A Symbiosis, A Parasitism
lichen to tree
moss to rock
river on the bed
stars to the sky
caterpillar
on the leaf
pinworm
on the intestine
choose
what relationship
above
do have we?
we call ourselves
sweet
we mask ourselves
with the face
of love
time shall tell
the truth
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A New leaf
There’s a new leaf upon the Tree
A thousand, thousand have been before
In the life of this great tree
Yet, the Tree rejoices, and is glad
For there is a New Leaf upon the tree
The roots are deep, and hidden
Tis one tree from root to branch
And lives in and through each leaf
The hearts’ smile resurrected
Through the New leaf upon the tree
Like the stars of heaven
New leaves have been many
And so they all are One
For they all share the same root
Bless the New leaf upon the tree
Perfection in the Blessing
Joy released in tears of love
The strength in life will comfort
From root to God above
A New leaf upon the tree
Beauty, Truth, and life
Complete from root to branch
When life’s cycle turns
Leaves fall to nourish roots
And behold, a New leaf upon the tree
poem by Adrian Wait
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kitsch Object (live)
Just like every lichen, how you stick to me
If your luck is dying, go and plant a tree
With artistic license, always comes for free
Just like every lichen, how you stick to me
Snook your way backstage
Paris sets the rage
coursing on your brain
so now I slip away
Just like every lichen, how you stick to me
If your luck is dying, go and plant a tree
With artistic license, always comes for free
Just like every lichen, how you stick to me
Weightless.. Bare.. Faithless... Scared
Know that bitches face??
All seen better days
So quick to blow your fuse
But that's the life you choose
Just like every lichen, how you stick to me
If your luck is dying, go and plant a tree
With artistic license, always comes for free
Just like every lichen, how you stick to me
Weightless.. Bare.. Faithless... Scared
Snook yourself backstage
Paris sets the rage
coursing on your brain
so now I slip away
Just like every lichen, how you stick to me
If your luck is dying now, go and plant a tree
With poetic license, always comes for free
Just like every lichen, how you stick to me
Weightless.. Bare.. Faithless... Scared
[Posted by Erez
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kitsch Object
Just like every lichen, how you stick to me
If your luck is dying, go and plant a tree
With artistic license, always comes for free
Just like every lichen, how you stick to me
Snook your way backstage
Paris sets the rage
Coursing on your brain
So now I slip away
Just like every lichen, how you stick to me
If your luck is dying, go and plant a tree
With artistic license, always comes for free
Just like every lichen, how you stick to me
Weightless.. bare.. faithless... scared
Know that bitches face? ?
All seen better days
So quick to blow your fuse
But thats the life you choose
Just like every lichen, how you stick to me
If your luck is dying, go and plant a tree
With artistic license, always comes for free
Just like every lichen, how you stick to me
Weightless.. bare.. faithless... scared
Snook yourself backstage
Paris sets the rage
Coursing on your brain
So now I slip away
Just like every lichen, how you stick to me
If your luck is dying now, go and plant a tree
With poetic license, always comes for free
Just like every lichen, how you stick to me
Weightless.. bare.. faithless... scared
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Mumble....
how i wish to be just everything
a tree full of leaves where some stars hang out tonight
or just fireflies if there be no stars
that will suffice or if there are no fireflies at all
perhaps a candlelight
a lonely candle put upon one of its roots
or if there be none at all
no tree or leaf or ground
or worm
i still just wish that i be everything in that nothing
a space
an echo a dust a wind
i just want to dissipate in everything that comes my way
a memory of you in a minute
or just a crumpled paper
a dew that dries up in air
a mark on the leaf
a scratch of the stone
a left over moss
i just want to have an image of myself
something to think about
for the meantime that you are not here
i simply want to explode
scatter
till no one finds me here
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rock & Roll People
Were the rock and roll people, born to pick the news;
Yeah, rock and people,
Just couldnt change it if Id choose.
