En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Beauty Speaks In Silence

early morning
along the white sands of the shore

there are no people here
most of them are still asleep

the sea is calm as silk
clear as glass

the sun is rising gently
in the gray horizon

it is beauty that speaks
my words are shying away

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A View

driftwood
with seven twigs
on the shore
as clear as glass
is the water
and all stones and pebbles
are visible

above
blue skies
so blue that the white cotton clouds
appear like sperm cells moving
impregnating
an earth-sky womb

and then
it rains
the water rises
the drift wood again taken
floating
gently to another shore
another island
of white sands

a coconut tree towers
to reach a waft of cloud
winds as cool as ice
sands slipping on the fingers
a leaf from a guyabano tree falls
on the mouth
of a sleeping woman
beside her
the man whose arms are enclosing
her throughout
the rainy night

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In the White

In the white, early morning
I hang my face
over her head
and kiss the flesh above her brow.

I hang my neck, a bow in the air
and kiss the tiny, tickling hairs above her brow.

In the white light of morning
I hang myself over her
and kiss the flesh of her skull

Her white skull
sleeps in the early morning as I hang myself
to kiss her.

I hang myself to kiss her
as she sleeps in the white, early morning.

She does not wake to my touch.

I hang myself above her
on the white bow
of early morning.

She does not wake to my hanging.

The window is cracked and taped.
The outside air is cold, forceful.

I bend myself
above her sleeping body
to kiss her, gently on the brow.

To kiss her gently on the brow
I hang myself.

poem by Chavisa Woods
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The Storm In My Sea Finally Subsided...,

the storm of my sea finally subsides
i am a chinese silk spread on the tranquility of the salty water
seagulls leave because there is no fish to hunt
and take upon their hungry beaks

i have no regret, i have finally seen the sun
across my whiter horizon
i see boats and nets spread on my surface
i am a very calm day

soon the children will come and play
throw balls on my white sands
fill this space with laughter and not one of them will ask

what a storm was, where there was a house here before but was
taken by the rage of the wind
gone,

the children have nothing to do with the past
they are not meant for that

an old man arrives with a grandson, being helped to sit on one of the chairs in the shore under a shade of a big old tree
he is the thinker of this storm this place
he knows everything, but he is silent as a dead leaf on his feet

he rests his head on a pillow puts his feet and hands in the fold
wears his dark sunglasses and stares at the far far horizon

i will join him when the sun finally sets, when the color of the horizon turns into orange and then black

as i turn off the light.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Retreating To The Coolness Of Life

the sea is calm this morning
and you try a little casual walk
along the shore
you stare at the horizon
you wish a cyclone
a tsunami
a whirlwind
a whirpool

you wish the eye of the storm
you wish for the
hole of the earth to open up
and swallow you
whole

no one of this nature
does it for you, however

the sea is still calm and the sands so soft and fine
the breeze touches your face
the sun ascends and finally on this sunny day

you go back to retrace your steps
find the shade of the tree
retreating to its coolness
now you still hope to find a dream
a body

life is patient and still wanting
you

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Early In The Morning

Early in the morning and I cant get right
Had a little date with my baby last night
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Now its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to all the places where we used to go
Went to your house but you dont live there no more
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to your friends house but she was out
Knock on your fathers door and he began to shout get out there boy
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to doogie chain to get something to eat
Waiter looked at me and said you sure look beat
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rising With The Morning

Colour me bright yellow, so I reflect the sun,
Let me sink down gently when the day is done,
Rising with the morning, summer's warmth inbue,
Shining with the happiness of always loving you.

Colour me bright amber, like the autumn's glow,
Let me sink down gently, onto falling leaves below,
Rising with the morning, misty with the dew,
Enveloped with the happiness of truly loving you.

Colour me bright silver, as in the sparkling snow,
Let me sink down gently when the cold winds blow,
Rising with the morning, winter's ice to strew,
Trembling with the happiness of warmly loving you.

Colour me bright emerald, now spring's on the way,
Let me sink down gently on our soft duvet,
Rising with the morning, seeing things brand new,
Sighing with the happiness of me just loving you.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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As Things Awake

The crimson hues of morning call,
its fingers touch some but not all.
The golden orb on the horizon wake
intensifies the morning skies.
We watch in wonder
at the beauty of a dawning day.
Soon the quiet of early morn
will be shattered as things awake.
Enjoy the moments of tranquillity
as from the eastern horizon
the morning does wake.

