A Speculation About An Existence In The Clouds
anywhere i go
i write as though i am bound
to speak what
i have long kept as a garden
inside my heart
i have not yet spoken about
the flowers and the stones and the
sticks
but soon i will
and what you have heard so far is nothing
but the
sound of the river in the air
there is someone still who lives in the clouds
and never want to speak about it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Speak With Kindness (Or Do Not Speak At All)
speak with kindness,
or do not speak at all.
speak not of judgement,
you are not the judge.
speak not of salvation,
let your living be your scriptures.
speak not of scriptures,
let your actions be your holy book.
speak not as apostle or teacher,
speak as a human being.
speak not of god,
then god will speak through you!
speak not as a man,
for you are woman too.
speak not with hateful malice,
for love does not work that way.
speak not as a prophet or seer,
speak as compassion made flesh.
speak not of morality,
speak of connection.
speak not of authority,
the tree and the leaf have just as much.
speak not of holiness,
for all that lives be holy.
speak with kindness...
or do not speak at all!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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In This Garden
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
The flowers and the grass
The stones and the water
The sculptures and all art
Sing a song
A song of beauty
A song of harmony
A song of hope
The wind whistles gently
Is it to the east?
Or is it to the west?
I don’t know and I don’t need to know
All is so beautiful
Hush…
Hush humanity
Hush…
I can feel the scent on y nostrils
The scent of the flowers
The sound of the water nearby welcoming
Peace
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
With beautiful flowers
Where art lives
Hush
Play the music
Let the flowers live the music
Let the drums be heard
Let the music come to life
Play the music
Let it be heard here today
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
With very beautiful flowers
Where art comes to life
poem by Jack Shaka
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Speak to Me
Speak to me
speak soft my love.
Whisper tenderly
from your heart.
If I am far from your side.
Let your words
travel on the winds.
Guide me safely back to you.
When I am hurting my love.
Speak to me.
Take away my pain
by the sound of your voice.
Chase away dark clouds
with the brightness of song.
Open the door to my heart
pour in your love.
Speak to me with your heart
and I will answer.
By telling all the world
of our love.
poem by Kurt Hearth
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Be Careful Of Stones That You Throw
Recorded by hank williams, sr.
Written by bonnie dodd
Chorus
A [f] tongue can accuse and carry bad [c] news
The [f] seeds of distrust, it will [c] sow
But [f] unless youve made no mistakes in your [c] life
Be careful of [g7] stones that you [c] throw.
(spoken)
[c] a neighbor was passing my [f] garden one time
[c] she stopped and I knew right away [g7]
That it was gossip, not flowers, she had on her mind [c]
And this is what I heard my neighbor say:
[c] that girl down the street [f] should be run from our midst
[c] she drinks and she talks quite a lot [g7]
She knows not to speak to my child or to me. [c]
My neighbor then smiled and I thought:
Chorus
(spoken)
A car speeded by and the screamin of brakes
A sound that made my blood chill
For my neighbors one child had been pulled from the path
And saved by a girl lying still.
The child was unhurt and my neighbor cried out:
Oh! who was that brave girl so sweet?
I covered the crushed, broken body and said:
The bad girl who lived down the street.
Chorus
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The River That Murmurs
I will ask the river, that flows serene
I will speak to the sky
I will ask the river that murmurs
Not to ask me why
I cannot speak for myself.
That time has long since passed me by.
The river can murmur and sing
Unspent by passion: my voice
Will break like a terribly taut string.
My words will be grammatically and academically
Twisted (like that leafless tree) , unfortunately!
I want the river to speak, to speak
Alone, alone with thee.
The river can, softly and without tears
Tell you my dreams and my fears
I know you will listen:
And while city lights in the water glisten
You wont see the tears that shine on my face
No, that is a serious, sentimental place
That only I know;
Flow, river, flow.
Flow, river flow.
Speak to the only love I know.
Daybreak approaches soon
You and he by the light of the moon
Will murmur whilst I -
Will wait for you to bring me his reply.
poem by Rani Turton
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Why We Fight pt 1 (Lock and Load)
You’ve walked out the garden and watched your hands go
From picking up berries to picking up ammo
The same sticks and twigs that build up your village
Fight off the conquers and plunders and pillage//
-Stones and sticks and sticks and stones
Gather them up to protect your home
And when needed use them on some bones
Lay them all down to outline your zone
Raise them and burn them on your throne
Monsters can’t outrun the sticks and stones-
Sharpen your spears to take down your dinner
You and the beast can’t both be the winner
It’s about time you got out of this slump
Load up your brains to outsmart the hunt
poem by P.R. Prosper
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Your Silence
I have spoken long enough
I have spoken well enough
Now let me be silent
And see how Silence speaks
Hear the words unspoken
For you could never speak
And whenever I asked you
All I could ever hear, was:
Your Silence…
Yes, that very Silence of yours
Which sucked all my life out
making me feel miserable
day in and day out
Still I kept holding on,
hoping on and hanging on…
If you could ever speak
Yet you never spoke up
Instead, offered me a challenge
A challenge to a broken heart?