Dont tell me where your head is, man,
You know it wont be missed.
Dont play the virgin mary,
We all know shes been kissed.
Rock and roll people, born to be the news;
Yeah, were rock and roll people,
Just couldnt change it if Id choose.
My father was a mother,
My mother was a son.
Dont play the mona lisa,
Weve all been twenty-one.
Rock and roll people, born to be the news;
Yeah, the rock and roll people,
Just couldnt change it if I choose.
Dont ask me bout the time of day,
Or how much space I need.
Dont feed me dog for dinner,
We all know you get green.
Rock and roll people, born to be the news;
Yes, the rock and roll people,
Just couldnt change it if I choose.
Sweet, sweet, rock and roll,
Sweet, sweet, rock and roll,
Sweet, sweet, rock and roll,
Sweet, sweet, rock and roll,
Sweet, sweet, rock and roll,
Sweet, sweet, rock and roll,
Sweet, sweet, rock and roll,
Sweet, sweet, rock and roll,
Rock and roll.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rock & Roll People
Were the rock and roll people, born to pick the news;
Yeah, rock and people,
Just couldnt change it if Id choose.
Dont tell me where your head is, man,
You know it wont be missed.
Dont play the virgin mary,
We all know shes been kissed.
Rock and roll people, born to be the news;
Yeah, were rock and roll people,
Just couldnt change it if Id choose.
My father was a mother,
My mother was a son.
Dont play the mona lisa,
Weve all been twenty-one.
Rock and roll people, born to be the news;
Yeah, the rock and roll people,
Just couldnt change it if I choose.
Dont ask me bout the time of day,
Or how much space I need.
Dont feed me dog for dinner,
We all know you get green.
Rock and roll people, born to be the news;
Yes, the rock and roll people,
Just couldnt change it if I choose.
Sweet, sweet, rock and roll,
Sweet, sweet, rock and roll,
Sweet, sweet, rock and roll,
Sweet, sweet, rock and roll,
Sweet, sweet, rock and roll,
Sweet, sweet, rock and roll,
Sweet, sweet, rock and roll,
Sweet, sweet, rock and roll,
Rock and roll.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hammock Upon The Winds
there lies sadness like patches of green moss
sticking upon a rock half covered by the clear water of the river
one may think that sadness will always be there as patches of
what we have always wanted to get rid off like peeling them off gently from
an old sharp and rugged edged rock
sometimes you become so tired planning and doing and then surrendering into the helplessness of a fallen leaf that floats and is carried slowly by the current of the river early morning on a Sunday
when people are not around spending holidays on places that they miss for the whole week
and so one lays its tired body on the side of the river's bank
wades his hands and feels the coolness of the water and then starts to flow and release what he thinks must be given away
one feels the restfulness of finally giving up
of not minding about what cares must be done in order to make
life smoother
flowing and easier like the way the brown leaf floats
like the way the blue clouds drift
like the way we let the moss grow
upon the side of the rock
having more wet times with the clear water of the river
having a clearer view of the orange fish within and the shiny pebbles
beneath them
words lull me like i were carried by the hammock upon the arms of the unseen winds....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He's Back
You're with your baby
And you're parked alone
On a summer night
You're deep in love
But you're deeper in the woods
You think you're doin' alright
You heard a voice
Did you see that face
Or was it just a dream
It can't be real
That only happens, babe
On the movie screen
If you see him comin'
Get away if you can
He's a dangerous man
Throws a dangerous party man
He's back
The man behind the mask
And he's out of control
He's back
The man behind the mask
He crawled out of his hole
Just to rock and roll
He's going out tonight
Going to make his rounds to get his fill
Standing staight and tall
He's a ton of fun
And he's dressed to kill
You know you read he was gone
It surely is him
But he's back on the prowl
Again and again and again
Don't you know
He's back
The man behind the mask
And he's out of control
He's back
The man behind the mask
He crawled out of his hole
Just to rock and roll
You know you read he was gone
It surely is him
But he's back on the prowl
Again and again and again
He's back
The man behind the mask
And he's out of control
He's back
The man behind the mask
He crawled out of his hole
Just to rock and roll
He's back
The man behind the mask
And he's out of control
He's back
The man behind the mask
He crawled out of his hole
Just to rock and roll
He's back
The man behind the mask
And he's out of control
He's back
The man behind the mask
He crawled out of his hole
Just to rock and roll
He's back
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sweet Little Rock & Roller
By: chuck berry as done by nazareth
Nineteeen years old and as sweet as she can be
Dressed up like a downtown christmas tree
Dancin and hummin a rock-roll melody
Shes the daughter of a well-respected man
Who taught her how to judge and understand
Soon she became a rock-roll music fan
Sweet little rock and roller, sweet little rock and roller
Papa dont have to scold her, says he cant hardly hold her
She never gets any older, sweet little rock and roller
Shouldve seen her eyes when the band began to play
Famous singers sang and barred away
Stars performed, she screamed and yelled hooray!
