A Scene In A Little Town
the sky is white
the sea is blue like silk
on the sea three fishermen
pull their net
their boat is small
and wooden
on the sandy beach
a child plays with his white dog
how peaceful is this place
how wonderful is this life!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
On the Lake (2)
Little child paddle small boat
Drift pick white lotus back
Not know hide trace
Duckweed one path open
A little child paddles a little boat,
Drifting about, and picking white lotuses.
He does not know how to hide his tracks,
And duckweed's opened up along his path.
Mediterranean
1
A bright red boat
Yellow capsicums
Blue fishing nets
Ochre fort walls
2
Sahar’s silk blouse
gold and sheer
Her dark black
kohl-lined lashes
3
A street child’s
brown fists
holding the rainbow
in his small grasp
4
My lost memory
white and frozen
now melts colour
ready to refract.
poem by Sudeep Sen
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Winter Stroll
Come, let us
Take a midnight stroll
Through the snow-white forest,
A place where no one can find us.
Let us walk silently,
We shall shod in white, silk fur,
Looking like snow-white queens
As we glide across the white snow,
With nothing but the bright moonlight shining on ur eyes\As we walk across the elegant white forest
Us both in white, silk fur
With nothing but the moonlight shining on our eyes.
poem by Ahmad Abdul Awwal
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At the Harbour
The ships are in the harbour,
Some ship are small, some are larger,
The wavy waters blue and green,
Although blue and green should not be seen.
Saucy Jane was a little red boat,
Who bobbed merrily upon Squire John’s moat?
Her sail was white, her stern was mauve.
Han sail was white, her mast was new,
As she swam through the sea,
Of tranquil blue, with trickling bits of green.
poem by Claire Galpin
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I Love Lyme Regis
I love Lyme Regis,
the pink and white cottage's,
and the deep blue sea,
the pebble on sandy beach's where the children play,
walking along the heritage coast, picking up fossil's along the way,
watching the fishing boat's going out to sea,
bringing back mackerel and crab for us to eat for tea,
the Cobb, the cliff's, the safe harbour for the little ship's,
for these and many more thing's,
i love Lyme Regis.
poem by Alan J Duffield Lock
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Intimacy
an old man with a
white beard
wrinkled face
bald and slouchy
walking slowly
with his olive oyl
on the white sandy beach
the sun shines
the waves foamy
the sea breeze
cool and
caressing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I dream of a little house
I dream of a little house
that’s in a suburb,
or a place at the sea
just big enough for two.
There are surf breaking on a white beach
and it’s a place,
where the sun always shine
and where worries disappear
When I wake up
you lie next to me
and I see how the sleep
take you to a wonderful place,
but we life in a big house
where the dogs bark at the neighbours
and the cats lie in the sun
and at that moment I know
that this place is far better
than the places of our dreams
and that you
make it heaven for me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Little Orphan
The crowded street his playground is, a patch of blue his sky;
A puddle in a vacant lot his sea where ships pass by:
Poor little orphan boy of five, the city smoke and grime
Taint every cooling breeze he gets throughout the summer time;
And he is just as your boy is, a child who loves to play,
Except that he is drawn and white and cannot get away.
And he would like the open fields, for often in his dreams
The angels kind bear him off to where are pleasant streams,
Where he may sail a splendid boat, sometimes he flies a kite,
Or romps beside a shepherd dog and shouts with all his might;
But when the dawn of morning comes he wakes to find once more
That what he thought were sun-kissed hills are rags upon the floor.
Then through the hot and sultry day he plays at "make-pretend,"
The alley is a sandy beach where all the rich folks send
Their little boys and girls to play, a barrel is his boat,
But, oh, the air is tifling and the dust fills up his throat;
And though he tries so very hard to play, somehow it seems
He never gets such wondrous joys as angels bring in dreams.
