Do you remember?
The river where we bathed
As children
Innocent in our nudities
The fish we caught
The fire we made
When we all ate together
As friends as neighbors
So close like bees in the hive.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
101
Do you remember?
The river where we bathed
As children
Innocent in our nudity
The fish we caught
The fire we made
When we all ate together
As friends as neighbors
So close like bees in the hive.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Please Do Not Ask Me How A River Feels
children bathe in the river.
we were children once, we bathe in the river
we float and go with the flow of the river
we lied to mother we were afraid of father
but we were children once and we bathed in the river
we all know how a river felt
throughout our bodies
time runs like a river how many times shall i tell you that
we had mud all over
we were once children we grow to be men
strong arms and swift feet
we caught fish
we claim to be men with responsibilities
we are still children at heart we still feel the rivers running on our skins
i know, i still know how a river feels
time does not know how to kill the feel of rivers
do not ask me then if i have forgotten the river
we are men with responsibilities we have gone away
far from what we are
the river still flows and it will never stop
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dry River
River of Doom
Sad sight dry river, and twenty years ago it was
three metre deep and had trout. We caught some
with nets and, fried them on a small fire and felt
like cavemen. Delicious fish meat we ate with our
fingers. Every year I have seen the river getting
smaller even in the winter when it rains irregularly,
it is no more than a beck. There is no fish not even
the skeleton of children caught by a wall of water,
when it had been raining upland and into the river.
Their father was arrested it was said he had killed
the children, fed them to the pigs, but for a single
button in the sty they sat him free. Terrible rumors
every summer I see him walking along the dry river,
muttering to himself trying to find his children
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Two Children
Two children (small), one Four, one Five,
Once saw a bee go in a hive,
They'd never seen a bee before!
So waited there to see some more.
And sure enough along they came
A dozen bees (and all the same!)
Within the hive they buzzed about;
Then, one by one, they all flew out.
Said Four: 'Those bees are silly things,
But how I wish I had their wings!'
poem by Spike Milligan
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Sergio Fiorentino Playing A Schumann
He shall patiently play
him a piano piece a
Sergio fiorentino
And he will
Mimic a Schumann piece
Because
Today he sees him
In full view
Bathing naked
On the river
He is a big man
Like himself
Now he comes
Back to the river
Where they once
Bathed as children
Naked and so
Blessedly innocent
There is malice
Now as he is
Big and muscled
And some black
Hairs decorated
His manhood
His armpits
His thighs
And his
Chests
He calls him
To join him
As they were
Once children
To have a river
To cleanse them
Both
“come, come”
we shall have
a bath in this
river of our
vibrant laughter”
he was inviting &
he was excited.
so
He took off his
Clothes and
Every covering
Of his body
His second
Thoughts and
Taking courage
He jumped
Into the river
Where he
Stood naked,
What he will say
He is prepared
To defend himself
It was him
Who made the
Invitation and
All he did was
Simply to obey.
He promises
There will be no
Regret whatsoever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet: The Bees Never Give Up
Every time, they crush the bees to death and
Steal away their sweet honey in a trice;
And wax to make candles of immense size;
The Queen bee escapes to another land.
The bees comeback; with vengeance start again
A small bee-hive in the very same place!
They work extra in the sun and in rain,
Buzzing to flowers in a frenzied pace.
And soon their hive has been rebuilt and full,
Of sweet honey and larvae that are fed;
The bees continuing without a lull,
Searching for more nectar in every mead.
How well Nature takes care of its species!
Man must learn from the bee-hive and the bees.
poem by John Celes
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Sky Skimmer
I made a wish,
Upon a fish,
Who swam through the sky.
It twinkled bright,
What a wonderful sight!
As the fish bathed up high.
It circled the moon,
Made the stars swoon,
And the fish lit up the night.
It’s tail was adorn,
With the colors of morn,
And it’s body shined like moonlight.
What was my wish,
Towards the fish?
It’s something I won’t deny.
All I wanted to see,
That would interest me,
Would be a fish swimming in sky.
poem by Micah Yates
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That Kinda of Day
Smiles spread like a wild fire
Laughter as contagious as a medical outbreak
Children run around like bees after their hive has been kicked.
Eyes glisten like country stars in the midnight sky
Children scream with joy
Tears trickle down childrens faces because of their uncontroable laughter
It's just that kind of day! !
poem by Lost Sierra
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Anim
I was born by the river and l live by this river,
For at the age of five i fell in love to the river.
I was married at the age of fifteen to a fisherman,
And i've never been to school before;
But my only education is with this river.
The name of my husband is Anim and,
We live by this river;
For my birth and life are all based by this river!
But today, i am old with my children born on this river.
At dawn i go out with my canoe to catch some fish,
And i have a hook to catch some fish at daylight as well;
For this river had been my life ever since.
My husband is a fisherman and,
I was married to him at fifiteen;
And we've lived all our lives on this river.
This is my home and homw of my children,
This is my way of life and of the people around me,
For this river is all that i know in this world.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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My Bees: An Allegory
"O bees, sweet bees!" I said, "that nearest field
Is shining white with fragrant immortelles.
Fly swiftly there and drain those honey wells."
Then, spicy pines the sunny hive to shield,
I set, and patient for the autumn's yield
Of sweet I waited.
When the village bells
Rang frosty clear, and from their satin cells
The chestnuts leaped, rejoicing, I unsealed
My hive.
Alas! no snowy honey there
Was stored. My wicked bees had borne away
Their queen and left no trace.