Ten thousand eyes were watching her leave the floor
Five thousand tongues were screaming out more! more!
About fifteen hundred waitin outside the door
Sweet little rock and roller
Sweet little rock and roller
Papa dont have to scold her, says he cant hardly hold her
She never gets any older, sweet little rock and roller
Sweet little rock and roller
Sweet little rock and roller
Sweet little rock and roller
Sweet little rock and roller
Sweet little rock and roller
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Right Mask
One night a poem came up to a poet
From now on, it said, you must wear a mask.
What kind of mask? asked the poet.
A rose mask, said the poem.
I've used it already, said the poet,
I've exhausted it.
Then wear the mask that's made out of
a nightingale's song, use that mask.
Oh, it's an old mask, said the poet,
it's all used up.
Nonsense, said the poem, it's the perfect mask,
still, try on the god mask,
now that mask illuminates heaven.
It's a tight mask, said the poet,
and the stars crawl about in it like ants.
Then try on the troubador's mask, or the singer's mask,
try on all the popular masks.
I have, said the poet, but they fit so easily.
The poem was getting impatient,
it stamped its feet like a child,
it screamed. Then try on your own face,
try the one mask that terrifies,
the mask only you could possibly use,
the mask only you could wear out.
The poet tore at his face til it bled,
this mask? he yelled, this mask?
Yes, said the poem, yes.
But the poet was tired of masks,
he had lived too long with them,
he snatched at the poem and stuck it in his face.
Its screams were muffled, it wept, it tried to be lyrical,
it wriggled into his eyes and mouth.
Next day his friends were afraid of him,
he looked so distorted.
Now it's the right mask, said the poem, the right mask.
It clung to him lovingly and never let go again.
poem by Brian Patten
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Gather Moss And More Of Moss
to gather moss
be a stone
to gather more moss
be a very still stone
be a stone still till the end
of time
you stand still and think
you want to be the moss
rather than a stone
to be all moss
you must betray the stillness
of stone
you must even forget
the importance of
what a moss can be
then you think some more
to be completely this moss
you need to be friendly
to the water and to the river
then you decide to be the water
instead of the moss
to be more than the water
you wish instead to become the river
and so you flow and learn the rush
and become the running river
until what you want really
is just to flow
to rush and run and then
you become nothing
but the motion itself
until you are lost
and then
you become what you are now
lost but real
always flowing, rushing, running
where nobody owns you
not even the river
or the stones or the moss
you have become
this running, this flowing, this being
so real so free
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Simplicity Of Thoughts
thoughts are simple
i see them without color
we dress thoughts with words
so the other person we love can see
we add a little touch of the hand
so the other can feel that she is not lonely
that i am can also feel
that i am not alone
but whether we are here or not
lonely or otherwise
thoughts still roam this world
looking for a medium
the tree, the cloud, the moss and the rock
it is my theory have thoughts
the rock is numb the cloud is lifeless
the tree is deeply rooted to the earth
the moss too green sticking to a rock
remembering the rivers that were with it
for centuries, they get tired
and they do not believe in words anymore
too many lies
and verbosity
we are the only ones who still have faith
and too foolish.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Stone and I
By the edge of the mini-pond
where I sit when the weather’s fit for it,
there’s this stone.