poem by David Harris
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Pleasure Without The Use Of Money

watch the dew
early in the morning
they glitter

look at the
rising of the sun
with so much
gentle light

the trees
are friends with
the sea breeze

the sands spread
peace on the shore

the sea brings
you the songs of
the waves

the clouds drift
so light
without any attachment
for things

the birds have
always the sky
as their playgrounds

look around you
just look around you

joy flows in your heart
and all these
are free

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Reconciliation......

recently the sea had taken
so many lives
people did not want to eat fish
for a while
some coconut trees were uprooted
the wind did not have second thoughts
showing its greatness
through its cruelty
blowing away houses and
leaving children homeless
and couples
traumatized
someone killed himself the other day
and others
looked blank
staring to the gray sands of the shore

today the sea is appealing
it is a piece of silk
smooth and calm and
too inviting
like a beautiful woman waiting to be
embraced by my arms

it is this act of reconciliation
and gratitude for being saved
i too could have died
if i did not go to the friend's birthday party

i have no choice
but to take my dip and swim for hours

above me is the sun seemingly smiling
underneath are the fish
playing with the cleansed corals
and dancing seaweeds.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Old Age

old age as imagined
must be as graceful as the
gray hair glistening to the
sunset dissolving on the
blackness of the horizon
slowly, gently, carefully
gliding, fading
and with the slightest
closing of the
silent sigh, like a
glimmer
a single ripple
turning into a silk
bandanna.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On Calais Sands

ON Calais Sands the gray began,
Then rosy red above they gray;
The morn with many a scarlet van
Leaped, and the world was glad with May!
The little waves along the bay
Broke white upon the shelving strands;
The sea-mews flitted white as they
On Calais Sands!

On Calais Sands must man with man
Wash honor clean in blood to-day;
On spaces wet from waters wan
How white the flashing rapiers play,—
Parry, riposte! and lunge! The fray
Shifts for a while, then mournful stands
The Victor: life ebbs fast away
On Calais Sands!

On Calais Sands a little space
Of silence, then the plash and spray,
The sound of eager waves that ran
To kiss the perfumed locks astray,
To touch these lips that ne’er said “Nay,”
To dally with the helpless hands,
Till the deep sea in silence lay
On Calais Sands!

Between the lilac and the may
She waits her love from alien lands;
Her love is colder than the clay
On Calais Sands!

poem by Andrew Lang
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A Metaphor For Myself.....

early afternoon
i undress and walk towards the water

it is a gray moment
i wade into the water
it is clear
and i can see some fish and
sand at the bottom

i am alone
it is too peaceful away
from everyone

the water is lukewarm
derived from noon
and the shore is too private
to myself

the trees are still and the cottage
has an eye
staring at me from afar

i swim farther, into the depths
floating

there are no seagulls
a ship with a smoke shears the
far horizon

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Early Morning

(pal waaktaar/ mags)
Early morning
Eight oclock precise
I see the lonely august sun arise
Say you know
You will
Move me like you do
Out on the fields...
Im waiting the whole night through
Early morning, early morning, yeah
Ran the whole way
Down to the tracks
Through the doorway, then a last look back
Say you know
You will
Save me like you do
Out on the fields...
Ive waited the whole night through
Early morning, early morning, yeah
I climbed all the stairways
To find the rooftop clear
Got the shotgun lying with me here
Say you know
You will
Move me like you do
Out on the fields...
You know how it feels, yeah
Early morning, early morning, yeah
Early morning
Eight oclock precise

song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cloud Nine

She floats gently
In upland thickets of white peace
Sunshine when mates her
In kaleidoscopic touches
Gently shying her ilk
Impregnates tenebrous moist
Lo, their merry pour of mercy
I'm merged and vanished
Thorough the stream of bliss
All around and I'm unseen
To preach a mantra
I'm not Ramanuja
Atop this hill
Moksha to self my own
I'd but say

poem by Indira Renganathan
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The morning scent of rosemary

‘Rosemary – that’s for remembrance..'

Can you smell it now?
that tough yet choosy herb,
giving of itself;

remembrance, perhaps, for Northern Europeans,
of that package tour to Crete:
rising early, that first morning,
the body clock not quite adjusted,

the sun already warming mountain-sides
before it reaches down into the valley;

already, the intoxicating scent of wild herbs
rolling slowly down the hillside, telling you,
this, this, could be paradise..

below you, blue morning sea
beyond white walls of huddled houses..
still in the air, the hint of night-time’s blessed dew..

rosemary: did you think it named
after the fragrance of Mary’s own humility,
mingling with the scent of manger hay?
mingling with the sweetness of that day?

no – ‘ros marinus’, dew of the ocean,
is the meaning of its name…
though, how well it suits her memory..

