Dedication
to whom for whom
i am sounding i
sound for you
not for me i know
how i sound i know
the depth and length
of my word the kind
of smell and color
i keep within each
syllable for years and
years the horse
romancing the sea
its tail serving as
rudder the moment
it swims underwater
on an island where
the birds have long
learned the manner
of fish and fishing
expeditions here
the sand where
our steps were
first embroidered
like rose petals
to mother'w white
cloth, heave a sigh
to all these what
was there will always
be there, unless
you refuse to know
the ciphers of each
code, our youth
badly spent beside
the river, this life
these pebbles
underneath the
ripples of our
skins the lines of
our palms, shady
and sharp the thoughts
still piercing the
innocence of our
minds, mine me
mind you, let there
be nothing easily
understood, lest
everything becomes
just ordinary, and
the lace of your
memories, the seams
all through, lazy, lazy,
now stop this
nonsense following
every word i have
you're looking for
thrill and something
to tinker, there is none
here, nada y nada,
there is nothing in
here, and in the end
you get what you
deserve from me
nothing nothing
nothing nothing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lazy River
There is a lazy river.
I used to stroll along
in my younger years.
A lazy river that witnessed a
great amount of
my heartaches and tears.
It witnessed all my courting days,
my sweethearts as I strolled along.
The break-ups and the sadness
that befell my life.
Now I sit alone watching
ripples fade away
just as our love did
with each passing day.
The lazy river flows
at its slow and steady pace
the same as it did
that first day I strolled along.
The birds still sing among the leaves,
the squirrels still scamper along the ground.
The seasons still come and go.
The only thing that is missing now
is you because you’re gone.
29 July 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Word
In the days when the God eternal
Was declining face to the new world,
By the Word they stopped the sun’s inferno,
And destroyed the towns by the Word.
And an eagle was falling at the ground,
Stars were backing to the moon in fright,
If, as made from orange flames a cloud,
Word was sailing in the heaven’s height.
Figures were involved in low action,
As the tamed, domesticated herd,
Just because all set of comprehension
From the clever figure could be learned.
The white-bearded patriarch, wish found
Good and evil by his own hands,
Deciding not to use the sacred sound,
Drew a figure by a cane in sands.
Did we not forget in troubles own:
Only Word is blessing in the world?
In the Gospel, sent to us by John,
Is the saying, that the Word is God.
We designed for it the limits, gladly –
The scant limits of the life and thoughts,
And like bees in empty hives smell badly –
Badly smell the dead forever words.
poem by Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev
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The Riverside
The river was flowing unceasingly.
On the bank sat a little girl
with a rose in her hand.
Lovely thoughts flooded her mind
of how she and her mother
used to come to the riverside
to wash their clothes.
The little girl always loved to
splash in the water, and at times
she knotted her fishing rod
and was busy fishing.
When the mother finished her washing,
both she and the little girl
would walk side by side,
the child with her fishing net
and a catch of fish,
and the mother with the
newly-washed clothes.
Memories came in one by one,
as the shore was deserted.
She drew so many pictures
in the sand, thinking about
her mother sitting in heaven
beside the loving Saviour.
poem by Aleyamma Jacob
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Inactivity Created
Lazy.
A feast of ignorance,
Has fed them well.
Lazy.
Delusionists speak of their triumphs.
Glorify in imaginations.
Party in their sweat.
Yet few work...
To where they need to get!
Lazy.
Creatures seeking credentials.
But absent of common sense.
Lazy.
Exhausted from thoughts!
With no intent meant.
Lazy.
Approached to verify all they claim.
And when there is nothing there...
They play the blame game.
Accusing some of being 'lucky' in life...
And every excuse they use is lame.
Lazy.
They watch a way of life diminish.
Lazy.
They wish their fantasies replenished.
Lazy.
But when a working ethic isn't there to be done,
They point a finger at everyone.
And more like them are relieved...
So many like them believe,
If it had not been for someone else...
Success they too could achieve.
But those who bust their butts can see...
These folks appreciate,
Only another pretention they can make!
And taking time to waste.
But don't call them...
Lazy.
That's a word they hate!
But keep dates with it to salivate...