I’d like to call it a rock
because that sounds more dignified
and metaphorical and carries
more tradition, but
it’s a stone
and on it grows a lichen;
not the vivid, flat, yellow and vermilion and red and black
lichen that grows on stone walls
by the seaside; this one
has those colours at its edge
but has a furry crop of tiny green fronds
cropping from its mossy green
which are quite vigorous in their tiny way.
I liked it so much that I tried
to get the other stones around the pond
to match, by douching them alternately
with urine and yoghourt in the approved manner
after dark for obvious reasons
but they didn't respond;
I guess stonecrop beautiful word
knows its own field so to speak
and won't be rushed, at least
it makes me treasure this one more
If I had the money which I haven’t
and the patience which I don’t
I’d have a perfect, model
Zen garden complete with sand
which I’d rake with a wooden rake
every morning into swirly lines
with graceful sweeping Tai Chi movements
until I got bored
but I just have this stone
with faintly Japanese pretensions
mine not its
however I’d like to think a Zen master
would quite approve of my modest intention
and say, less is more, more or less…
and now I think of it, the stone
has its own Zen garden; though whether
you could call this an eco-system,
whether the stone and the lichen
have a relationship, is open
to question, as is
whether the stone so agreeably placed
by the pool well OK pond
has a relationship with the pond
anyway, on a sunny day
the stone and I sit there together
if together is quite the right word
I feel we’re together whatever it feels
if it feels at all that is
and I guess it's even possible
in an evolutionary view of things,
lichen on stone, first life on earth
and all that, that the lichen
and I are really related, with
a common ancestor
which would account for a lot
and we sit there quietly in quite
a Japanese sort of Zen-ness
of being one with nature
and I become don’t laugh more stony
and still; as for the stone
I really can’t say but
It feels good
and in this state of relaxed contemplation
which I guess is the point of those
Japanese gardens
it occurs to me that the stone
and perhaps the water too
have qualities that I lack –
they know just how to be,
to be still, to be themselves
so there may be a point to what
we sometimes call with the trace
of a sneer,
communing with nature
since as Saint Augustine said
the whole cosmos is our
holy book; so why not
open it
*
[with a namaste to Augustine and Eckhart Tolle]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The moss that loves the stone
It is the moss that loves the stone
Most. No matter what or when, the
Moss somehow manages to stay
Even without a why, they say.
But the moss keeps on sticking
To the body of the stone that
Keeps its nonminding stiffness.
It is cold, it is hard, it is unfeeling
At all. It is the moss that keeps its
Love. It sticks with it, rain or shine.
It rolls with it. It stays with it even
In the desert, even it if means its
Own death. It is the moss that sticks
To the stone. It is its true lover.
In the river, the water has ordered
The moss to leave. It ordered the stone
To crush it. The moss cannot be
Removed. It covered the stone.
It is loving it whole.The stone has
Become the moss, and the stone
Is gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No One Steps Twice On The River Of Life...
it is not the rage of this river.
when i was a child, as mother says,
i keep my finger inside my mouth
sucked by my throat, to keep hunger away
beside the bank of this river
i am the spectator
and the river believes in the magic
of my innocence
it flows always in a distant
affection,
it is not the rage of the river,
it is i, the grown up man who goes swimming
in the river and feel
the joys of its cool waters
always moving on towards
a destination
it is the swimming with a friend
and then
with a lover and then with a wife
and then my silence,
what we do not have we force to forget
it is the bathing in the river
the rinsing and the cleansing of the waters
it is not the rage of this river
and then we become too weak to be in this river
the river moves on and on
towards the deepest sea looking for the
opening
i wait by the bank of this river
many things have been missed
the more important ones
the one that gives the posterity of
my humanity
it is denied of me because of this river
that gives me nothing
all the while i was the leaf that fell off from
the tree
on the side of this river
and i floated because i have nothing to do
because i can do nothing about
the flow of the river
i become the dead leaf that the air
rides upon
tossed and bumped on boulders
till i sink
deep down the river
that i shall pass only once.