suits, too, that remembered Cretan morning;
for before the Romans, Indians used those words;
the dew, humidity, rather than humility;
marine, cognate with the words
for the clear, pure light of sun on sea…

that Cretan morning:
the rosemaried fragrance of remembrance;
sunshine and white walls adoring one another;
sky and sea, two shades of Maryblue.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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A Little Reflection

early this morning just
when the sun is rising
i sit on a reclining chair
in the garden

i see the sun rising
and its rays reaching
my skin

warm as a caressing
hand of my beloved

i close my eyes
and see the calm
inside my heart

how beautiful
how warm

i sit under the sun
and hear a bird singing

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Brand-New Day

The barometer is rising
Nary a cloud in the blue sky;
A beautiful springtime morning.
And from the east a fiery eye
Peeks again from the horizon;
In waxing light the birds all sing
Their songs from leas down in the glen.
An errant goose decides to wing
In search of her straying gander,
The stubborn early morning dew
Clings to Ground Ivy and clover;
Another day arrives anew.
A photograph this scene would bless
But pictures one day fade away
Depicting words in rhymed verses
Will last this day and for always.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Soul’s Silhouetting Gulf’s Bay

I enjoy going out at the crack of dawning day,
Watching new sunrise come to the gulf’s bay.
When darkness from the earth starts its leap,
A whip-o-will calls for its mate with it to sleep.
Night sky turns its star lit darkness as I watch,
Into one breathless panorama for eye to catch.
God blends the morning sky with many a hue,
As blue of the sky replaces the morning’s dew.
Beautifully dotted with puffs of snowy white,
Outlined with different hues from rising light.
Horizon silhouetting every tall pine and palm,
With cool breeze blowing across water’s calm.
A thick brine salty mist rises from water’s face,
As all nature welcomes the new day into place.
Hearing different birds as they sing their calls,
Surf giving sweet fragrance as it rises and falls.
This is one of nature’s beauties God does give,
One, which I will never forget as long as I live.
Penning poetic words on paper is all I may do,
In sharing a majestic beauty of nature with you.

(© Simply Joseph,8/26/03 11: 50: 03 AM)

poem by Joseph Blitch
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This Morning Bird

This morning bird likes to sing
She likes to hear the morning bells ring

This morning bell is nice and clear to me
This morning bird shows no sympathy

This morning bird is very calm
But not calm enough when it
Comes to cruelty and bombs

So be careful and be calm to this morning bird
Because her sounds are the best things u ever heard

poem by Va Rockeya Foy
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The Sea

It is very early morning,
the days growth is just beginning.
I am already at the sea shore,
My favorite sea which I adore.
An early morning mist
Hides the ships on the road,
Waiting for their turn to be unloaded.
The rising sun breaks the dawn
and at last the mist has gone.
The caravan of the sun rays
runs quickly on the seas’ surface.
The sea shines with silver and gold,
It’s a hold of different sounds
which are the compounds
of the seagulls cry telling hi,
the splashes of the waves
loving to make new caves.
The warm breeze is so rorty
and the seagulls are so naughty,
they dance over the sea, they dabble,
the sea is their cradle,
they shout, they fly,
touching the sea and the sky.
I swim towards the sun.
It’s such fun to watch the waves run.
The sea licks all over my body
as I am a lollipop.
Finally I stop, wanting to dive,
I know: the sea is alive.
I want to learn its inner world
where everything looks purled.
The birth of the Earth was inside,
so many secrets the sea might hide.
I come back and lay on the warm sand,
feeling the pulse of the land.
I listen to the sea song,
it is so beautiful and long.
I fell asleep but not so deep.
My dreams go far,
they have no bar.
I swim, I dive, I fly,
watching the sea from the sky.
But…I suddenly wake up
because of a horrible scream,
that is not part of a dream.
Where does the noise come from?
Oh, yes! The petrels foretell the storm.
They proudly hover over the sea,
they can foresee the gale.
And really, like in a tale,
the sea immediately changes,
each wave ranges.
The waves become higher and higher,
they would like to inquire:
Who is so brave?
We can be your grave.
The sea!
Heavy wild and mild,
Severe and tender,
it can surrender.
The wind moans,
the sea groans,
it looks horrible and angry,
like a gray haired woman,
an old woman sending a damn.
But the sea is free,
And the old woman grumbles and stops.
After the heavy rain drops
the sea again becomes calm,
and again it looks like a charm.
The rainbow appears in the sky,
the seagulls joyfully fly.
Slowly the day comes to its end,
over the sea, over the land,
showing the beauty of the sunset.
But I have no regret.
I know there will be another morning,
There will be another day growing,
There will be more of the sea whims,
There will be more and more dreams.

Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)

poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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