An inactivity created!
There is no debate,
To contemplate this observation.
They are without hesitation of doubt...
Lazy!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Misty River
This morning
Me in this Misty River
All the happiness
I am feeling inside myself
Misty River
The mist is coming
From this Misty River
There are clouds
In the sky
And the mist
Is caused by the condensation
Of the heat mixed in the cold water
Misty River
I am in a fishing boat
That boat is moving slowly in this
Misty river
It is early in the morning
I am eating my breakfast in the fishing boat in the middle of this
Misty River
I hear the birds singing early in the morning
In this Misty River
There must be trees because the sound of the birds is coming from the Branches
Misty River
So peaceful
It looks so different with the mist
No one is around but me
With my fishing boat
And the beautiful sound of the birds
It is so nice
To have a place to come to
Where I can
Hear the sound of the birds
And be left alone
With no one disturbing me
Misty River
This is my special place
And by afternoon
No clouds I will see
The birds are beautiful
Their song is just beautiful like mother nature intended it to be
If nobody else appreciates this Misty River
I do
Misty River
I will die for you
Misty River
I will shed my tears for you
I have been coming here for so long now
Misty River
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Big White Petals On White Sands
big white petals falling
on white sands
try to find out the reason
which one is which
white against white
you find a canvass
where nothing can be found
except the white silence
amidst another white silence
and true you find nothing
you think there is something there
you smile because somehow
you begin to understand
about this labyrinth that you are in
that you think you cannot escape
until you accept the truth
about this simplicity: nada y nada.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Big White Petals On White Sands In Boracay
big white petals falling
on white sands
try to find out the reason
which one is which
white against white
you find a canvass
where nothing can be found
except the white silence
amidst another white silence
and true you find nothing
you think there is something there
you smile because somehow
you begin to understand
about this labyrinth that you are in
that you think you cannot escape
until you accept the truth
about this simplicity: nada y nada.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If I only have the time, i could have spent that with you
you are a set of words, you are
a line straight and hazy like the
sunset
horizon
i like you and your image of you
metaphorical
sounding like a whisper
a sonorous sound
i like what you have for me
even if the moment was as short as a whimper
as deep as a sigh
i like you whatever that be
you are a poem, and if only
i have more years to live, you are my poem,
how i wish i could have spent
all these days with you, but i am just a mortal man
and my father is the river my mother the ocean
and i no longer belong here, for my life is always one
that moves on
never stopping never questioning
never ending like your imagination
in a span of
divine attention, nothing like an intervention
an acclaim.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sound is One
The sound is one
The word is one
Sound and Word are one
Word and Sound are one
Each Sound has its own Word
And each Word
Has its own Sound,
If you know the Sound,
You know the Word
If you know one
You know the other…
Knowing is one
The knower is one,
To know is one, one knows,
One speaks and
One's Word calls one's Sound
The Sound calls the Word
And there is no answer but ONE…
©All Rights Reserved-2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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Peretti's Dreamer
Reality bites with its wicked sharp teeth
Yet, another day of emptiness spent
Eating me alive with its caustic erosion
Each moment- another hour despondent;
The Sound looks so vast these days
It dwarfs Bainbridge and Vashon Islands green
Loving you all these years has been fathomless at times
Even though this depth has been unseen;
The Emerald City cries your name
The Evergreen States knows we are not one
Should it have been? And why wasn't it?
Questions, i ask when day is done;
A fortune in time has been spent in loving you
Far away and forever gone from me?
Surely you must have felt it over the years
Alas, as Puget Sound-your destination-The Sea;
poem by Theodora Onken
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I Am Writing A Poem That You Can Understand So Easily
this is not to insult your intelligence
or your sensibility
your capacity for managing angst,
to see the wholeness
of the matter
in the eye of the needle
where the camel enters where you claim you have seen it,
this, this is it, the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the river the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the riverthe quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog near the bank of the river
do you not find wisdom in it, it is filled with questions to be answered:
why is the fox quick
why is it brown? why does it jump on a lazy dog? and is the dog really lazy? is this not offensive to the dogs in the royalty? and why should the river be near? and this bank of the river? is this where the dog lives? or the fox or the dog, do they relate to the word quick and lazy?
i tell you, there is wisdom in every word, no matter where you place it.
every verb serves its purpose in giving us action,
every question calls for an answer
and every period serves the purpose it is intended to be.
rest.
the purpose of an easy poem is to understand it, and so the poem is written in the most familiar language that you know and speak,
period.
i don't want to understand things really, there is no point there.
period.
some poems are not meant to be understood, they are only meant to be read.
period.
some poems are not meant to be digested, they are meant to make
us full, even only for a while.
period.
some poems are written by Someone Else, and this writer does not
even understand it.
period.
rest.......
