An Old Poem
an old man
walks downhill
following the path
that he once
prided
at the foot
of the hill lies the
six-foot hole
on the side
is the banyan tree
climbed by
this persistent vine
with white flowers
the place is calm
butterflies pay it
more visits.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Banyan Tree
Banyan tree, banyan tree
that century old banyan tree
standing grandeurly for us to see
banyan tree, banyan tree.
Cool breeze passing through
seeking blessings of banyan tree
branches shaking in approval
banyan tree, banyan tree.
Glassy green with majestic trunk
touching the earth, not breaking free
shelter home for different birds
banyan tree, banyan tree.
Yellowish streaks, some with reddish tinge
welcome every season with a glee
symbol of eternal life
banyan tree, banyan tree.
Shedding leaves, like tears falling
a grandfather lamenting on its knees
new plants cuddling around
banyan tree, banyan tree.
Lord Buddha became its buddy
meditation was the only key
peace you get underneath
that is why it is banyan tree.
Banyan tree, banyan tree
wish fullfilling, it is banyan tree
just pray here and let you see
Banyan tree, banyan tree.
A life giver and just for free
Banyan is my national pride
preserve these at any cost
don't commit a homicide?
God blessed us with banyan tree
heat absorbing banyan tree
has healing powers this banyan tree
banyan tree, banyan tree.
---- X -----
copyright/Children of Lost God/Tribhawan Kaul
All rights reserved
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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One Foot On The Path
You say, come over baby, come talk to me
Then you drive me so crazy
I cant hardly see
If this keeps goin on
I might just leave and not come back
I got one foot in your doorway
I got one foot on the path
Well you beg me to stay
Then you order me to go
All this up and down
Is wear and tear on my soul
Im wonderin if our future
Is gonna look just like our past
I got one foot in your doorway
I got one foot on the path
Now I love you, baby
Dont get me wrong
But this heart of mine
May not be that strong
You got me on your line
Reel me in or throw me back
I got one foot in your doorway
I got on foot on the path
Youd best thing about it, baby
But dont take too long
If we cant get it right
Ill just be movin on
I cant wait forever
For us to get this thing on track
I got one foot in your doorway, baby
I got on foot on the path
song performed by by Kenny Wayne Shepherd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Straw Foot
I guess you didnt hear me
When I told you for the first time
Well dont you worry
It wont be the last
All I need a floorboard
An a wooden shoe
Step aside an let my lady through
Hey foot, straw foot
Low we lay em down
Hey foot, straw foot
Up an back around
See the high priest
He took my place
When the judge looks to me
He saw his sons face
Not gonna join you in
Your tower of babble, boy
Tired o that talkin
Im sick o that noise
Hey foot, straw foot
Low we lay em down
Hey foot, straw foot
Coverin ground
Im not alone
An looks can be deceivin
When we get down to it
Youre talkin when you
Should be leavin
Ive been to nebraska
It reminded me of spain
All the questions loaded
All my answers same
Hey foot, straw foot
Low we lay em down
Hay foot, straw foot
Coverin ground
Let us not mince our words
Lets say it true this time
I need your forgiveness
Just like you need mine
Tell me how it is that
You dont want what hes given
It aint no sin son
To be forgiven
Hey foot, straw foot
Low we lay em down
Hey foot, straw foot
All over town
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Pool
a pool lies at the foot of a hill
there is a bush of mushing green
beside a rotten tree are mushrooms
birds drink here and then sing
a crystal pool where Narcissus
rests and stays for a while
at the side of the bank are white stones
a frog licks a fly
drinking upon a dropp of sperm
Narcissus is sleeping
soundly upon a grass
under a tree
it is windy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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163
Avoiding me
You get wet
In the rain
Under the tree
At the foot
Of the hill
How I wish
I were the
Rain
The tree
And the foot
Of the hill
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How I Wish I Were The Rain
Avoiding me
You get wet
In the rain
Under the tree
At the foot
Of the hill
How I wish
I were the
Rain
The tree
And the foot
Of the hill
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To Heaven On Foot
Ta.................Ta.................Ta..
My journey began a long time ago
how it began is unknown
in this journey I was born
where to go lies in
Ta..............Ta...............Ta
the thuds of my foot steps
as I head to heaven.