That very day,
An idle drone who sauntered through the air
I tracked and followed, and he led me where
My truant bees and stolen honey lay.
Twice faithless bees! They had sought out to eat
Rank, bitter herbs. The honey was not sweet.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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The River that Slowly Rills
The Big Fish finds his lunch, and kills
In the river that slowly rills
The victim, caught up in the flood
First of water, now of blood
Death comes to him in blowing chills
While the river slowly rills
We see the blue is mixed with red
The prey surely now is dead
The carnivore has shown his skills
While the river slowly rills
The day has only just begun
Once of two fish, now of one
A strange home for slaught'ring gills
The river that slowly, slowly rills
poem by Bobby Crawford
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Time Has Provoked Insensitivities
I remember vividly those times,
Of innocent minds.
And the caring done...
By neighbors and friends.
It seemed as if everyone had an interest,
In each other back then.
A shifting of priorities,
Has left these qualities behind.
And time has provoked insensitivities.
With faith and trust diminishing into disgust.
In isolation we perceive no one can be believed.
Leaving us to feel abandoned without empathy.
I remember vividly those times,
Of innocent minds.
And the caring done...
By neighbors and friends.
It seemed as if everyone had an interest,
In each other back then.
Until the onslaught of progress...
Has left most feeling hopelessly digressed.
And suspicious of anyone expressing friendliness.
As we reject that quicker,
Than the addressing of deception few bother to question.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Brothers in a Garden
A hive of brothers pass the area with pride,
Their hoods are covering their heads alongside.
A friend became friends with these too many men,
A little man is not subduing them immediately again.
A hive of bees is warming the souls of this garden,
They bring a happy charge of electrical energy in their abdomen.
What is more than this? What is the fate of the garden?
The destinies are written on the plaque with abbreviation.
I inspect the images of this beloved lawn of light,
This lawn is a garden that is bright and right.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Fishermans Will
A Fisherman's Will
I have eaten catfish in more ways than one
Fish that is blackened is not over done
Bass done over a grill with butter basting
Fish balls fried are really tasty
I have had days I caught more fish than I could contain
Then there were days I didn't get a bite and it rained
Memories of Dads and trips where we bonded
Caught some that could have been mounted
Romance and fishing don't go together well
Poles and pools on days hotter than hell
I've never make a good fisher of men
But I have found fishing gives me a grin
So when I die I ask you please
Put my body in a river or sea
Let the fish then eat off me,
So I may return the favor, please!
This is my request in my:
Fisherman's Will
Jim 1989
poem by James Casey
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Free River
Free River flow, Free River
so cold, Free River
you’re getting old.
Free River don’t cry, Free River
you’ve run dry.
I still see you through my youth’s eyes.
Free River you told no lies, Free River
your path has been made, Free River
all things change.
Free River you made it to the sea.
The friends I swam with once
are now gone, left only me.
Free River you’re worth more than gold, Free River
I've grown old.
I’ve lived by you my whole life and
I’ve left my seed through my wife, Free River
I lie at your shore; now dry,
Free River it’s my time to die.
poem by Patrick Dumas
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Everyone is trying to reach for their own stars, and all of those stars aren’t light-years away. They are as close as our job, our family, our children, our next-door neighbors and our good friends.
quote by Alan Bean
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Fish Fever
This week end I went fishing
A fish in mind to catch
I went wishing, wishing, wishing
To catch a perfect catch
I wanted to catch the big one
The one that always gets away
I waited under the hot, hot sun
I waited for that fish all day
Then there was a pull on my line
The pull so full of magic
It made me think mine, mine, mine
Me, the fisherwoman classic
This fish was big I could feel
Big and strong, a winners tale
All I had to do was reel, reel, reel
In order not to fail
Me and this fish fought a moment
Tugging and yanking, pulling and reeling
Until I screamed net! Net! NET!
Is this a winners feeling?
In that moment I knew that it was this
The moment I caught the one that got away
I caught it, I caught it, I caught it
Fishing fever is what I caught that day
poem by Cheré Mason
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The Poor Children Of Iraq
They've never harmed anybody so why are they under attack
Born in the wrong Land at the wrong time the poor children of Iraq
For the crimes of other people why must they be made to pay
They are the innocent victims and why do it have to be this way?
Poor children are made to suffer pawns of a deadly war game
Left to live with horrific injuries this is to all of our shame
They have been robbed of a future war is so very unfair
Damage done to the minds of children in war zones time will not even repair,
Innocent Iraqi war children they deserve better than this
Why deprive them of a future rob them of any chance of happiness
Mothers weep for their dead and injured children war is a terrible thing
Though ballads of famous war victories the balladeers well may sing
But who will sing of the innocent war victims of every bombing and terrorist attack
Like the poor children living in war zones the innocent kids of Iraq.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Who Will Teach?
have you ever
built a house,
plowed a field,
cut firewood,
caught a fish,
and cooked it over
your own fire?
have your children?
what happens when
it all falls down,
and we have to start over?
who knows how to survive?
and who will teach others?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sulking Flowers
Comparing the bees to the wandering males of human species,
Disheartening the waiting souls at the threshold of floral genesis,
For the pollen these bees brought unknowingly,
The generous flowers tip the nectar unconditionally.
Bees are the messengers, not the rapists as human,
Bees are the servants, not the incest driven as human,
Bees are the courier carriers, not the molesters as human,
Bees are innocent, not the illusionists scoundrels as human.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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