Poor little orphan boy of five, except that he is pale,
With sunken cheeks and hollow eyes and very wan and frail,
Just like that little boy of yours, with same desire to play,
Fond of the open fields and skies, he's built the self-same way;
But kept by fate and circumstance away from shady streams,
His only joy comes when he sleeps and angels bring him dreams.
poem by Edgar Albert Guest
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Sonnets of home
I
I dream of building
a mansion, villa
or big white house
with a lot of space,
or maybe a Tuscan place
or two set on a terrace
on a mountain
with a wonderful view
overlooking the ocean
with a ivory white beach
that runs as far
as the eye can see
and to make it home
just for you and me
II
The birds will be our companions
and whales and dolphins
will pass in the bay
and a garden
as big as a park
will run all the way
down to the sea
and every plant and tree
that you like will be there
and vegetables will grow in patches
against the hill and there will be orchards
with juicy red, yellow and orange fruit
and plantations with big green pines
will cover the rest.
III
The house will be a white pillar
that towers like a castle above it all
and a place where any wary traveller
will be welcome to visit and rest
and there will be steps coming down
to the bay and a lift or two or three
next to an azure lagoon
where a cool river splashes down
in a big pronged waterfall
and we will be able
to lie in the bright sun
and run with the dogs
on the white beach
like children having fun.
IV
l’Envoi
Let others live in big crowded cities
and be packed into matchboxes
reaching up into the sky
and have more neighbours
than they care to know
but you and I
will be able to watch
blue waves twist and break
and hear the melody
of the rushing sea
and your studio and our home
will stretch from the hill
down to the aquamarine ocean
and touch the big sapphire sky.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The White Man With His Dalmatian
a white man goes fishing
to the sea
on his white wooden boat
bringing with him his
dalmatian
wherever the man looks
the tongue of the dalmatian also follows
at the other side
the island looks at them
the mountains as usual
so big
for this kind of friendship
envious
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thursday Afternoon
Her life is a show
One act follows the other everywhere she goes
She takes the leading role
She never plays herself
Save for the time shes on the stage
Color her black or white
Now either one reflects the teardrops
One extreme for the other
Nothing in between
Color her white for the princess she could be
Color her black for the troubled child she plays so well
Well shes dancing through hell on a dream
And blue is soul of the one
Reaching for the man that she hasnt got yet
And holding on to those hearts for lost causes
She could be so bright
But shes reaching for us all
Color her blue for the loneliness she feels
Shes hiding her heart in the sky
And this is a thursday afternoon
Its just another thursday afternoon
Its just another thursday afternoon
Color me grey
Im a little bit of everything today
And Im not sure just where Im going
Color me grey
Wishing I was something more of distinction
Color us all cause were just stars
Wishing our lives away
Into the distance
And out of existence
Color her black or white
Color her blue
Or color me grey
Color us all - were stars
Wishing our lives away
Now were stars
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Innocent Child
In the eyes of an innocent child, you see all, you know all.
In the eyes of an innocent child, you know why the sky is blue and the
leaves fall.
In the eyes of an innocent child, There is no peace and there is no
war.
In the eyes of an innocent child, There is only peaceful co-existance.
In the eyes of an innocent child, There is only here and now and
nothing in the distance.
In the eyes of an innocent child, there are the colours of the rainbow,
black and white.
In the eyes of an innocent child, Grey areas are not right.
We look at things in grey, black and white, but not like a rainbow.
Some say we even look through rose coloured glasses.
It would be nice if we could look at the world through the eyes of an
innocent child.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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In Margate
The curtains in the bedroom
are drawn close
and you lie
in semi-darkness.
Through the open window
I can smell the sea
and hear waves breaking
beyond the road.
The wind pulls at the curtains
and every now and then
the white beach
and the blue ocean peeps in.
We came to Margate
for a holiday at the sea
to bathe is shallow waters
to swim with the surf,
to have some fun
and tan in the hot sun,
but darkness hangs
like a shroud over you
while the white beach,
the bright blue sky
and the dark blue ocean waits
on us to come.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Land Before God
Land of pink sky and blue sun,
green bed of swamps and marsh.
Monsters from another age
roam and dispel their wrath,
tyrannosaurus, brontosaurus, Woolly Mammoth.
Heat and flying things,
wing their way in an endless spring.
Land of grotesque and monstrous mould,
ever changing shapes behold.
Paradise with promise of future things,
filled with bellowing monstrous song,
teem with life, land and sea.
The stench of death hangs over thee.
Night’s darkness brings another day.
Land of cold and wintry white
moves southward slowly day and night.
Places hot, now white and cold,
creatures frozen in monstrous mould.
Land, pale, shadow of death,
now hangs over all.
None will escape deaths paw.