Ts a long way to go
A life time ride by horse
through suns outstretched
to a land where
I find my own foot marks
telling me I have been here before
I am lost
perhaps the path lies in
Ta.............Ta.............Ta
the thuds of my foot steps
as I head to heaven on foot
Ts a long way to go
a one day ride by time
if day be eternal,
A journey o'er that hurdle
I hope time offers me its saddle.
Ts still a long way to go
miles and miles above the skies
a dismayed try after all the tries
ts still a long way to go
to heaven on foot.
My feet has become heavy
lardened with the sound
of my foot steps
my mind is lost at the centre
of direction,
am lost at the centre of a compass
hesitant to haste
so I move slow, a still gas
the path lies in
Ta.............Ta............Ta
as I heard to heaven
on foot.
I have walked for a life time
I have walked at least to death's time
now before me
are woods of green
and songs of birds playing,
are dear birds flying happily to heaven?
My matildah has
but a compass,
so I unpack my soul
clean its feet and
Ta...............Ta.............Ta...
To heaven on foot.
To cut through these woods
To cut through the song
of the white ravine
To cut through a way
and pass through the raven
Is the misguided hope of angels,
fallen angels
so I shall walk and
will never get lost in
Ta.................Ta...................Ta
the thuds of my foot steps
as I head to heaven.
In these woods
that tree points north
that other tree points north
all of the trees point to north
but their posture
is dimantled in a still gesture.
They point north
with their leaves
but they dont march
to heaven's gates
they are just still, stagnant pasture,
I cannot feed
their direction I cannot follow
but
Ta.............Ta............Ta!
To heaven on foot
I go and nothing on my way
I forego.
If I at once be stranded
was told to trace
my way back
following my prints and my scent
back to birth back to heaven
for I am from heaven.
But all I stumble upon
are cries of a child,
will the noise lead me to that mild
and allowed heaven?
Or do I have to cry
as I walk to heaven?
Ta....Ta.......................Ta...Ta! ! !
Through hills and drowning in seas
on my way to heaven,
on foot.
Across plains and hills
my body, sweating profusely
and tracking in ice
through and through the chills
my body no longer sweating,
sweat is freezing on my body,
everywhere frost
and I am not lost
on my way to heaven
on foot.
Ta........Ta....................Ta...... Ta
I walk now
Ta...Ta.............Ta...Ta
I will walk then
TaTa............TaTa...
until I reach the gates
Ta..Ta..Ta.....................Ta...Ta.. .Ta! !
Increasing my pace and rates.
On my way to heaven on foot
On my way to heaven on foot!
poem by Chanda Mwenechanya
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My Mind Was Full Of Ideas This Morning
my mind is full of ideas this morning
while i am walking alone
on the grassy path of this mountainside
i am so tired. I take my rest sitting on a log
rotting under a tree.
i gaze on the ricefields just below this hill.
some white herons as usual fly low
some sparrows regroup themselves and
scatter in an instant like a confetti of dry leaves.
the sun comes out in glory
proclaiming though its reign on this corner
the gumamela flowers on the side of the hills bow down
and bloom again
i am amazed on the beginning of this beautiful day.
The butterflies flutter on the bushes of white petals
of these wild flowers. I see a nest with three small white eggs.
the sound of waters cascading on the creek.
some leaves are carried away. A fish jumps trying to catch
a low flying dragonfly. Some dew begins to lose their
glow on the bamboo leaves.The law of evaporation gets in.
Lost. I am so empty.The window of my heart is open.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Rill From The Foot Of The Mountain
The rill from the foot of the mountain that joins the river to the sea
It has babbled on downhill forever by hedgerows in the high
Country
It has witnessed the birth and death of millions of Seasons even before the first Human was born
In the upland wood where it flows through the birds sing at dawn of the morn.
The rill it is truly immortal something that will live forever more
Forever 'twill flow to the river that flows to the great ocean shore
To it there is not a time limit it is as old as father time
It has inspired the long dead poets to glorify it in their rhyme.
The rill from the foot of the mountain towards the river ripples along
And sometimes above it's quiet babble the dippers can be heard in song
The dark brown white breasted waterbirds of Human kind they do seem shy
By the water-way they were born and in the water-way they will die.