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lazy River
Up a lazy river by the old mill stream
That lazy, hazy river where we both can dream
Linger in the shade of an old oak tree
Throw away your troubles, dream a dream with me
Up a lazy river where the robins song
Wakes up in the mornin, as we roll along
Blue skies up above ....everyones in love
Up a lazy river, how happy we will be, now
Up a lazy river with me
(instrumental break)
Up a lazy river by the old mill run
That lazy, lazy river in the noon day sun
You can linger in the shade of that fine ole tree
Throw, away your troubles, baby, dream with me
Up a lazy river where the robins song
Wakes a brand new mornin as we roll along
There are blue skies up above...and as long as were in love
Up a lazy river, how happy we could be
If you go up a lazy river with me
Ah said with me now.....goinup that... lazy river..... with me
song performed by by Louis Armstrong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter CV: Later
A magic word to stop a whining child
A lazy word to avoid problem
A vague word to cover our fear
A determined word to achieve our dream
A distant word to hang the commitment
A teaser word to hint surprise
A playful word to tease the loser
A promise word to fire revenge
A threatening word to doom the enemy
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Romancing in Dispair
Enigma...
Romancing with Nostalgia
I have this strong desire
Thinking someone... a dream now,
To liberate my sen-ital love
To romance with her.
Rain when shatters over house sheet
Takes me back to
My years of romance.
Those memories makes me impotent
I go senile...
I wish if i could take her,
in my arms,
And hum softly in her ears,
My lines of immature poetry... teen confession.
In narrative tune
Emphasizing more for clear wordings,
...stop it!
She is gone.
What has remained is a heart piercing feelings,
If love had law,
She would've been prosecuted.
but... whatever it is,
I always think of you.
One face of romance.
Romancing with my distress.
Nothing is left in me.
its nonentity...
My fate...
Unlucky with relations.
for whom I admire,
I make'em my perennial dream
But they have no solace for me.
Beholding this despair,
Lamenting this loss,
I tumble in life.
Romancing with her was unbelievable,
Romancing with her memories pains,
here I do.
Romancing with nostalgia.
crying in her memories,
I wish if I could add,
more vulnerable synonym for 'crying'.
I smile remembering time you used to tickle me.
time, you pulled me under your umbrella
but our romance remained incomplete.
Our relation wasn't so necessary for her.
One life cleavage.
I sustain my this part with pain.
my aspiration lay barren.
No magic works on me.
Its more than romancing,
more slow than whiskey lullaby.
Dying is nothing,
Journey to death is heartthrobing.
I can feel what a widow feel.
romancing with dark rose.
Romancing with my incomplete feelings.
I will continue to romance.
dwelling constantly over spilt past.
poem by Norden Lama
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A Walgett Episode
The sun strikes down with a blinding glare;
The skies are blue and the plains are wide,
The saltbush plains that are burnt and bare
By Walgett out on the Barwon side --
The Barwon River that wanders down
In a leisurely manner by Walgett Town.
There came a stranger -- a "Cockatoo" --
The word means farmer, as all men know,
Who dwell in the land where the kangaroo
Barks loud at dawn, and the white-eyed crow
Uplifts his song on the stock-yard fence
As he watches the lambkins passing hence.
The sunburnt stranger was gaunt and brown,
But it soon appeared that he meant to flout
The iron law of the country town,
Which is -- that the stranger has got to shout:
"If he will not shout we must take him down,"
Remarked the yokels of Walgett Town.