Marks on a sandy beach,
small with explicit air,
life begins again from there.
Life minute of crystal form,
changing by night and daily storm.
Life, small and microscopic,
crawls on beaches north and tropic.
Circle of form begins again,
from tiny and invisible germs.
Life on land and sea again teem.
Millions upon millions breeding frame.
World of blue and grass green hill.
The land before god
is teeming still.
poem by David Harris
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My Own Sea Of Blues...
there is no salt
in your sea of
blue, i guess,
it is all bitterness
in there
but wait
there is a blueness in
the sea
that makes this world
a waving
experience, foamy white
sea caps,
white sea gulls hovering
for a school
of fish
a yacht with lovers
sharing
lives,
a fishing boat loaded with
a big catch
children swimming
along the coast
sunbathing babes
multicolored beach
umbrellas
surfing boards
sunglasses
on my own interpretation
of the sea
of blues....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dutch lullaby
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe,--
Sailed on a river of misty light
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring-fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we,"
Said Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
The old moon laughed and sung a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew;
The little stars were the herring-fish
That lived in the beautiful sea.
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,
But never afeard are we!"
So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
All night long their nets they threw
For the fish in the twinkling foam,
Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home;
'T was all so pretty a sail, it seemed
As if it could not be;
And some folk thought 't was a dream they'd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea;
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed;
So shut your eyes while Mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock on the misty sea
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,--
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
poem by Eugene Field
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The White Room
Spanna noo na noo na ne na naho
Spanna noo na ne ne naho
Spa noo na naho
Noo na naho
Noo na naho
Spa noo na naho
Spanna noo na noo na noo na naho
Spanna noo na noo na nehhey
Spa noo na nehhey
Noo na naho
Noo na naho
Spanna noo na noo na ne na naho
Spanna noo na ne ne naho
[more spa na noo ne na noo things]
Talk to me, talk to me
If you want to know the things we see
Then step inside our skins
The white room, the white room
We spin, we turn, watch and wait
As the world just creeps on bye
The white room, the white room
Ooohhaaa
Talk to me, talk to me
Far below, a small boat sails,
Catching fish from the sea.
The white room, the white room
We climb the mountain,
Feel the wind,
We climbed to touch the stars.
The white room, the white room
Ooohhaaa
The white room, the white room
[more spetta na noo ne na noo things]
The white room, the white room
The white room, the white room
[more spetta na noo ne na noo things]
The white room, the white room
song performed by by KLF
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Visit to Victoria's Secret
I made a left
and pulled into the huge
Staten Island Mall parking lot
my sister and Nancy hopped out
racing into Victoria’s Secret
store packed
noticed a small carpeted section
motioned to my sister
sat down
watching women
examine racks and racks
of skimpy panties, silk slips, push-up bras
et cetera, et cetera
also four Transvestites
well, we all want happiness
I said to myself
no harm in a few accouterments
to help
in such a valiant effort.
Suddenly my sister appeared
holding a white silk bra
connected with several strips of more white silk
to a pair of white silk panties.
Nancy’s husband fooled around
here today to lure him back
gave my sister ideas, fears
her dear husband Howard might do the same
so in this place to make sure he stayed home.
“Very provocative, ” I declared.
“Howard just
loved Ellen Barkin wearing this in The Big Easy.”
“He loves you
only lusts after her.”
“Want him to lust after me.”
“Love is better than lust.”
poem by Charles Chaim Wax
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Invocation II
COME to-night in a dream to-night,
Come as you used to do,
Come in the gown, in the gown of white,
Come in the ribbon of blue;
Come in the virgin's colours you wear,
Come through the dark and the dew,
Come with the scent of the night in your hair,
Come as you used to do.
Blue and white of your eyes and your face,
White of your gown and blue,
Will you not come from the happy place,
Come as you used to do?
Tears so many, so many tears
Where there were once so few--
Can they not wash the gray of the years
From the white of your gown and blue?
poem by Edith Nesbit
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A White Yacht I See
a white yacht i see
on a very blue ocean
far away
at the port
a shadow of a girl with a long black hair
against a very strong sunlight
waves at me
still
i figure out as i wait on the top of this mountain
where the air is fainting
she must be the one
destined to die
because no one helped her
because
i have no way of becoming
this wooden boat
to sail and save her
from him
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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