A challenge to a defeated soul?
Oh! How Ruthless you could be…
And still you ever want me
To keep hearing your silence
And make some meaning of it all
I told you long before
Silence never works for me
I am a woman of words…
It might work well for you
So be it, my love…
If that is what you call ‘friendship’
Let you be silent
And me be too
And we can still remain ‘friends’
For if you speak
And I speak too
Who knows, One day
We might become foes…
And I would rather die
A Friend of yours
Than choose to be a Foe.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Silence Isn't Enough
Silence is not enough -
We speak and write
To be human-
We cannot simply be empty inside forever-
Our words give us life
And we must try them
Otherwise we die inside.
If I do not write
I somehow do not live-
If we do not speak to each other
We somehow are not human.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Heart That Loses Its Grip On Love
you speak of revenge
for how long will you speak
about it,
your heart beats for something
else for someone
long lost
and never comes back
to you
your heart captured in the hands
of someone you detest
you speak of
freedom you speak of a heart
that wants to see
the end of the beginning
now, i understand, how is it
when your heart
loses a grip on love
its hands must have wanted
to hold on
to a double-edged knife
bleeding
waiting
dreaming of another
beginning to
this end
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Young Poets
You speak for the lakes, the trees and the birds
You say what they'd say if they had the words.
Make PEACE and be proud, choose well every choice
Speak HOPE and speak loud, you are Nature's voice.
Speak with respect now, for jungles and streams,
Speak for all wildlife and dream giant dreams.
Speak with great courage, speak up and speak out,
Write with a whisper or write with a SHOUT!
Stand up young poets for clean air and rivers,
Free verse or lyric; your message delivers...
Truth to the future citizens of earth,
Speak of your freedom your friends and self worth.
Speak for tomorrow and though you're still young,
Speak for the Forest, your pen is her tongue.
The world waits to hear your songs still unsung
Words posses power, you can write the wrongs
Teach us and lead us with Poems and with songs.
Speak now for nature, for trees and for birds,
Defenders of Earth choose carefullly your words!
poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
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yes, what if God does not speak english at all?
you were not born yesterday
and probably heard it before
that if your God does not speak english
then he must not be God
of course, something arrogant
hangs in the air
of this effortless superiority that
'englishers'
'english-plongplangs'
clai m, which, of course, we
always oppose and dub
as prettry dumb silly
but anyhow, yes, we are asked again
what if?
what if, this God, does not really speak English?
well, of course, he is still God
and he must not have considered the english language
that important
and i agree, even if i speak it,
i still have this language
of my soul,
albeit, in english, for you,
who does not speak my own language,
yes, of course, for you to perhaps
understand,
but i like it though, this thought
that God does not speak
the english language, lest, he may sound
so englishly, oh well,
arrogant.....
dear God
do you really...not speak english?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Forgive
Shoot holes in me, then you watch me as I bleed
Sticks, sticks and stones, break my bones as I speak
Leave me to burn, as I melt in my pain
Watch as I drown, in the tears we have made
Chorus: cause weve got to forgive
Weve got to forget
Things are changing at last
I hope for the best
But I dont understand, Im just a man
Im still trying to see
Love, love is hate, cant seperate how it is
Deep in a grave, cant pretend, when its real
(chorus)
See a way, move away, see a way, will I ever be saved for this, will I ever be clean
Shoot holes in me, then you watch me as I bleed
Sticks, sticks and stones, break my bones as I speak
Leave me to burn, as I melt in my pain
Watch as I drown, in the tears we have made
(rpt. chorus twice)
I wish for the best, I wish for the best
Cause Ive got to forgive,
Weve got to forget.
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mcqueen Sonata
Mother dearest
You live inside of my heart
And inside of my heart I made a special place justr for you
So that you could live inside of my heart again and be left in peace
Mother dearest
You don't have to worry about polution and violence
Because there is no polution or violence that you will see inside of my Heart
Mother dearest
You are now my angel with wings that lives inside of my heart
And inside of my heart you will be able to fly if you want too
Mother dearest
Inside of my heart
I created a garden for you so that you could smell the flowers any time That you liked
Mother dearest
You can slep near that pond that is inside of myheart
Because near the pond it is always cooler than in the garden
Mother dearest
I forgot to tell you about the sky inside of my heart
Because in the sky inside of my heart you will see all the stars that will Shine just like diamonds
Mother dearest
I will always love you from the botton of my heart
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Speak easy
Ever had so much to say but cannot find the words, when you do you just do not have the nerve.
Waste time, time wasted over what might be said, conversations played out only in your head.
Silence is golden so they say, time keeps ticking its running away.