They baited a trap with a crafty bait,
With a crafty bait, for they held discourse
Concerning a new chum who there of late
Had bought such a thoroughly lazy horse;
They would wager that no one could ride him down
The length of the city of Walgett Town.
The stranger was born on a horse's hide;
So he took the wagers, and made them good
With his hard-earned cash -- but his hopes they died,
For the horse was a clothes-horse, made of wood! --
'Twas a well-known horse that had taken down
Full many a stranger in Walgett Town.
The stranger smiled with a sickly smile --
'Tis a sickly smile that the loser grins --
And he said he had travelled for quite a while
A-trying to sell some marsupial skins.
"And I thought that perhaps, as you've took me down,
You would buy them from me, in Walgett Town!"
He said that his home was at Wingalee,
At Wingalee, where he had for sale
Some fifty skins and would guarantee
They were full-sized skins, with the ears and tail
Complete; and he sold them for money down
To a venturesome buyer in Walgett Town.
Then he smiled a smile as he pouched the pelf,
"I'm glad that I'm quit of them, win or lose:
You can fetch them in when it suits yourself,
And you'll find the skins -- on the kangaroos!"
Then he left -- and the silence settled down
Like a tangible thing upon Walgett Town.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Lazy People
Lazy is as lazy does,
Which is do nothing really,
Coz Lazy is as always does,
Make us do nothing freely.
Lazy people are no crazy people.
Lazy people are truly smart people.
Fast tricks, short fix type of people.
So Lazy has it's good and bad,
Are you lazy? Ask your Dad.
We have our lazy days,
We have our lazy ways.
Do you qualify the breed?
Bring your eyes to feed,
On lazy poems, read.
When Love Is Gone...
it is at this moment
when i ask you
not to say any word
it is enough that you
set aside my hand
and refuse the rose
of its vase
i know how to close
a door
and close it
permanently
i have done it so many
times
and always without a sound
like air that gets in the
window
lift an embroidered drape
and leaves
smoothly
the trees outside
do not have a hint
a leaf sometimes
fall off
for no reason at all
love? shall it be redefined?
in how many words?
never mind
the words will find themselves
on paper
again
the pen can always wait
and the hands
tired sleep like sands on
the shore
undisturbed by
ebbs....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Island poem.
The Island was there surrounded by sea,
Where the family stayed, so much to see;
The birds flying in the sky, and on the water too,
Yes! They were enjoying their holiday, it's true.
The Island stretched for many a mile, they could see,
With plenty of shells, and sand, the sunsets so pretty;
The Coconut palms, and date palms, to walk in the cool,
And the children enjoyed it all, for there was no school.
The husband enjoyed to go fishing each day,
The children loved to run on the sand and play;
The wife, she enjoyed it too, to rest under the tree,
Then she called them all at night, it is time for tea.
The Island holiday soon came to an end,
The children said, our holiday we can pretend;
That we are still on our lovely holiday retreat,
And remember the birds, and the birds so sweet.
Have you ever been to an Island, for a holiday?
Maybe you travelled far, to Queensland, is what you'd say;
Or was it somewhere in the Islands of the south see?
You'll know it was a holiday to feel so very free.
poem by Margaret Haig
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The residents and elected officials of Long Island have fought vigorously for many years and spent millions of dollars to preserve the quality of life that the Long Island Sound offers.
quote by Tim Bishop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Help...
He is walking by a river
Feeling worse and worse by the minute
One second he is looking at the river
The next he is in it
The icy cold water pulling him down
His screams starting to make no sound.
He keeps fighting, kicking, howling
It was no use
The river was going to send him down
It would laugh in his ear
Knowing his struggle was useless
Though the boy was clueless.
It was decided that
That was all he could take
Letting his mind go numb
For his nerovs's sake
He is submerged in the water
Hearing a final laugh of victory
Just a bunch of mockery
From the stuipd river
nothing could be less civil
Down underwater
he could see many fish
And they looked kind of bothered
'Do not let the river win! '
a fish cried to him
'But I cannot swim no more
and you are just one fish' he sighed
The fish smiled 'Yes, but help can grow'
All the fish gathered around
And now the river no longer pulling him down
He gasped for air
Now he could see
That the poeple who really care
are the ones who can really help me.