colours still a tree without roots
no degrees still a tree without roots
no certificates
no imaginations
no dream
no poetry
no fiction
no story
no news
no media
no happiness still a tree without roots
no genre still a tree without roots
no labels still a tree without roots
no names still a tree without roots
THE FOURTH EYE
of
A post-conceptual poet.

poem by Nyein Way
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Our Own Kin

our own kin
name tags on my chest
genes in my flesh
our own skin
bearing our own family names
tattoos of our
marked existence as part of this
and that
roots
on our feet
and vines in our hands
wherever we go
we are us
our own kin our own skin
our identities as sons of these fathers
and mothers
as favorite grandsons
hope of the family tree
integrated
not grafts
but twigs and tendrils

despite our hatred
of the roots
we still are
leaves and
branches

how can we get away
from these that made us grow
into treetops
overlooking the mountains
of our lives

somehow there will be change
to norms
new laws for family ties
the right to take myself
from a name
to have my own house
inside my body
to get rid my veins of the
bad blood
to remove their nails
embedded on my toes
and fingers

somehow
know me as i am
and not a part
an extension of whom and
where

i have my on why you know
listen to me.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Or Existence

look at you
you take pride of myriad leaves
of branching twigs
of a sturdy trunk

you are saying you are
well rooted
and strong and no
wind is good enough
to uproot you

look at me
i have no roots
i am bald for i have not
a single leaf
from my imaginary
branches
from my twigs which you say
do not exist at all

you laugh and take pride
with what you are
and what you own andwhat you keep

i am invisible and i have no word
that i own

i am not even a wind
since i do not touch your leaf
and cannot let you feel

i do not doubt that it is my mere silence
that horrifies you

and i thank myself
for just being this way

i have no name
i have no self
i merely pass by
and i do not come
back

and so beyond myself and all these
you are nothing too

as i perceived myself to be
not a wind not a sound
nothing about roots

or existence.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lino

i trust you and i repeat
the line of our heritage
from trees we come from
rooted to their roots
this time we let go off
our leaves and even some
of our twigs as we pay
tribute to the change of the
season, but soon, Lino,
and i trust you, we become
trees faithful to the sun again,
soon they shall see buds,
growing from new twigs,
roots growing deeper
probing our loneliness.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sorrow Seeks...

Sorrow Seeks...

Sorrow seeks...
Like the roots of weeds
And as the roots grow deeper
the weight descends
Like gnarled hands grasping at your throat
Choking out the beauty within

A dandelion with a face that glows of golden sun
But within the soil it's roots grow so deep
With one pluck you think it is gone for good
Only to return stronger than before
Sorrow seeks...
Like the roots of weeds

4 April 2008

poem by JoJo Bean
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Samuel Gardner

I who kept the greenhouse,
Lover of trees and flowers,
Oft in life saw this umbrageous elm,
Measuring its generous branches with my eye,
And listened to its rejoicing leaves
Lovingly patting each other
With sweet aeolian whispers.
And well they might:
For the roots had grown so wide and deep
That the soil of the hill could not withhold
Aught of its virtue, enriched by rain,
And warmed by the sun;
But yielded it all to the thrifty roots,
Through which it was drawn and whirled to the trunk,
And thence to the branches, and into the leaves,
Wherefrom the breeze took life and sang.
Now I, an under-tenant of the earth, can see
That the branches of a tree
Spread no wider than its roots.
And how shall the soul of a man
Be larger than the life he has lived?

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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The Tree Without Fruits

the way they handle
a tree without fruits is
crazy

it is as though
the leaves do not matter anymore

or the roots
or even the wood itself
or the living rings
within
that tell about
a certain
age

they are thinking about
a fire

they are cruel
and i think they deserve
to be
burned in hell

the value of the tree
is not just its fruits

mind you
trees also present memories
of their own

their roots too have
beautiful stories to tell

their twigs and lentils
too have dreams

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Journey Back To Ourselves

as i stare at the
rain
i remember
trees

transparent and
cold

trees without
leaves

i imagine
twigs

or roots or
trunks

they are never
there

no matter how
trees are tears

without leaves
without roots

with so much
salt in each

and then you
touch the waves

of the imaginary
sea and then

your journey back
to you begins

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Restlessness

stay put
be a tree
spread
your roots
extend your branches to the skies
have more leaves and let some birds
make their nests in you

learn to know the sun better
then the moon
and then when the night is so dark
imagine a crown of stars

they become yours
without doing anything

stay put
be a tree
do not
do anything
do not move
just grow
and be
yourself

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Discipline

It is stormy, and raindrops cling like silver bees to the pane,
The thin sycamores in the playground are swinging with flattened leaves;
The heads of the boys move dimly through a yellow gloom that stains
The class; over them all the dark net of my discipline weaves.

It is no good, dear, gentleness and forbearance, I endured too long:
I have pushed my hands in the dark soil, under the flower of my soul
And the gentle leaves, and have felt where the roots are strong
Fixed in the darkness, grappling for the deep soil’s little control.

