Complacency
the road to understanding
appears to us
fenced and paved
the way all cleared
and the grasses on the side
well trimmed
the trees grown on a line
and flowers are grouped
according to their kind
complacent we think that this is all
that there is nothing to be figured out anymore
there is nothing to be scrutinized
nothing to question
you sit inside the hut on the side of a hill
and rest and breathe the air from there
there is nothing to be done
everything is handed
and what we do is only to receive
and behave
no one jumps over the fence
no one puts another kind of flower anymore
what grass you know
is the grass that is well trimmed
nature manicured
i have long gone away from that place
i live in the forest
and struggle to communicate with the monkeys
i am clearing my own way
and building my own house on top of a tree
i am well, and i guess happier.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Soledad
in true faith to her name
she lives alone in a small house
on the side of a hill
the trees are cut and the grasses
have grown taller
the house sheds of window panes
pillars recede their heights
soledad in true faith to her name
continues to live alone in that small house
on the side of the dead hill
she waits for her beloved
who long died in the war.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Other Greener Pasture
that is the usual case
when you look over the fence that you just built
your eyes gaze to the other side
greener than yours
i mean, the grass, not the greenness of your iris
if you could have built a higher fence
so that you can narrow your gaze
within the four corners of your walls
and live this life that is all yours to own
you could have been happier here
but life is not meant to be
just that
four walls, a higher fence, taking all that come
sitting down
and breathing the air inside
the lungs
which until now have not seen the
rays of the sun
play the game
climb a tree
try jumping over your fences
it is only then when
you realize
that after all
your grass has always been
greener
your air more fresh
your fence most stable.
after all you got a poodle
a rose, a butterfly, a bird,
and this PC
that knows how to write poetry.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Living A Clean Life
the grasses of the garden
are trimmed
and it looks so clean
and neat as it keeps on spreading
its capacity for longing
i wonder if we can be like the green grass
if we can be like the white sky
so beautiful yet true to their nature.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Beautiful nature in the forest
Our beatiful nature
as it is full of leisure
it keeps us suuplied with food
and gives us too shelter which is good
our beautiful nature
in the forest the trees swing
while the birds sing
the grass dance at the birds tune
as their moisture will run away so soon
our beautiful nature
as you step inside the forest
i set my foot on the ground to rest
as the forest skin holds my feet
the dew rans way and the grass take a sit
our beautiful nature
i pick out a fruit from a tree
since they are provided for free
i dont even need to bend on to one knee
i relax inside with calm
since the forest has also a natural charm
which will protect me
from any living predators
lastly i came out happily
as i was fed so quickly
which makes me to be taking care of nature
so lets all take care of nature
poem by Tanaka Chirombo
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The Indifferent Woman
after you build a higher iron grilled fence
round your house
letting the bushes rise
grass untrimmed and letting all the dust
accumulate in your old inherited furniture
after you bought more locks
the house door
and windows all shut
your phone line cut
added another dog to frighten away
possible guests
i said to myself, i don't care anymore
since you don't care anymore too
in anyway in anything
at any time
i guess you'll know the consequences of your acts
when you die you must learn to bury your own corpse.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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View From A Bridge
Written by ricky & marty wilde
View from a bridge, cant take anymore
View from a bridge, cant take anymore
I guess it all began about a year ago
Like a cheap love magazine
You know the kind you read about
And have to laugh
At the pages in between
Now I cant believe that fool inside is me
cos I just cant face the world
Ive grown to see
View from a bridge, cant take anymore
View from a bridge, cant take anymore
I saw you kissing her
I saw you making her
In the soft sheets in between
But when you turned around
I saw your eyes were fire
And you crashed out all my dreams
And like a fool I just stood there
And let it go
I should have fought right back
And let my feelings show
View from a bridge, cant take anymore
View from a bridge, cant take anymore
You sure as hell knew how
To make a fool out of me
Well you cut me down
For the things you want
And now its killing me
Ill lay it on the line now
Youre running out of time now
But then a voice said jump
And I just let go
And Im floating out in space
But then I feel your arms
And I turn around
To a ghost without a face
And I just dont know
Whats fact or fantasy
cos when I look below the bridge
I see its me
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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High and Low
The grasses green of sweet content
That spring, no matter high or low,
Where’er a living thing can grow,
On chilly hills and rocky rent,
And by the lowly streamlet’s side
Oh! why did e’er I turn from these?
The lordly, tall, umbrageous trees,
That stand in high aspiring pride,
With massive bulk on high sustain
A world of boughs with leaf and fruits,
And drive their wide-extending roots
Deep down into the subject plain.
Oh, what with these had I to do?