Never runs back just out of control, do soul searching to find the know.
The words you find seam just too few, say nothing at all keep it in you.
If spoken aloud could set you free, there inside, somewhere in me.
Maybe a magician could bring it to light, maybe a strong man to fight this fight.
Speak easy when spoken, say it so clear, I fear, these words, never hear.
The less you speak the more that is herd, screaming out loud not saying a word.
Speak easy to you, few words need say, speak easy to me, time slipping away.
poem by Gary Kedron
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A Reflection
those who start to speak are those who realized they do not know
and those who begin to be silent seems to have understood that they know
why must i speak to you? why must i write you a poem?
why did you write me a very long letter?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When You Define A Thing
when you define
a thing, you limit it,
it is like fencing
your garden
the garden becomes
a set of exclusive
flowers, and anything
not like it becomes
a weed, and anything
that moves
becomes a pest
it is not that you
do not define, we do
it sometimes
only to understand
the limits of
understanding,
but we must be open
to other possibilities
of a garden,
a garden of stones
a garden of sand
of mud, of water
a fountain, a garden
of winds, of clouds
a garden of memories
like a poem
for instance, a garden
of words,
words with arms open
to the magic
of further creation
words still trying
to define themselves
in the garden
of the unknown
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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At Rest
my garden is silent...
and all the bees have sacrificed
their very beings to the unmarked graves
of flowers fallen.
the squirrels left the trees
like lovers spurned...
and small birds left feathers
in way of epitaph.
in some ways autumn tastes like
the bruise on my lips,
that you left the last time you kissed me,
the one no one can see!
the old car in the drive,
the one that wont crank,
moans in the rust of betrayel.
there are things i couldnt write,
or even speak for a long time.
it's funny how free you feel,
with a noose around your neck!
funny how sharp your eyes become,
on the very edge of darkness.
funny the sound tears make,
the ones we cry inside.
the creaking of the door,
that opens into unknown.
the way the hand feels,
when it throbs for touch.
by the way i saw Jesus today,
with a basket in the store...
standing in line to pay with food stamps,
talking to a bent over old woman.
and Aristotle and Plato,
picking up trash in the parking lot...
perhaps that was Rilke sweeping,
or just a stray dog.
and the young boy walking
down the road and singing....
perhaps that was my heart,
trying to remember your face!
or perhaps it's just me,
listening for the sound of your feet.
my garden is silent....
my soul is at rest!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Yourself
T‘is to yourself I speak; you cannot know
Him whom I call in speaking such a one,
For you beneath the earth lie buried low,
Which he, alone, as living walks upon.
You may at times have heard him speak to you,
And often wished perchance that you were he;
And I must ever wish that it were true,
For then you could hold fellowship with me:
But now you hear us talk as strangers, met
Above the room wherein you lie abed;
A word perhaps loud spoken you may get,
Or hear our feet when heavily they tread;
But he who speaks, or he who’s spoken to,
Must both remain as strangers still to you.
poem by Jones Very
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Bible Stories: Job (Chapter XXXII)
To answer Job, the three men ceased;
Their arguments hadn’t Job appeased;
Kindled was Elihu’s anger;
Job’s views had gone a bit stranger.
Job staunchly said that he was right;
He proved it all in his own light;
Could man be right and God be wrong?
Yet, conclude one must any song!
The three had not convinced Job well;
‘Wrong was his stance, ’ they could not tell;
The three were older but got tamed;
Elihu’s wrath became inflamed.
The son of Barachel then said,
‘I’m young and you are an old head;
And so, I was afraid to speak
And share my views, with you, all meek;
Your years should have taught you wisdom;
But God has given you freedom;
The breath of God (man’s spirit) gives
Understanding, by which he lives.
’Tis not that days can make one wise;
’Tis not that man is free of vice;
Nor aged understand what’s right;
So, heed to what I say: See light!
I heard your arguments so far,
And conclusion of your word-war;
I followed all who spoke with care;
To convince Job, no one did dare!
None could refute what Job had said;
Don’t say we’ve met a wisdom-head;
Had he addressed his words to me,
I would have spoken differently
Now that you’ve spoken for your part,
I wish to open up my heart;
I want to speak a lot of things,
So, let me say what my heart brings!
My spirit compels from within,
Like pressure from anew wineskin;
I’m on verge of bursting out,
Let me hence speak and clear your doubt.
I won’t be partial to someone,
And neither will I flatter one;
And if I did, I know my God
Will take my life away by rod!
poem by John Celes
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The Same Story, The same History
...and so the same story is told
the same history is made....
why always speak of descrimination
why always speak of war
why always speak of class
why always speak of injustice
why always speak of poverty
why always speak of rebellion....
why not speak of equality
why not speak of peace
why not speak of respect
why not speak of wisdom
why not speak of production
why not speak of working together...
...and so the same story is told
the same history is made.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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