time.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sweet Little Rock n Roller
(chuck berry)
Nineteen years old and as sweet as she could be
All dressed up like a downtown christmas tree
Dancin and hummin a rock n roll melody
Shes the daughter of a well respected man
Who taught her how to jerk and understand
Then she became a rock n roll music fan
Sweet little rock n roller, sweet little rock n roller
Her daddy doesnt have to scold her
Her partner cant hardly hold her
Because she never gets any older
Sweet little rock n roller
Shoulda seen her eyes when the band began to play
And the famous singer sang and bowed away
When the stars were gone she screamed and yelled hurray
Ten thousand eyes were watchin them leave the floor
Five thousand tongues are screaming out more and more
About fifteen hundred waiting outside the door
Sweet little rock n roller, sweet little rock n roller
Her daddy doesnt have to scold her
Her partner cant hardly hold her
Because she never gets any older
Sweet little rock n roller
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What's Your Name?
while walking...
i stopped beneath a tree,
and spoke to a leaf:
'what's your name? '
the leaf paused for a moment,
and spoke,
'you can call me child of the limb,
or child of the tree,
or child of the earth,
or child of the sun and rain...
or you can just call me, Bob!
what's your name? '
i thought for a moment,
and smiled:
'you can just call me...
.....leaf! '
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Dead Leaf
between these two shores
i float like a dead leaf
am not dead either..
if i was i will not feel the pain
budded flowered and became a fruit
on one shore
eaten and as a bare stray seed laid
at the other shore
as a seed i did germinate
the mother root grew into a tree
an off spring flower and fruit came by
all along as a seed i thought i was the tree itself
I NEVER THOUGHT I WILL LOOSE
MY IDENTITY AS A SEED
CAN A TREE SHOW ITS SEED
EVEN IF IT WANTS TO
ALL ALONG...
I thought i was the tree itself
may be i was a part of each part
the stem to hold, the leaf to nourish
till fate wind blew me down as a dead leaf
today as a dead leaf i float
wanting a living from one shore
wanting relationship from the other
as a dead leaf i float..am not dead with pain
ALL ALONG....
I DID THINK I WAS THE TREE ITSELF
BEING JUST A SEED
poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
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The Consolation....
when a leaf falls down
lands on the the face of the river
that flows finally to
the arms of the sea
what is really the consolation?
the leaf has kissed
the lips of the water
and those who say that
a kiss is not sweet is
altogether wrong...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Leaf And The Tree
When will you learn, myself, to be
a dying leaf on a living tree?
Budding, swelling, growing strong,
Wearing green, but not for long,
Drawing sustenance from air,
That other leaves, and you not there,
May bud, and at the autumn's call
Wearing russet, ready to fall?
Has not this trunk a deed to do
Unguessed by small and tremulous you?
Shall not these branches in the end
To wisdom and the truth ascend?
And the great lightning plunging by
Look sidewise with a golden eye
To glimpse a tree so tall and proud
It sheds its leaves upon a cloud?
Here, I think, is the heart's grief:
The tree, no mightier than the leaf,
Makes firm its root and spreads it crown
And stands; but in the end comes down.
That airy top no boy could climb
Is trodden in a little time
By cattle on their way to drink.
The fluttering thoughts a leaf can think,
That hears the wind and waits its turn,
Have taught it all a tree can learn.
Time can make soft that iron wood.
The tallest trunk that ever stood,
In time, without a dream to keep,
Crawls in beside the root to sleep.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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