That germs of things above their kind
May live, pent up and close confined
In humbler forms, it may be true;
Yet great is that which gives our lot;
High laws and powers our will transcend,
And not for this, till time do end,
Shall any be what he is not.
Each in its place, as each was sent,
Just nature ranges side by side;
Alike the oak tree’s lofty pride
And grasses green of sweet content.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Oklahoma-Texas Line
Got an old dog, it don't like me much
That thing starts to bark his head off every time we touch
Sittin' on the porch listenin' to the radio
We sing every single song we know
Even the ones we don't
When she moves a little closer
She puts her hand in mine
Oh what I wouldn't give to stop the hands of time
She's got long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
I got all I ever need when at girl is by my side
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house on the Oklahoma-Texas Line
She's got a part time job at the Tastee-freeze
She took the weekend off to spend a little bit of time with me
I got an old car we drove to the edge of town
We stopped by Old Man Millers' farm
Just to watch the world spin around
And she moves a little closer
She puts her lips to mine
Ain't funny how the good Lord out does himself sometimes
She's got long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
I got all I ever need when at girl is by my side
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house on the Oklahoma-Texas Line
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house with a black top drive
Big oak tree with our names carved on the side
She's got long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
I got all I ever need when at girl is by my side
Everything I love is there inside
A little brick house, little brick house on the Oklahoma-Texas Line
Oh here they come
Long blonde hair and deep blue eyes
Everything I love...
song performed by by Rascal Flatts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Couldn't See The Wood For The Trees
I now know we're not best friends anymore
Tonight you proved it
Showing your selfish side
Yet again
No room for me
I guess it's time to see
What was right in front of my eyes
The respect you never gave me
The respect you never had
And you never gave it
For far too long
I couldn't give a shit
Best Friends
Yeah?
Do Best Friends
Not know what's legit
And i've lost all sense of feeling
For you
I know with you i'm out of site
Out of mind
An i've lost all sense of feeling
I always knew you we're one of a kind
One of a kind
That i don't want to know anymore
poem by Lucy Vernezze
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The Hollow Nature Of Being
WALL I:
inside an empty room lies an empty box
and in that box is a four walled inside room within-
on each of the four walls is a mirror reflecting
the deep desertion of the next
and distant within each wall is another
echoing & spiraling back into infinite repetition
with nothing or no one except the physical entities
bearing back upon each other.
WALL II:
an empty room in an empty house
the house itself has no physical attributes because it
was built in a barren field-
there are no animals, no trees,
no beings of any kind
roaming around the house whose image cannot be
imagined,
at best, know that this house in fact
“housed” the room in question,
as any house might any room.
WALL III:
such a barren field stretches to all four corners
carrying itself out beyond the periphery
curling back in on the other side,
and walking in any direction will bring one back to the
beginning-
the barren field that reveals the empty house that
encapsulates the empty room is the most integral point of
reference within the endless flat plain of grass.
WALL IV:
endless flat plains of grass flowing out in all directions covering
the circumference of the area around the empty house residing in
the middle of the plain wherein
the inside of the empty house holds the
empty room & in the
room,
the four mirrored walls reveal only the replication of the
others,
spiraling into infinite repetition-
there is no feeling
no sound
no communication of any kind
woven with the thread of human fiber.
poem by Andrew Delapruch
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398
words like a forest hide me
and you will not see me crying
because my eyes have become leaves
without tearglands
words like a wall of rain cover
my weeping with the sound of its heavy rainfall
and you cannot hear me anymore
except the tender sound of a shower
and the rolling of the accompanying thunder
now i have grown words like a garden of grass
and some seeds are groomed to become trees
now i have kept my words like wild vines
and climbers and they cover everything about
my grief and lamentations
now you ask me where i am, ask my words
oh they will not tell you. You are my pain.
And there is no word equivalent to your name
anymore in this forest, in this grassy garden.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Greener Field Beyond Our Place
always, it is
it is always the case that the other side of the fence appears greener
and when you sit on the bench inside your house beside a window
looking into the other side
you wish you have a new pair of shoes
a hat and a pack bag
you dream upon a tomorrow where you can be there
with your brown dog
in the afternoon after a day inside your backyard
under the lemon tree
you change your mind
it is dark and your only wish is to stay
and spend the night
communing with the stars in the skies
gazing at your patio
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Words Like A Forest Hide Me
words like a forest hide me
and you will not see me crying
because my eyes have become leaves
without tear glands
words like a wall of rain cover
my weeping
with the sound of its heavy rainfall
and you cannot hear me anymore
except the tender sound of a shower
and the rolling of the accompanying thunder
now i have grown words like a garden of grass
and some seeds are groomed to become trees
now i have kept my words like wild vines
and climbers and they cover everything
my grief and lamentations
now you ask me where i am,
ask my words
oh they will not tell you.