And there is the dark, my darling, where the roots are entangled and fight
Each one for its hold on the oblivious darkness, I know that there
In the night where we first have being, before we rise on the light,
We are not brothers, my darling, we fight and we do not spare.

And in the original dark the roots cannot keep, cannot know
Any communion whatever, but they bind themselves on to the dark,
And drawing the darkness together, crush from it a twilight, a slow
Burning that breaks at last into leaves and a flower’s bright spark.

I came to the boys with love, my dear, but they turned on me;
I came with gentleness, with my heart ’twixt my hands like a bowl,
Like a loving-cup, like a grail, but they spilt it triumphantly
And tried to break the vessel, and to violate my soul.

But what have I to do with the boys, deep down in my soul, my love?
I throw from out of the darkness my self like a flower into sight,
Like a flower from out of the night-time, I lift my face, and those
Who will may warm their hands at me, comfort this night.

But whosoever would pluck apart my flowering shall burn their hands,
So flowers are tender folk, and roots can only hide,
Yet my flowerings of love are a fire, and the scarlet brands
Of my love are roses to look at, but flames to chide.

But comfort me, my love, now the fires are low,
Now I am broken to earth like a winter destroyed, and all
Myself but a knowledge of roots, of roots in the dark that throw
A net on the undersoil, which lies passive beneath their thrall.

But comfort me, for henceforth my love is yours alone,
To you alone will I offer the bowl, to you will I give
My essence only, but love me, and I will atone
To you for my general loving, atone as long as I live.

poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Survival Kit

the grass accepts death
of all it has, leaves and roots
its color blends with
the dust and parched mud
cracking surfaces
it also knows to preserve
its species
burying resilient seeds on
the cracks
and when it rains it begins
to grow buds
roots and all and the whole
ground is green again

meanwhile on cracked grounds
where once the pond was
the whiskers of the catfish begin
to wriggle
shedding off mud around its skin
the fish begins to swim

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Tree And The Butterfly

what i love to see in you
is when you become a huge tree
rooted upon a
muted grass hill

above you is a black cloud
making rain

your leaves are all wet
and your roots are drinking so much water

your bark is thick and your
trunk so hard and strong

and she is there the frail butterfly
clinging softly

beneath the big leaf
fragile and steady

what i love next is when the rain stops
and then the butterfly leaves you

helpless and sad and so poetic.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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from A Fallen Tree All Make Kindling' (dutch Proverb)

Whenever I sit under a tree I’m in my grandpas arms

My grandpa was like a tree with his strong and silent charm

He would shelter the world under his shade

And in the harshest storm he just merely swayed

He was like a tree but not the ones with big flowers

For his beauty was endurance it lasted more than mere hours

My grandpa was a tree the kind with big leaves

The kind that when cut down the whole forest grieves

He was like a tree big and gentle

He sat there and listened kind and parental

And though he was the tallest tree all around

He never looked down on the ones on the ground

My grandpa was a tree his love ran deep like roots

So even when cut down we still have loves fruits

poem by Lara wolf
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Autumn

You called up late
Said you wanted to talk
I was afraid
Cause you spoke so softly

You took my hand
Slowly started to cry
I can't understand
Why our season went by

Why do leaves fall down from the sky
Is the tree not strong enough

You turned away
Slowly opened the door
Said you could not stay
You couldn't take it no more

It started to rain
Tears kept falling from the sky
It did not stop the pain
It did not stop the pain

Why do leaves fall down from the sky
Is the tree not strong enough

Now I fall on the ground

It did not stop the pain
It did not stop the pain

Why do leaves fall down from the sky
Is the tree not strong enough
Why do leaves fall down from the sky
Is the tree not strong enough

Now I fall on the ground
Now I fall on the ground

It did not stop the pain
It did not stop the pain

Why do leaves fall down from the sky
Is the tree not strong enough

song performed by by Green Lizard from Identity
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One summer when the wind was strong

This is the place, now we are here again

I remember that summer when the wind was strong
And everything around us was dry,

The acacia trees towered and showered us with
Round leaves falling and falling and falling

Some birds were there and they flew away
Some cars were there and they speeded away

It was getting dark and it was a dry summer
We stayed there for a while when the leaves fell

Then we went under the trees not seeking shelter
But to catch those leaves falling and falling and falling

We are trying to feel again what falling was
We are here on this summer, we see the leaves

Falling and falling again to the dry wind,
We try to recall about us, but there is simply

Nothing about us anymore, but just the same
The leaves fall and fall and fall, we see them reenacting

There is that meaning; there it is in the falling
But we have outgrown it, we look for more, we hope

We can find some more, something beyond us.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sturdy

above you
you hold the centerpiece
of my existence
you rub love
you throb intimacy
to my pleasure

this is the feast of
our bodies
no shame
your hands caress my
sanctity

no one understands
where love attaches itself
at the branch
of lust
leaves of desire
roots of memories
dews of glances
falling rain on the rocks
suffuse air

earth satisfied
asleep at dawn

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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