The rill from the foot of the mountain downhill to the big river flow
The ancestors of the upland farmers who lived by it centuries ago
In the old Village graveyard it flows by with the long departed they lay
As on for to join the big river it babbles on it's downhill way.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A foot soldier
When I was hurt & lost someone dear
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
When the going got tough with nothing to gear
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
when the faith felt small & doubts really bigger
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
When the sky was dark & nothing seemed near
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
when the wounds were hurting with no immediate cure
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
when the hopes were grim & nothing was clear
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
When storms came hard striking some fear
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
I fought & fought & I fought till the victory was sure
Yes, I could do it because I am a foot soldier
poem by Ameya Deshpande
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Dancing the invisible line
Some like to sit on fences, admire the view in safety;
some are born hurdlers; .
draw a line, and some minds shrink back;
others can’t wait to compete, first over wins…
poets, said the sage, should always
walk on the edge of madness…
ah, remember when you were a child,
walking down the path one foot within,
one foot beyond?
‘a line of poetry’…every line, a line,
one foot beyond, one foot within –
prose, verse; rhymed, unrhymed;
metered, unmetered; actual, fantasy;
elevated, jokey; personal, impersonal;
tragic, comic; a road taken, or not taken..
oh, so many lines
that others painted on the road –
dance down that road,
one foot beyond, one foot within..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Norse lullaby
The sky is dark and the hills are white
As the storm-king speeds from the north to-night,
And this is the song the storm-king sings,
As over the world his cloak he flings:
"Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;"
He rustles his wings and gruffly sings:
"Sleep, little one, sleep."
On yonder mountain-side a vine
Clings at the foot of a mother pine;
The tree bends over the trembling thing,
And only the vine can hear her sing:
"Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;
What shall you fear when I am here?
Sleep, little one, sleep."
The king may sing in his bitter flight,
The tree may croon to the vine to-night,
But the little snowflake at my breast
Liketh the song I sing the best,--
Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;
Weary thou art, anext my heart
Sleep, little one, sleep.
poem by Eugene Field
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Left Foot, Right Foot
left foot, right foot,
left foot, right foot,
eyes fixed straight ahead....
drawn by the spectre
of our own greed;
use it up, throw it out,
use it up, throw it out....
hardened and lifeless,
eaten from within
by the maggots of ego...
deaf to the cries
of our own children,
blinded by the 'God'
of cyber technology...
strip the fields,
cut down the forests...
mine the mountains,
we pee in our own
drinking water, and
walk away....
leaving nuclear tracks
in the womb of time.
left foot, right foot,
left foot, right foot...
marching blindly to hell
with drool on our chins!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Pure And Untouched
there is the other side of the mountain
made of dessert sand
nothing interesting in there
no gems,
everything diamond-like
is just imagination
when a friend asks about this side
we tell all these lies
that at its foot is a comfortable cottage
that beside it is a river
there is a white horse,
birds often make a stop-over here
trees are fruiting
and flowers bloom all year long
to be fair
there is also something true and beautiful in that
other side
but no one knows it except you
and on that same side of the mountain
you still make lies
afraid that someone shall take it away from you
because you are weak
and cannot protect it
from the invasion of the masses
from the shallowness of their minds
their incapacity to understand that in there
everything is good and can be seen and felt
but not a bit shall be taken
it is the world where the spectator must view
the world with respect
because it is untouched because it remains
to be itself
untaken, untouchable,
pure, and hence can never be us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Brothers (For Arnold and Donald Fletcher)
One called from Salonika and his call
Rang to his brother;
Forded wide rivers, climbed the mountain wall,
Seeking the other.
Are you asleep, Arnold, or do you wake?
Our way's together!
The day's before us and the path we take
Over the heather.
As oft before, breasting the Wicklow hills,
Light-foot and leaping
Over the bog-pools and the singing rills,
Side by side keeping.
We have known all the best that life can give,
Tasted the sweetest;
Shall we grow old, lag heavy-foot and grieve,
We, who were fleetest?
Let us be gone while yet it is the morn
Dewy before us,
Light on the mountains and the springing corn
And the lark o'er us!
The voice from Salonika found the way
Easy of passage,
And to French Flanders on the second day
Carried the message.