You are my pain.
And there is no word
equivalent to your name
anymore in this forest, in this grassy garden.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To A Nephew
it is upon my calling that you are here today.
i am very happy.
i am seeing a very tall man now
towering like a tree.
look at this place this island
the flowers no longer bloom
and the trees are shedding off their leaves
the corn seeds that i have sown a month ago
have not grown
and the river on the other side has dried up
the sun scorches this place
and the moon does not like to rest on the hills
let me take you to the window of this house
for you to see the rainbow connecting this island
to another island
this is the bridge between us
and i am giving you the power to cross the sea
of this rift
tonight in this harrowing darkness
we shall cross to the other side and leave this island for good
you shall own the island and sow the corn seeds again
the trees shall bow before you and the flowers shall bloom again
the rivers shall have their water and the hills are ready for the moon
and then i will be gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bessie Was A Cow
Bessie was a cow,
Flower was a goat;
Two better friends
You would never know.
Bessie trimmed the grass,
And Flower ate the weeds;
A pair of better gardeners
You would never need.
Wherever Flower went,
Bessie went there too;
If Flower ate some clothes,
Bessie watched with rue.
If Bessie ate some hay,
Flower ate some clover-
If one passes heaven,
They'll both get over.
poem by Patti Masterman
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Green
Sometime ago we broke up for no reason I know
Why do I have this feeling youre still in control
Im confused like Im used to whenever Im in trouble again
But this time I have to grow up and learn to decide
The grass is greener on your side
It was always greener on your side
It will always be greener on your side
Im way too nervous to be patient right now
Why do I have this feeling Im not in control
The price that I pay for in my almost obsessive devotion you see
Is much higher than I would ever expect it to be
The grass is greener on your side
It was always greener on your side
It will always be greener on your side
It will always be greener on your side x5
The grass is greener on your side
It was always greener on your side
It will always be greener on your side
song performed by by Hooverphonic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Magic Of Forest
.Nature around me, leaves rustling in the wind,
Dewy green grass in mornings, under my steps,
To breathe deeply the fresh, pure air of forest i enjoy.
I listen the twitter of birds that i so much adore,
I love to walk along rivers,
Blossomed flowers to smell and admire.
I adore the forest, the marvelous trees,
I want to live there forever,
Till the end of my days.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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Deer Tracks....
my poetry is not
the kind of tracks that deers
put upon the grass
that each
tread upon
you do not have the kind
of nose that dogs have
your sense of smell is not
that keen enough
to say that i am inside
the confines of
every word in every
poem
deers
those wild ones
are too keen
to sense even the
disturbance of the sands
by a lost worm
it skips and jumps
over the river and the next time
you see it
it has become another
mirage
in the desert
do not trace any part of
me in the past
for i am no longer there
i could be that
deer
at the other side of the
river
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Red Browed Firetails
One can't mistake them for their scratchy song
To small seed eating family of birds they belong
Some call them red browed finches others the red browed firetails
And the females hard to distinguish from the males.
With red bill and brows and neck and unders gray
And red rump, dark tail and greenish wings I see them every day
They perch on fence wire near where paddocks are
And to get their food they don't have to fly far.
They live in small flocks on a diet of seeds
And I see them often amongst grasses and weeds
Of the human kind they do seem rather shy
And from the paddock to the fence they fly.
On sapling tree or creeper they build their globe nest of dried grass or hay
Where they lay up to six eggs of white to gray
And their nests hard to find and well hidden away
From currawong and other birds of prey.
Red browed firetails or finches birds I often see
On paddock fence wire or on branch of tree
Of human kind they have a healthy fear
And they fly away if to them you come near.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Welcome Stranger To Another World
it is almost dark when i arrive
at this place,
beside the cemented road
a garden of wilting flowers
petals are filled with dust
the trees along the way
towards a bungalow
are shedding off leaves,
sonorous, the place is getting
strange to me with its own
kind of quiet
the door of the house is half open
the swing on the side is not moving
the air is strong
and leaves begin to be flown away
i enter the door
dusting my shoes on the carpet
scarlet in hues
light is filtered by dark green curtains
i remain standing
and you are there waiting
for this final talk
it is strange for i feel
that i do not belong to this place
anymore
i am taking away all my stories
and a book of poems
there is only one thing
i like to say to you
we make an agreement
there will be no more elaborations
no justifications for our past actions
nothing hurting or unkind
we are tired of the pain
i am leaving.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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