Arnold has gone the way that Donald went,
Donald's o'ertaken;
Up to the highest peaks they climb unspent,
Footing the bracken.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Goat Hill
Goat Hill
Walking out the door that man told me to go to hell
My son asked mommy where’s Goat Hill
I said I don’t know son it must be through the valley
My son said mommy lets go there
Up to goat hill
I bet it’s on top of the mountain
I bet there is waterfalls, birds, trees, pretty flowers for all the butterflies and honey bees
I said son if we could I’m sure we would
Most definitely go up to goat hill
I’m not ever going to take you where that man said to go
That place is an internal melting pot
And its way to hot
There’s no mountains with snow on top
No waterfalls trees birds butterflies or honey bees in the place that man said to go
Son I know you are good
Some day together I believe we will find the place called Goat Hill
You found somewhere in your mind
Where life is gentle and Kind
Everyday and every night all the time
Son I bet up on Goat Hill we will only see Gods will being done by the Father and the Son
poem by E.Marie AldrichCreasy
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Ineptness
Carry a big stick,
To threaten from a distance.
Send me pictures of it...
To upset me quick,
With visions I'll be hit with it!
But you'll be wrong wrong.
And I'll be long gone!
Foot power...
Zip.
I like buttered biscuits,
Baked and fresh.
Heated from the oven,
And tasting their best!
You can bring that big stick,
To threaten me with it.
But when I've eaten buttered biscuits,
I'm prepared to split.
Humming a song...
With,
Foot power...zip!
Inept.
Foot power,
Zip!
Ineptness.
Foot power zip!
Inept.
Foot power,
Zip!
Ineptness.
Foot power zip!
'What? '
Foot power zip!
'What is this? '
Foot power zip!
'What? '
Foot power zip!
'What is this? '
Foot power zip!
'What? '
Ineptness!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Butterflies For Breakfast? (Life Poem)
Butterflies before you sit the final exam,
Butterflies before you go for a job interview,
Butterflies before you ask her out on a date,
Butterflies before you kiss her for the first time,
Butterflies before you propose two will be one,
Butterflies before you meet her family,
Butterflies before you see her all in white,
Butterflies before you make that big speech,
Butterflies before you see that your baby is OK,
Butterflies before you get news from the doctor,
Butterflies before you lose your job again,
Butterflies before you face any little crisis,
But -
No butterflies for breakfast.
poem by Ian Beckett
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Walking
Take your left foot,
Bend the knee.
Move the foot forward.
Place it down.
Then do the same thing,
Wth the right foot.
'Suppose I started with my right foot?
Would that make a difference? '
Try it and see which makes you feel comfortable.
'I like this.'
Now...
Don't be frightened.
But next week,
'We' are going to attempt to do this...
From a standing position.
One moment.
Do you have a question.
~Yes.
Is it possible you can slow down a little.
I am taking notes and you are going too fast.~
No problem.
'What are you calling this? '
~Right.
What is this called? ~
Walking.
~Do you mind spelling that? ~
W-a-l-k-i-n-g.
Walking.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Tree, the Vine and the Grass
The tree said to the grass, Is it your contentment
To be just at my foot, remain under my shade
Why don't you do as I, my aims are very high
I want to reach the moon and the stars in the sky
With far reaching vision, I stand in dignity
Stand out for the rest of the forest to see
Oh yes, oh yes, my friend, said the vine to the grass
Why do you not aim high, just like the two of us
My stance is upright, reaching high altitudes
I can stand side by side with any tree I choose
Unlike you who remain earthbound without a choice
To you my friend, a tree, I do not want to be
equal to you in height, low I would rather be
For the law of nature, I clearly remember
You stand the higher, you will fall the harder
I do not aim for things I know I would not reach
Earthbound I chose to be, than fail in my attempts
To you my friend, a vine, here's what I have to say
Stand I won't if on borrowed stability
On the arms of a friend you just cling and depend
You cannot stand alone, own strength you do not have
When I pause to reckon and try to look around
In the world of humans, the likes of you abound
They cling to anyone who has money and might
As you cling to the tiniest twig or biggest branch
Wanting not to be low, not to be trampled at
Then a hurricane came with its wind blowing wild
It uprooted the vine, the tree fell to the ground
And there they lay in waste, under the sun they died
The grass is still there, flourishing and alive
poem by Pacific Hernandez
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